To Be A Runner

Chapter 40: Plasmapheresis

I don't know how many times I've changed sleeping positions. I've gone to my side, my back, my other side, my stomach, child's pose, and every other wired sleeping position but still even on this comfortable cot I can't sleep.

I can't say the same for Sam. He's been out cold for about an hour now, and I'm baffled by how he managed to get comfortable enough to fall asleep in the battered swivel chair. His arms and legs are all in awkward positions and I wince at the thought of how achy he'll feel tomorrow, or today; I'm not exactly sure what time it is.

My thoughts whirl about Van Ark and the Jeffro Complex and those sounds... the music that played briefly before we reached the gate... before the professor got bit. The thoughts of what they are and what they might mean plague me, and even with my thoughts and questions I can't come up with a good, logical answer.

I haven't told anyone about what I heard because neither Sarah nor Van Ark seemed to notice it. If they did they didn't show it at the time and Sarah never mentioned it to me afterwards. With that in mind I just assume she didn't hear it.

And I can't just say I heard music playing while I was running for my life. That right there is basically screaming that you're cracking and losing your mind.

I pull the thin blanket tighter around me, my constantly cold body aching for warmth. It's always been like this for me-constant cold, a desire for warmth. I was told your heart is just like your hands. The inside will show the outside. I never really believed it, but now that I think about it the saying would make sense. My hands are cold meaning my heart is too.

I mean, someone like me must have a cold heart. I've done terrible things. The memories constantly haunt me. They're burned into my brain and I know even in the years to come they'll never be forgotten. If anyone knew my past sins I'd be hated, never to be forgiven.

Only God is loving enough to forgive the things I've done.

I squeeze my eyes shut and keep them that way for several minutes, hoping that the complete and utter darkness will lull me to sleep, but it doesn't. All it shows me are flashes of memories-glimpse but just enough to stab my heart again and again until tears are fighting to slip past my tightly shut eyelids.

They beg to be freed but I refuse; Even when I see Wesley's face, and Bro. Reggie's, and Mrs. Robin's, and my Mom's, and my cousins' and everyone else's of who I killed.

But then I see her face... smiling, laughing, talking, and my eyes snap open in hopes to dispel her from my brain. I sit up and clutch the blanket against my chest, knowing sleep isn't something I'm going to get anytime soon.

Again I look at Sam passed out in his chair and frown. I set the blanket aside and stand up, shivering slightly as goosebumps erupt on my arms. I walk over to this chair and wrap my hands around one of the chair handles and drag the chair towards the cot, thankful it has wheels and that it doesn't squeak too much.

It's easier this way, since I won't have to drag him across the room and worry about waking him. It would be a difficult task since I'm me sized and Sam is a good eight inches taller than me and probably weighs more than me. The thought of me dragging him to the cot makes me grin and for once I'm glad my laugh is silent.

Once I get the chair close enough to the cot, I wrap my arms around Sam as best I can and try to pull him from his swivel chair. His tangle of long limbs make it harder to maneuver so I end up basically dropping him onto the cot, wincing when he groans and shifts where he lays.

His eyes open for a fraction, but his drowsy mind doesn't seem to comprehend me standing in front of him, and he simply mumbles something incoherent before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep once more. I grab the thinner blanket and drape it over him, knowing I'll regret it because I already feel the cold seeping into my bones but still do it anyway.