“I have a very bad feeling about this trip, Sara,” he said in hushed tones.
Then the front windshield burst inward and the car spun out of control.
Pittsburgh International Airport
Mal
Growing more and more uncomfortable as they inched their way through the security line, Mal let his wife go through the metal detector first.
She beeped, as expected, and then got into a conversation with the bored-looking TSA guard. He waved his wand over Deb. That led to her pulling off her jogging pants—which had snaps on the sides instead of seams.
Mal’s prosthetic hand always got a few raised eyebrows, but Deb’s artificial legs drew attention like a marching band down Main Street. Though Deb was always offered the option of a private search, away from gawkers, she never accepted, preferring to strip down to her shorts and show everyone on the planet her high tech artificial limbs.
Mal knew Deb did it because she didn’t want to be treated any differently than anyone else. But they did treat her differently, and Mal watched the crowd finger pointing and murmuring, some assholes actually snapping pictures.
It was made even worse by the fact that Deb was an athlete, and very fit, so standing there in her running shorts like a sexy female Robocop getting ready to pose for Playboy 2054 made him feel jealous as well as overprotective. As expected, after her scan and pat-down, Deb was immediately approached by a smiling Lothario who was better looking, a better dresser, and no doubt younger and richer than Mal was.
So I get to endure her humiliation of stripping down to her stumps, and then nurse my own humiliation because I don’t feel I’m man enough for her.
Mal was expertly in tune with his own feelings, thanks to the unrelenting therapy. Besides lacking a hand to touch his wife with, he also felt powerless to protect her. That led to feelings of inadequacy which normally didn’t reveal themselves during daylight hours. But as he watched CEO Joe chat up his wife while TSA played stupid with his mechanical hand, Mal felt himself getting angrier and angrier. When they finally let him through, he stormed over to Deb as she was re-snapping her running pants.
“Picked up an admirer, I see,” Mal said, sizing up the man. He looked fit, and could probably kick Mal’s ass all day long and not break a sweat.
“Just paying the lady a compliment,” the guy replied. He looked confident, which Mal hated. Especially because Mal remembered being that confident once.
“I’m the lady’s husband,” Mal said. “Now go run off to your board meeting.”
The guy puffed his chest out. “Or what?”
“Or I’ll beat the shit out of you, then make you lick it up.”
Doubt flashed across the man’s face. He muttered, “Asshole,” then turned and walked off.
Deb looked irritated. “Where did all that testosterone come from?”
“The guy was hitting on you, Deb.”
“He said it was really brave of me to take my jogging pants off like I did.”
Mal rolled his eyes. “He said that because you have a nice ass. Think he would have said that to some fat guy with artificial legs?”
“Can’t I be brave and have a nice ass? You know, Mal, I feel like a freak often enough. Some guy innocently flirting makes me feel normal. He wasn’t a threat to you.”
Mal wanted to turn away. But if he did, it would prove she won and he was wrong. So he forced himself to maintain eye contact. “He saw you as an easy target, Deb.”
“I’m not easy. And I’m not a target.”
Mal switched tactics. “Deb, there are… guys… who have fetishes about…”
Deb’s eyes darkened. “So now he didn’t approach me because I had a nice ass. He came over because he’s an amputee pervert.”
“I’m just saying—”
“You’re acting like an asshole.”
Mal studied his shoes. He wanted to kneel down, help her put her snap-away pants back on, but he couldn’t align the snaps with one hand.
“Look,” he said, letting out a long breath. “I didn’t like that guy swaggering up to you.”
“Him? You swagger more than any guy I ever met.”
Maybe, once upon a time. But not lately.
He changed subjects. “Do you have the Xanax?”
“My purse.”
He sat next to her on the bench and pawed through her handbag. The medicine bottle had a child-proof cab on it, and after trying to pry it off with his teeth, he simply cradled it in his lap until Deb finished dressing. She reached over, held his hand.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I used to be fine flying. But now…”
“It’s okay to be afraid.”
He wanted to scream, to smash the pill bottle against the floor and stomp it to bits. Instead he clenched his teeth and whispered, “But I’m afraid of everything.”
“I know.”
“Including losing you.”
“I know.” Deb patted his hand. “And that’s not going to happen.”
“I’m sorry, Deb. You deserve better.”
“You’re all I need, Mal.”
She kissed his cheek. A kiss of pity, not love.
Mal felt his ears get hot. He endured the kiss without flinching away.
“Take a few, Mal. Zonk out on the plane.”
Mal nodded. But he wouldn’t. Deb couldn’t drive the rental car, which meant he had to, and alprazolam abuse and driving didn’t mix. So when Deb opened the bottle for him, Mal swallowed one, just to take the edge off, and then they shuffled into the terminal.
With an hour before boarding time, they stopped at the Burgh Sportz Bar in the Airmall. Deb had a chicken salad. Mal had a burger. When the food arrived it looked decent enough, but Mal’s stomach was sour and he picked at his French fries while watching Deb inhale her food. She’d talked him into coming to this stupid experiment, and even seemed optimistic about it. Bless her little heart, Deb considered this trip a hybrid of vacation and adventure.
Mal felt differently. He didn’t like confronting his fears in therapy, and he knew he’d abhor being purposely frightened. But the thing that bothered him most was being allowed to bring weapons.
What kind of government experiment allows the participants to be armed? What safeguards were in place to prevent someone from getting seriously hurt?
Mal had packed the gun in their check-in luggage, and both he and Deb had taken shooting lessons. But in fright’s grasp, Mal wouldn’t trust himself to hit a bus from a meter away. What if he fired wildly and hurt someone? What if he shot Deb? What kind of insane tests were going to be conducted on them that required firearms?
“Aren’t you hungry?”
He shook his head. Deb took that as an invitation to tear his burger in half and start munching. Mal stared at her, marveling at her resiliency. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her. How proud he was of her. She was two levels away from becoming a black belt. A double amputee, slowly becoming a karate master. Who could have ever guessed all she could accomplish? But instead of gushing his admiration, he thought of that CEO jerk hitting on her, and how she seemed to eat it up.
She’s going to figure out I’m a coward, and leave me.
Mal didn’t think he’d be able to handle that. But he was sure it was coming.
Someone bumped the back of Mal’s chair, and he turned to see a teenager standing next to the table. Chubby, almond-eyed, protruding tongue. Down Syndrome.
“What’s wrong with your hand?” the teen said, pointing at Mal’s prosthesis.
“I lost it. This one is made of rubber.”
“How did you lose it?”
A madman strapped me to a table and cut it off with a scalpel while I begged for him to stop.
“An accident,” Mal said. He looked at Deb, who was staring at the boy with wide eyes. While the teen was probably harmless, he was bringing up old memories. Bad memories.
“Where are your parents?” Mal asked, searching around for the child’s caretaker.
“You’re a freak,” the boy said.
Mal blinked. “What?”
“You’re a freak and you’re going to die.” He looked at Deb. “And so are you, lady.”