Written in the Scars(93)

I pace a circle, feeling the electricity soar in my veins. I take a deep breath.

“Ty, if you hear me,” I say out loud, “I need you back here. I have something to tell you, and this time, you better fucking come home.”

Swiping the water cup off the table, I take a long drink. The water is lukewarm, but it feels good sliding down my throat. I down it all.

Setting it back on the table, I continue my plea. “Jiggs, if you hear me, I’m not about to host Thanksgiving at my house from now on. So figure out your shit and come back here. You’ve got a wife to take care of and a baby to raise. And don’t tell Ty, but a niece or nephew too.”

I blink back a tear and sniffle. “Cord . . .” my voice breaks as I think of my sweet friend. “You never, ever fail me. Somehow, you always figure out what I need or what I need to hear and you deliver. Every. Time. Right now, I need you to deliver your sweet self, along with my handsome husband and ridiculous brother. Do you hear me?” I ask, my bottom lip trembling. “That’s an order.”

I fall into a chair at the table and listen to my cries resonate through the room.

“Ladies,” Vernon says, rushing into the room without knocking, Lindsay on his heels.

I stand immediately, springing to my feet, my heart stalling in my chest. “What?”

“One of the men is on the way up.”

I suck in a breath, my eyes floating to Lindsay. Exhaling, it comes out in shaky, tear-filled breaths. “Which one?” I ask.

“I don’t know. I just got word that one is in the slot.” He looks between us. “We have a television out here if you want to watch. I can clear the room out.”

“Yes,” I say, nodding emphatically. “Please.”

He goes before us and we can hear his voice booming through the other room, followed by shoes hitting the floor. I grab Lindsay’s hand and we race across the hall into Room E11.

It’s empty. A large flat screen television is lit up on the far wall, one of the national television stations on live. It’s muted, but we get the idea. The words scrolling along the bottom make it clear what’s happening: Miner #1 is coming to the top.

“I wonder who it is,” Lindsay says to no one in particular. Her voice is a mere rasp. “God, I feel guilty because I’m praying it’s Jiggs. But I know how much you need it to be Ty and . . . Cord . . .”

“There’s a good chance it is Jiggs or Cord,” I say. I fight back the poison in my stomach. “I can’t imagine Ty coming up before them.”

My spirits sink, just a bit, at the realization. I feel guilty about that too, but I can’t help it. He’s my husband.





TY

The make-shift elevator lands, sitting on top of the water. A part of me, a huge part of me, wants to slide inside, pull the rope, and get the fuck out of here.

But I can’t.

I’d never forgive myself if they didn’t make it out and I did. And how could I look at my wife and know I killed her brother?

“Jiggs, get in there,” I say, grabbing his shoulder and pressing him towards the box.

Water roars into the chamber like an open sieve. It inches up quickly, now chest-high.

“I can’t leave you guys down here,” he cries, tears streaming down his face.

“Yeah, you can,” I say. “You have a kid coming and I need someone to watch my wife and no one will do that like you. Now get your ass in there.”

“Promise me you’ll be up,” he says, climbing inside. “Promise me.”

“We promise,” Cord says. “Now hurry the fuck up.”

Jiggs reaches over head and yanks the cord. The machines groan as he is lifted up and out of sight.

“One down,” I mutter to myself. Turning to Cord, I blow out a breath. “You’re next.”

We wait for the box to lower, but it doesn’t come. I peer up and can see the glow of the lights at the ground level, but no movement from the box.

“We’re having a problem with the gears!” someone shouts down the air shaft. “We’re trying.”

“This water is chest high!” I shout. “Hurry the hell up!”

I look at Cord.

He looks at me.



ELIN

“Come on, come on, come on,” I repeat as we watch the man being escorted onto a stretcher. “Who is it?” I shout.

We can’t see close enough to tell, just a figure of a man that could be any of the three. My heart is in my throat, Lindsay’s hand nearly breaking mine, as we watch with bated breath.

My hand is on my stomach and I whisper, “Daddy promised to come home, little one. He’ll come home. Hang in there.”

“It was Jiggs,” Vernon says from behind us.