Survivor's Guilt - Page 13

“No!” I felt like I had just been asked if I'd invited the Pope over for tea.

“You should,” she assured me. “I can arrange it if you like.”

“No,” I said in disbelief more than protest. “Really? Why?”

“I can not answer your questions,” she said simply. “He can.”

“Well yeah, but . . .”

“Put them to him then,” she interrupted as if I wasn't talking. “Capricious fate may have placed you in harm's way, and then seemingly saved you at a whim, but fate will not answer you why. You can, on the other hand, ask the person who saved you, “Why you?” and expect an answer.” This time I was almost certain I saw a smile, a sad one, hiding on her lips. “Not every survivor is so fortunate, you know.”

“I don't feel fortunate!” I protested.

For the first time there seemed to be real emotion in her eyes. “I know,” she said softly. “But you are none the less.”

I'm not sure why I shivered when she said that, but I did. “When you put it that way . . .” I said after a moment. “What the hell have I got to lose?”


When Tyr came to visit me in my cell, my first thought was that he didn't look as imposing without his armor. I mean, he was definitely the kind of guy I'd look at twice if I passed him on the street, but I'd be wondering what his phone number was, not what he did for a living. Up close he just looked to . . . normal to be a “super hero.” If he lost the beard, he'd be able to pass as any blond and blue-eyed body building surfer on the planet.

For some reason, he reminded me a lot of Mark, which hurt in ways I just did not want to deal with right then, which is probably why I found the courage to say what I did.

“I . . . I can't thank you for what you did,” I sort of whispered. “You know that, right?”

Page 13

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