Page 44 of Collateral Damage
I push aside a stack of shirts, checking whether I remembered to pack my contact lenses.
When I come up empty, I run my fingers along the sides and frown as something pokes into my fingertips. There’s a pen sitting in the corner of the case. Tucked along the seam beside a notepad.
My brow furrows at the discovery. I distinctly remember having to borrow a pen at the conference in Denver so I could take notes during a lecture on neuroendocrine stress pathways.
This doesn’t look like a conference pen. It’s black. Elegant. Slim, with gold etching. Surely not… My chest tightens. I reach for it slowly, like it might disappear if I move too fast. I turn it over in my hand.
The engraving catches the light.
Fear not, for I am with you. Isaiah 41:10.
My pen!
I stare at it, my thoughts scrambling to catch up. I lost this a month ago. I checked everywhere—my bag, my car, my office at Johns Hopkins, the clinic.
And it’s inside my suitcase. But how?
If it was there inside my suitcase before Denver, why didn’t I notice it while Silas was clearing my house?
I perch on the edge of the bed and shake my head.
I know exactly what a high-cortisol state does to the hippocampus. Stress doesn't just sharpen your nerves; it fractures the encoding of mundane details. It’s clinically plausible that I did see it, or placed it there, but simply failed to record it.
My gaze drops back to the suitcase. The way everything’s folded. Disturbed now, but before?—
No.
I would’ve seen it. I’ve reached into this bag a dozen times since we arrived at the cabin. I would’ve noticed the silver clip against the dark fabric.
Wouldn’t I?
I turn the pen in my fingers again, pressing my thumb over the engraved words like I can ground myself in them.
Fear not. My pulse ticks up anyway. The suitcase didn’t leave my sight after I zipped it. Not in my house. Not in the truck. Not here.
I close my hand around the pen, suddenly aware of how quiet the cabin is without Silas inside.
I should mention it to him. But he’s already on edge. I can’t bother him over something as trivial as finding a lost pen.
I leave it where I found it, and rather than dwell on the meaning or try to remember whether I might have packed it accidentally before Denver, accept it for what it is.
A gift.
Silas
I head into the kitchen and measure out the grounds, the repetitive motion the only thing keeping my thoughts in line.
Lord, I’m getting tired. I lean my weight against the counter, watching the first few drops of coffee hit the carafe. Help me stay frosty. Help me see any threats coming before they get close.
My mind is a map of exits and blind spots, but my body is starting to feel every hour of this watch.
The floorboards groan behind me. I don’t have to turn around to know it’s her. The air in the room shifts.
Ava pulls out a chair and sits at the table. I can feel her watching me, her silence heavier than the storm outside.
“Any news?”
I keep my back to her for a second longer, waiting for my pulse to level out.
