Oliver Twisted

Crutch

She was a strange soul, eclectic in spirit. He noticed she would often talk to herself when he was tending the others, eyes lost in the ceiling, or fixed to the nearest window.

Come evening, when the noise had died back, he found he could hear her a little better.

"Don't you ever get tired of winning?" she asked nobody in particular. "You done had my whole family. Why do you need me? Why do you want me?"

Later he brought her some soup from the kitchen. And while she was getting situated, he saw his chance to pry.

"Who were you talking to earlier?" he asked. "Were you praying or..."

"Na," she replied. "I was talking to death. I'd hardly call that a prayer."

"Death?"

"What's the matter?" she was unfazed. "You never had nobody do that?"

"Can't say I...have."

"I talk to death a lot, Mister. Have since I was a girl. At my Ma's bedside. My Gran'mom. My baby brother's. My Pa. Bet he wishes I'd shut up." She looked around, at the dying men. "Especially now that he can't get away..."

Mister Collier didn't know whether to smile or offer condolences. From her tone, she seemed more jovial than sad.

"I always come ready with an earful," she rambled on. "Figure least he can do is listen. In this har'ble place, nobody else will."

"I'll listen."

She looked at him, and he receded. "Not to be too...forward."

"Well then," she nodded. "Much obliged. You know, Lofton said he'd listen. He took me to these big parties with the feathers and the lights. Next thing I know he's sticking a gun in my hand. Had he not died, I'da killed him myself, fer getting me into this mess. Guess that don't make me much of a pacifist, now, does it?" a sad lilt.

A bit of unease kicked up in Mister Collier's mind. Wait. Please don't tell me you're...

"At the end of the day, I was too violent to be peaceful, and too peaceful to be..." her voice trailed off. "One of them."

"A rebel...you mean?" he needed to nip this in the bud. If she told anyone besides him, they'd toss her out for sure. And that was the best hypothetical.

"Not anymore."

"But you were one?"

"I ran with their lot, so I guess."

"Okay," he was almost whispering now, his voice urgent. "You cannot tell anyone here about that. This isn't just a hospital. It's a base hospital. For bluecoats. They'd string you up if they knew, and they'd string me up for allowing you in—understand?"

She paused, as if to think. "But...you ain't stringing me up? Why?"

He was taken aback. Perhaps he shouldn't have been. Of course she'd ask that.

It was his fault for not having an answer ready.

"I...I..." at last, his snatching turned a result. "I'm a doctor. In training. A...a medic. My job is to save lives." He sighed. "I see nothing productive in turning you in. They betrayed you. So I guess... I guess you've suffered enough."

Uncle Ed noticed a wooden crutch leaned by the door.

"What's that?" he called, from the couch.

"I bought it this morning," Reggie bustled about in the motel kitchen, trying to scrounge something up. As of late, he'd been learning the many uses of apples. "Don't worry. It'll be gone soon."