Oliver Twisted

Pins and Needles, Part II

It was my first resort. I didn't even think about it. I didn't even know that my hand had wrapped around the thing. I just closed my eyes and opened them and he was on the ground.

Reggie's mind was fried, but that didn't stop his sleep from being tainted and fitful. All night he tossed and turned, grasping to justify the unjustifiable. His thoughts were a treadmill, racing a thousand miles an hour and taking him nowhere. There was no fitting conclusion to be reached.

A learned, now hardwired reflex had stolen his best friend. And to add insult, it seemed just before his death, Mouse had learned that reflex too.

He was the one person I wanted to keep away from it all. And I couldn't even do that... He brought a gun. Was he expecting me to do what I did? Was he planning to use it even if I didn't? And if it's the first—how did he know? I didn't even know that I was gonna— What...

What do I look like to other people?

What did I look like to my friends?

He woke on his cot, and dawn stung his eyes. The sun was at just the right position to flood the nearest window. It was a coppery color, not the perky bright yellow of stereotype. Perhaps the windowpane was so dirty it stained the light. Or perhaps Thomasia was so cursed, even nature sought to punish it.

Reggie lifted his gaze to the craggy, paint-chipped ceiling. His mattress felt like concrete at his back. And his puny, deflated pillow wasn't much better.

A few beds down, he could hear two low voices. A couple soldiers were talking.

Toward the end, some of the conversation made its way over.

"I'm glad I didn't die back there. At least now I have time to clear my conscience. Trying to kill a man—that's no way to meet God."

He thought of Mouse—his struggled, pitiful grip on the gun.

Look what you did.

What a great influence you were.

Mouse...

I hope you're okay.

Mister Collier checked on Reggie around noon, upon clocking in.

"Late start," he explained, winded. "Hope all's well."

"Yeah," Reggie mumbled. "Physically I'm fine."

"Oh-no," Mister Collier winced, catching the subtle implication. "I hope all this hasn't been too much."

"Na, I'm...pretty resilient." Reggie mused, settling back with a hollow sigh. "Thanks."

Mister Collier swiveled to leave, but the boy's voice grabbed him by the sleeve and held him.

"Why do you work here?"

"Pardon?"

"This is a patchup station fer bluecoats," he adjusted his speaking to sound more like a kid. "You seen what them bluecoats are doing?"

"I've seen my share from both sides."

"I mean, the rebels'r only fighting back. They're the lesser of two evils, from what I've seen. And you seem like a fairly nice person, so I just thought I'd let you know. Seems you're helping out the wrong side."

Mister Collier was quiet. "If this is your way of telling me you're a rebel, I'd beg you to keep it to yourself. I've nothing against them, personally. But there are men here who'd kill you just fer saying that, let alone having ties."