The Way Back

Chapter 20

Rolling over and cracking open my eyelids, I stare at Tris's empty pillow across from me. It hasn't been touched since I reached over one night and clutched it against my chest when the pain of losing her was fresh. The memory is detached because I was crying then over her death, which I was uncertain about, and now I know the truth, that she is alive.

And she is coming home.

It won't be long before she will be lying in her usual spot, grinning at me from across the bed and proving to me that life is still worth living despite all the heartache and despair.

I will have that normalcy back soon. I know I will.

Smiling to myself, I scoot over and lie on her side of the bed, burying my face in the pillow to breathe in her scent. It no longer remains, but I stay in my spot and pretend like it does anyway.

I lower my gaze to my hand, which has been freshly bandaged—well, as fresh as it could be considering I had it changed when I left the hospital. The gauze is dirty and tangled and has splotches of black all over from gunpowder.

I still haven't looked at my now deformed hand without the bandage. When the doctor switched it out for a newer one, I avoided the sight. Maybe I do feel more seriously about my missing finger than I first did. Maybe now I recognize that my pinkie is never coming back, a body part I have had since I was born.

My instinct is to ignore it, like if I don't face that issue it will go away. But one of these days I will have to remove the gauze that hides my partial finger, and I will have to get used to the stares.

It could be worse, I suppose. It could have been my index finger, therefore my trigger finger. It could have been my dominant hand. It could have gotten cut off entirely, and I could be left without a nub.

I wonder what Tris will think, if she will act concerned or if she will pretend my finger isn't even missing. I don't know which one I want, but I doubt she will say a word about it, at least for a while. The last thing she would worry about when she returned home is how I feel about a minor amputation. There are more important issues in the world.

Still, I hope she expresses her gratitude when I tell her how I lost it. I did give it up for her, after all.

Who am I kidding? This is not what I should be thinking about, but when my wife is now so close to home that she could be right outside the fence for all I know, I need a distraction from the anticipation.

With a stretch and a yawn, I get out of bed. After running through my morning routine and getting dressed, I head to the door, just as a knock sounds from the other side of it. This must be urgent.

Flinging the door open, I find Uriah standing there with wild eyes and disheveled hair, like he awoke not five minutes ago and ran to my apartment, if he even did manage to sleep. He hasn't been the same happy-go-lucky Uriah since Lynn passed a few days ago.

"Four," he breathes. "They found Tris."

My heart stops, and I have to grab onto the door frame to keep myself upright. This is surreal.

"Where?!" I blurt out.

"In a hospital owned by the Incendiaries not far from Chicago, in Hammond, Indiana. She walked right in with a bullet in her leg a couple minutes ago. She said that she needed you to send help out to some place called Fort Wayne, Indiana, where a bunch of Abnegation are." He gestures to the tablet in his hand. "I'm messaging the hospital right now. What should I say?"