Milk Cartons

Matt bit his lip and said nothing.

"It shouldn't've taken nearly that long," Reichert went on. "Theyhad to have heard me. I mean I was screaming my lungs out as long as I could. I screamed until my voice gave out. How could they not possibly hear that? If they were really looking that hard? I swear I saw daylight. They must've heard me."

Matt still didn't speak, this time because he didn't think correcting him would be a good idea. Jim, the fireman, had given a few more details about Reichert's injuries and recovery, so he realized what was wrong with what Reichert was saying.

"But that can't be right," Reichert murmured after another moment, and his brow furrowed. "They tell me my lung was collapsed, and I wouldn't've been able to scream, at least not nearly that long. They said they didn't hear any screaming, and why would they lie about that? They said I was in such a space there was no way to get at me until they moved this huge load of shit from above me, and there was no way daylight could've reached in. If there was daylight, and I was screaming, they would've noticed. They said the only reason they found me was because they just found me. They actually thought I was a body and were bringing a bag for me. Then the guy who called out that they got a body thinks he sees my finger twitch, and surely he didn't really see that, but maybe?-he puts his fingers to my neck, at least what he can see of it, because I'm so bloody and dirty he can't see my face, and holy shit, there's a pulse. They say they didn't believe him when he yelled that they have a live one. Because it's been three days, and there's nobody else. They're looking for just bodies and remains by now. Sure, theyhope after just three days maybe there are others, but three days searching for nothing..."

He rubbed his finger against the glass and his perplexed look grew. "They say with that head injury I was likely unconscious the whole time. They said they were calling out for survivors the whole time, and no one responded. I know they're not lying. How come I remember screaming if I didn't? Why do I think I saw daylight? Why didn't I hear them yelling? I could've sworn I screamed until I couldn't anymore..."

"Stuff like this does weird things with your memory," Matt said. "It's not strange. You're not the first one."

"There must've been more people in there. Ican't be the only one who lived through it. They spent three days looking for me and who knows how long just digging me out. I had a fucking steel girder on me, who knows how long it took to get rid of that. It must've been hours. How many people can you rescue in hours? In three days? All that time they spent on me they could've been digging up who knows how many other people. Why didn't they? Why'd they spend so fucking long on me?"

"There was nobody else to dig out," Matt said.

"That's bullshit. There had to be somebody else. I'm a cop so I'm a priority, is it? Cops and firefighters first?"

"That's not how it was and you know it."

"I don't know it. It makes sense. I couldn't blame them. Except why they wasted so much time digging me out when there were God knows how many firefighters, Port Authority cops-Christ-waiters, secretaries, janitors-needing out a lot more than me. I can't imagine how many they could've dug out instead of me."

"There was nobody else to dig out. You were the only one. They weren't digging just where you were, it was everywhere, and you were the only one left."

"Bullshit. I could've held on for how many more hours, days, while they dug out the others. I don't believe I was the only one because it makes no sense."

"Not everything makes sense. You were the only one. Did Jim tell you your heart stopped at least three times on the way to the hospital? You would've been dead if they'd waited one more hour."

"Yeah, well, big loss. They could've done something a lot more useful than waste time on me."

"That's bullshit. You think you're the only one who couldn't believe you were the only one? You know that by the time they dug you out, they figured there was nobody else? They had every reason to drag their feet getting you out because you must've been dead, but they didn't. And you know what, they would've hurried to dig you out whether you'd done something useful or not."

"Fucking useful, my ass."

"You saved at least three people, maybe more, you do remember that, right?"

"That's a fucking load of bullshit. They would've gotten out just fine whether I picked them up or not."

"Jesus, are you really that blind? Do you really think you'rethat insignificant? What the hell happened? I thought you felt guilty before, I never imagined any of this."

"Yeah, well, have a skyscraper fall on your head and then ask me what happened! I had the day off. I slept in. You know what woke me up, the only reason I got up at all? Sirens. I heard sirens. You know what my first thought was? 'Goddamn sirens.' I was pissed off that they woke me up on my day off. How dare they wake me up on my day off. So typical. Can't get back to sleep with all those fucking sirens, so I get up too early. Thing is, I don't know yet it's too late. Turn on the TV, don't even pay attention to it, get the orange juice and drink it right from the carton because I'm lazy that way. Look at the TV and think it's weird that they're showing some kind of action movie, I could've sworn this was the news. Huh, that's even weirder, it's the World Trade Center and it's on fire. It looks so real. How did they do that, computers? I've never heard of this movie before, what is it?Armageddon? I don't remember this scene. There's no Bruce Willis. Why are they showing it on the news? They even made it look like a news broadcast.

"Then it occurs to me to change the channel. Same movie. Third channel, same movie. That's how slow I was that morning, thinking, thishas to be some kind of weird media event I'm not aware of, likeWar Of The Worlds or something. I notice the sirens are still going. Why are there so many sirens?Then it occurs to me to check out that lovely view you like so much, because you can see the Towers from where I live, if you lean forward and turn your head just right. And you know what really, really stupid fucking thing I think first? 'Holy Christ, they're filming it live, it looks real.' Second thing I think is, 'Holy Christ, this must be the world's weirdest dream, seeing a TV program out my window.' Granted, give me credit it took me a microsecond to think that before Ifinally got it. I think you know the rest."

He downed his third drink. Matt hesitated before pouring him a fourth, unsure if it would be a good idea, though, at least if he were just talking, he couldn't be out doing anything stupid. Reichert took a sip and coughed as if to clear his throat.

"Because shit like that doesnot really happen. I don't think I believed it until I got there. I go running on foot, believe it or not, because my car is in the shop, not that I'd've had the faintest notion to drive the thing now anyway. Practically get run over by the only other car in the area, the only other guy later than I am, and jump in. This patrol cop is telling me airplanes ran into them,on purpose. Who the hell does that? Am I in some kind of really weird movie and I don't know it? They can't make a moviethis real. I wonder if maybe David Copperfield is around somewhere and that's why I can see only one Tower when I look up. Smoke and mirrors. Giant fucking mirrors!"

Another barking laugh, though this one wasn't as convincing as before. "I'm too shocked to think something that logical. I just think I must be seeing things. Stop looking up and start looking around. Something hits the ground right in front of me. I can't tell you what it was, because after it hit, I couldn't recognize it anymore. Stop looking at that and start looking around, and try to dodge and duck, because there's another one, and there's another one. I know what they are by now but I still can't recognize them. Smoke parts a bit, I see the bottom of the North Tower. And I think, Jesus, Matt was right, it's beautiful. Except that smoke is pouring out of it, and the windows are broken, and there's red everywhere." He sipped and then looked at his drink as if curious about what it was. "You know the rest."

"Doyou know the rest? Because I know three people, maybe even seven or eight, who insist they wouldn't be here without you. It's not my opinion. They say it. I don't see why you can't see that."

"Three lousy people, so what. I should've gotten more. If I hadn't gotten the fucking day off..."

"Just three people wasn't lousy to you way back when. Remember Kitty, remember, 'If I help just one person, one time'-? Where did that Justin go? And you told me yourself why you got the day off, you talked a guy in a bank into letting out the hostages and putting down his gun. September 10th. You said it took you over three hours. You aren't even a hostage negotiator. If that isn't a reason to get the next day off and sleep in, I don't know what is."

"Maybe itwas, until airplanes started flying into buildings. There's no reason to sleep through that."

"Keep coming up with excuses to beat yourself in the head. Like you would've known it would happen. Three thousand people died becausethey didn't know it would happen. If you're that stupid and ignorant for not knowing ahead of time, then so were they. Are you ready to say that?"

"Those were people who couldn't've known any better and weren't expected to do any better. Police, firefighters, they're supposed to know better."

"Hundreds of those three thousand were police and firefighters. Try again."

Reichert fell silent. He rubbed his wrist against his eye and Matt could tell he was getting tired. His face pinched and he flexed his knee again; Matt guessed that the adrenaline had at last worn off. He very lightly placed his hand on it, as if that might do anything; Reichert's shoulders slumped and he hung his head over the glass. His breath hitched.

"Why did they take so fucking long to find me," he said, his voice barely audible. "Why did they waste all that time at all." Another hitch; he lifted his hands and the glass fell to the floor, spilling brandy across the carpet; he didn't seem to notice. He held his hands up in front of him as Matt imagined he'd done after grasping the heated metal beam.

"It doesn't make any sense. I've gone over it all in my head a thousand times and it makes no sense. Why it took so long. Why they bothered. Why I could swear I was screaming but I wasn't. Why I was the only one. None of it makes sense." He lifted his head now; Matt bit his lip again to see the tears streaming down his face. He hadn't even known he was crying until now. Reichert's shoulders started shaking as he had earlier; the tremor traveled down his arms, until it reached his fingers themselves.

"I keep thinking, maybe it never happened at all," he said, his voice shaking as well. "Maybe I dreamt it. Maybe I haven't woken up yet. It's still September 11th and I'm still sleeping in. Crazy dream. I've never had a dream that went on so long. Maybe I'll wake up soon." His breath caught and for a second he couldn't speak. "Maybe I'm still buried alive. Maybe I haven't been found yet. It's still September 11th and I'm still buried and screaming, or trying to. Or it's September 12th, September 13th, however long. Maybe they're still digging and maybe I won't even ever get out alive. Maybe I'm dreaming while I'm buried. Maybe I dreamt the whole past year." He lifted his head to look at Matt, and the strange, hunted look had returned to his eyes. "Maybe I'm dreaming all this right now. I don't know how to wake up. What do I do to wake up? How come it's going on so long? How do I tell if any of this is real or not? I want to wake up. I'm fucking tired of this."

An odd sound started coming from his throat. It took Matt a moment to realize it was a whine. From the sound of it, it was going to get higher and louder the longer it went on, like a teakettle or a siren. He shifted on the couch to face Reichert and grasped his wrists hard enough to pinch; Reichert's stare had moved to his hands, as if he saw something on them that he couldn't bear to see, but now his eyes flicked back to Matt's face, and the odd sound abruptly halted. Matt made a point of staring at him hard for a moment in silence, to make sure he really had his attention; when he determined that he did, he slowly lowered Reichert's hands, loosening but keeping his grip.

"Justin," he said; he couldn't remember the last time he'd directly called him by his name, so it sounded odd coming off his tongue in this manner. Reichert blinked as if he were unused to hearing it as well. "This is real," Matt said, keeping his eyes fixed on the detective's. "You're really sitting here talking with me. It all really happened. They really fell. You were really there, and that really happened. You were really buried. They really dug you out. You're really free. You're really awake and you're really here." He slipped his hands forward to hold Reichert's, squeezing his thumbs against Reichert's palms until he winced. "Whenever you start wondering what's real and what's not..." He unlatched the Velcro fasteners of Reichert's gloves and slipped them off, cradling the detective's bare hands in his own. White puckered furrows marred his palms; they were so deep, Matt had to wonder how he'd even regained full use of his hands at all, how he could still stretch and flex his fingers, yet somehow he could. He wondered just how much everything hurt, and how Reichert had gone this long without saying a word. He doubted most people could make it that long without breaking down completely.

He lifted Reichert's scarred hands, palms toward the detective's eyes so he had to look at them; Reichert cringed, but didn't look away.

"Whenever you start wondering what's real and what's not," Matt repeated himself, "look at these, and you'll know. It was real, and now it's over."

Reichert's eyes brimmed and his chest started hitching. His fingers curled around Matt's, hiding the scars again. Matt withdrew his hands to clasp them around both of Reichert's, and touched his forehead to the other man's; Reichert squinched his eyes shut so the tears spilled out and a sob escaped his throat. His arms went around Matt and he dragged him toward himself so violently that Matt had to grab at the edge of the table to keep from falling; he blinked to find Reichert's face buried against his shoulder, his entire body racked with sobs which Matt knew must have been accumulating, and getting shoved back down, for months. He felt his own eyes sting at the piteous sounds Reichert let out, and wrapped his arms around him as well, letting him cry and not saying anything else to stop it. Sometimes the only way for something to end was to let it wear itself out. He had the feeling this would go on much longer than a regular, trivial bout of crying, but didn't care; he'd been patient before, he could be patient again.

"What took them so long?" Reichert's voice came cracking and muffled against him as he shook. "Why am I the only one? What took them so long...?"

* * * * *

Matt didn't sleep. Sleep refused to come, but he didn't care. Reichert slept, probably because of the hours of sobbing which had at last worn themselves out, possibly also because of the brandy, likely as well because he obviously hadn't slept a full night in months. Matt stared at his face the entire evening and night, for that was how long he slept, and Matt didn't bother waking him. After the first hour, his sleep had grown fitful; Matt watched his hands start to twitch, then his face, his closed eyes screwing up as if he were cringing at something he was seeing. His breath grew faster, and a small moan escaped him. Matt reached out to clasp his hands and squeeze them again, until the touch seemed to reach through to him, at which the building tension slowly left his muscles, the whimper faded, and his face and hands relaxed. From the looks of it, either he didn't dream more, or else his dreams were more pleasant, throughout the rest of his sleep; though whenever he seemed to tense again, Matt made sure to caress his hands, just in case.

It was only when daylight had begun to filter through the window that Reichert dragged his eyes open. He blinked blearily at Matt a few times, furrowing his brow, seeming vaguely confused; Matt offered him a smile he didn't quite feel, and touched his cheek.

"You're really here," he murmured.

Another blink. Matt had thought he still wasn't fully awake, but the way his eyes flooded with tears at these three words told him otherwise. He reached across the foldout bed-Matt had taken it out just as Reichert's crying was fading, his eyes fluttering as he struggled futilely to stay awake-and Matt slid toward him so they embraced. Reichert burrowed his head against his shoulder again and they stayed this way for some time; Matt felt him shaking, but it gradually faded to the merest tremor.

"What time is it?" Reichert asked, his voice slightly hoarse, his eyes flicking toward the light starting to stream through the window.

"Who cares," Matt replied. "They gave you the eleventh off, look how that went, so they can afford to give you another stupid day off."

Reichert blinked. Matt bit the inside of his mouth, wondering if the comment had been a bad one. For a few seconds the detective didn't seem to know how to respond; he let out a hiccupping sound and started shaking and crying, though Matt realized, with some surprise, that he was actually laughing, or, rather, he was doing both. He lifted a hand to rub at his eyes, then drew it back and stared at his palm as if not remembering what happened to his gloves. He then noticed he was still in his dress uniform, and the look on his face grew very strange. He stared at his chest and arms like they belonged to someone else, or like he'd never seen a police uniform before. For the first time Matt noticed the black band wrapping around his badge.

"Why did you run?" he asked.

Reichert gave up on trying to figure out why he looked the way he did, and resumed rubbing his eyes. He made a face.

"I'm not sure. I want to say because I didn't belong there. But...I don't know." He lowered his hands and his eyes grew vague. "They started calling names and I couldn't breathe all of a sudden. Like my lungs had turned inside out. I thought my heart would beat itself out; it felt like it was being crushed. There were too many people around. All these uniforms. Police. Firefighters." He shut his eyes and winced; Matt took one hand. "The trees were too tall. Too big a crowd. I had to get out of there." He let out a breath and opened his eyes again, looking both tired and somewhat embarrassed. "I guess I left everyone hanging. Cinderella and her glass slipper. Det. Reichert and his shiny medal. I don't know where my crutch went...I didn't feel my leg or anything, I just had to get out of there so I could breathe. I don't get it, it's not like anything happened."

"You panicked." Reichert frowned at him slightly and Matt shrugged. "No one could blame you. If you didn't want to be there, you shouldn't've had to stay there, anyway."

"Yeah, well..." Reichert grimaced again, and Matt felt his knee against his thigh. "I'm regretting it now. Christ, it's killing me."

Matt put his hand on it again, as if that might do anything. He wasn't prepared for how sharply Reichert flinched back, nearly kicking the bed, and for a brief second was reminded of their first time together. The awful look didn't leave Reichert's face this time; Matt stared at him as he drew his knee up almost to his chest and wrapped his arm around it, cradling his elbow with his other hand.