They paused outside of the door, waiting for Cassidy and Brandon to catch up. Before Aaron unlocked the door, Cadence reminded them, “He’s in pretty bad shape, but he’s still a cantankerous old fart, so stay back. And, Brandon, whatever you plan to say to him, don’t expect any sort of polite response.”
“I understand,” Brandon replied, nodding. He looked at Cassidy, who smiled at him reassuringly and squeezed his arm, before Aaron opened the door and they all made their way into the tiny cell.
Sam lay on a hospital gurney, which took up the majority of the space. He was hooked up to an oxygen machine and a heart rate monitor, both of which were making their respective whirring and beeping noises. His head was propped up a bit, and he appeared to be sleeping, though it was difficult to see in the poorly lit room. Even though Cadence pulled the chain to turn on the bare light bulb that hung from a chain in the middle of the room, it did little in the way of illumination.
Brandon stood with them by the door for a second, surveying the man on the cot. His face was misshapen, swollen, and bruised. He still had dried blood on the side of his head and his hair was matted on one side. Though he had a thin blanket covering his body, it was obvious his legs were twisted beneath, and one arm hung limply as if it were no longer of any use; he certainly didn’t look like a formidable opponent now.
Cadence wrapped her arms around her sister, partially to protect her but mostly for comfort; this couldn’t be easy for her either. Though she was concerned this new independent Cassidy might pull away, instead she placed both hands on her big sister’s arms and pulled her closer, and Cadence could see she had tears forming in her eyes.
After a moment, Brandon took a few steps forward, standing next to Sam’s bed. He waited patiently as if staring at the Hunter long enough would cause him to open his eyes. Eventually, without opening them, Sam said, “Whatcha staring at, boy?” in his gruff voice, though the weariness was evident in each word.
Brandon swallowed hard, surprised that the man was awake. “You the Cowboy Sam who shot Elliott?” he asked after a moment to compose himself.
Sam opened his eyes slowly. A flicker of recognition crossed his face, and then he slowly closed his eyes again before replying, “That’s me. What’s left of me, anyhow.”
Glancing over his broken body, Brandon wanted to feel a bit of sympathy for what he was going through, but his disdain for what this man had dared to do was atrocious, and all he felt was rage. “How could you do that?” he asked, slowly shaking his head. “How could you turn a gun on one of your own? How could you pull the trigger knowing you were killing one of your own teammates?”
Sam made a noise that sounded a bit like a sigh crossed with a groan of pain. He opened his eyes again and moved his head and shoulders as if he were attempting to sit up. Realizing that wasn’t going to happen, he stopped, and looking Brandon in the eyes, he said simply, “The need for revenge will make you do all sorts of things, boy.”
That was not the answer Brandon was expecting, and his face crinkled up as he considered the response. “Revenge? For what? Elliott never did anything to you.”
“No, that’s true,” Sam admitted nonchalantly. “But she did.” He gestured in Cadence’s general direction. “And he got in the way. That’s all. Pure and simple.”
Brandon turned and looked at Cadence, a questioning expression on his face. “All I did was take out a Vampire that needed to be destroyed,” Cadence explained as calmly as she could.
“And with him, you destroyed my only chance at getting revenge for the death of my family member that Henry slaughtered in cold blood,” Sam said, his voice as loud as it had been since the plane crash. “You see, boy, revenge is a funny thing. It’ll make you do all kinds of stupid things. I let my anger at Cadence cloud my judgment, and I took it out on Elliott because he was in the way. Now, I’m laying here, praying to die, knowing I can’t, knowing God wouldn’t let me even if it were possible.”
“Does that mean you’re sorry you killed Elliott?” Brandon asked.
“No, it means he’s sorry Cadence didn’t kill him, that’s all,” Cassidy said, taking a step forward.
Sam could barely see her from where he lay, but he stared in her general direction for quite some time before saying, “Don’t matter. Even if I was sorry, they’d never believe me. I’ll just lay her in agony for the next several years ‘til my body finally puts itself back together. Then… who knows. These walls may be my home for the rest of my life.”
“Was it worth it?” Brandon asked, gritting his teeth.
Sam didn’t answer, though. Closing his eyes, he said, “Sorry ‘bout your dad, boy. I know what it’s like to lose your family. Happened to me twice. Hope you can get Giovani. Punk deserves to die.”
“How did you know Elliot was my dad?” Brandon asked, surprised.
For the first time in days, Sam cracked a small smile. “Cause you look just like ‘im.” He turned his head toward the wall, eyes still shut, an indication that the conversation was over.
Brandon was clearly frustrated; he hadn’t gotten the answers he wanted. He hadn’t even gotten an apology, not really. But he realized that would have to come on a different day because, clearly, Sam was done talking. With one last shake of his head and a piercing stare at the sleeping cowboy, he turned to go, secretly glad Sam had survived the airplane crash, and Cadence and Aaron were letting him suffer.
