Limbo

This is the concluding part of my LW debut. I hope you enjoy it. Votes, comments and private feedback are most welcome for this effort.

A shout out to my excellent editor, Bramblethorn, for all her efforts.

"No matter how much suffering you went through, you never wanted to let go of those memories."

― Haruki Murakami

* *

The next few weeks were sobering for Ethan. He made a conscious decision to end his post-divorce spree of one night stands and self-destruction. He had reached the nadir of his life. The only way out was up.

And he was going to take it.

* *

"Another case just came in," said one of the senior doctors, handing him a file.

Ethan groaned. One more kid had swallowed a coin. It was his third for the day. If only parents were more vigilant as to what their kids ate, the ER wouldn't be half as full. He gave a few cursory instructions to the nurse and sent the kid off with her.

He loved all of his job, with the minor exception of his weekly ER rotation. Sure, there was the occasional accident where he could make a real difference, but for the most part he was swabbing crotches and treating sprains.

Still grumbling, he moved to the next privacy curtain. He pulled it aside and saw an equally bored patient.

"So what're you in here for?"

"Nothing," she said sarcastically, her dirty blonde hair hiding one side of her face.

"Nothing?"

"Do I need to say it twice to get through your thick skull?" she said, clearly irritated. "I thought you doctors were smart."

"Who brought her in?" Ethan asked, stepping outside the curtain. A young EMT rushed over with a file.

"She tried to jump off the roof of an apartment complex. A tenant pulled her back just in time. Nothing more than a few cuts and bruises, but we need to keep her for a psych eval."

"I wasn't trying to jump off a roof, fucktard," came a voice from inside the curtain.

"I'll deal with her," said Ethan. He took the file and stepped back in.

"So, Ms Penderghast," he read from the first page. "Do you like standing on the edge of rooftops for the view then?"

"Yes!" she yelled exasperatedly. "I was looking for a good angle for a bird's eye view photo when that dumbass Good Samaritan yanked me back in."

"A photo?"

"Wait," she said, retrieving a large bag from under the bed. She unzipped it and took out a nifty DSLR and an assortment of add-on lenses. "Happy now?"

"You're a photographer?"

"On my better days. Tell you what, go to the waiting room and get me the most recent magazine you have."

Out of curiosity, Ethan fetched the newest TIME magazine off the rack in the adjoining waiting room. His "patient" flipped through a few pages before coming to a full-page spread of the aftermath of heavy shelling in Gaza. She smiled and pointed to the tiny copyright in the corner.

"Samantha Penderghast."

"Sam, if you want to know me better."

"You're with TIME?"

"I'm actually freelance, but I've given stuff for TIME, National Geographic and even some of the better papers. They call me when they need something memorable."

Ethan sat beside her and took a moment to admire the photo. It was almost artistic, the way it captured the smoke rising out of the remains.

"Admit it, you thought I was just another fruitcake with a camera, didn't you?"

"Maybe a little."

There was a sheepish grin on Ethan's face while he skimmed through the rest of her file.

"All right then," he said getting up and straightening himself. "I guess you're free to go now. I don't see anything wrong with you."

"Wish I could say the same," Sam replied.

"I beg your pardon."

"Do you know that photographers, at least good ones, are very perceptive? Most of my photos are days, even weeks, in the making until I find that one perfect moment. I can tell everything about someone by looking at them. The more you try to hide your weakness, the more of an open book you are."

Ethan stopped for a moment. She grinned derisively.

"Your ring finger has a band of light skin, where a wedding ring once was. Your clothes don't look old, yet they're two sizes too large for you. You've lost a lot of weight recently. The most telling thing, though, is your eyes. From the moment you opened the curtain till now, the only time I saw some brightness in them was when we talked. You haven't had much sleep lately, have you?"

"What are you, my shrink?"

"No," she smiled. "Your friend, if you'll let me be."

"Look, I'm sorry you were dragged all the way here for no reason, but I think-"

Ethan was rudely interrupted by the click of Sam's camera. She admired her handiwork on the digital screen behind it.

"Take a look," she offered, turning it towards him. He waved it off.

"That's my empty canvas now. I'm going to make you look much better. Then we'll take another picture. Sort of a before and after."

"I'm flattered, but I'm not in the right place for-"

"Another relationship?" she completed. "Neither am I. No one said anything about friends, though."

He gave up, much to her delight.

"Great then. I have an extra pass to the launch of Neil deGrasse Tyson's new book this Saturday at Strand. Actually I don't, but I'll get one."

Ethan looked utterly bewildered as she planned out his weekend nonchalantly. She looked at his perplexion and broke into a fit of giggles.

"You think I'm one of a kind, just wait till you know me better."

* *

"So, how was it?"

"I'm more confused about black holes now than after I saw Interstellar," Ethan said.

He and Sam strolled down Fifth Avenue. Ethan had his fingers deep inside his pockets to guard against the chilly air. Sam had a scarf wrapped around her neck and wore a sweatshirt from the Rhode Island School of Design.

"Still, you've got to admit, it's fascinating. The idea of what is possibly out there, so far away that no one will ever see."

Ethan's phone began ringing. He took one look at the screen and rejected the call. Sam saw it, but chose to respect his privacy.

"I looked you up," he said. "You missed telling me about the Pulitzer Prize earlier."

"I'm flattered," she beamed.

They walked to Washington Square Park. The pavement was lined with street entertainers. From impromptu artists to jugglers to musicians and all in between. Sam laughed and tipped everybody she passed. Ethan paused to admire a mime couple expertly acting out a scene.

"Don't let the setting fool you. There's some real talent here."

"A painting for the couple?" suggested a sprightly young female artist.

"Actually we're just-"

"Sure, why not?" Sam interjected, shooting him an acid glare for good measure. She dragged a reluctant Ethan to the foliage while the artist set up her easel and palette.

"A little to the right... now put your arm around him. That's more like it," exclaimed the enthusiastic ponytailed artist. She attacked the canvas eagerly.

"While we wait, why don't you tell me a bit about yourself?"

"Shouldn't a real photographer be able to guess?" he chuckled. Her unamused look quashed that. He began after a pause.

"Born and brought up in Greenville, a town upstate. I moved here with Zoe straight after high school. Went to pre med and med at NYU on a scholarship and ten years later, here I am."

"That is like the shortest and most boring biography ever."

"What about you?"

"I'm Irish from my Dad's side. My Mom's side has bits of German, French and Spanish. I'm basically half of Europe in one package. Born and brought up right here. Now, home is where my camera takes me."

They took a break to position themselves to their artist's liking once more. Cicadas spread their sound through the air and bird's chirped their way back to their nests. The road pulsed with the usual traffic.

"It's ready."

The faux couple went to see their likeness on canvas. The painting was incredibly detailed, outlining every curve of skin and contour of muscle against the fading evening light. Sam's portrait equivalent had a broad smile while Ethan's had a bad imitation of one.

Sam paid the artist generously for the truth in her rendition.

* *

A few days later, Sam insisted that Ethan accompany her to the Gagosian to see her friend's latest installation. He went to her loft in Soho, not really sure what to expect. He rang the doorbell and waited. A few second later, an unshaven man in a fedora opened the door.

"Sam's been waiting. I'm Damien, by the way."

Ethan shook hands with his new acquaintance. He was fond of rather flamboyant colours, wearing a trifecta of red, green and blue in the brightest shades conceivable. Simply looking at him for an extended period of time could cause migraines.

He followed him past the hall, covered with an eclectic array of pictures and paintings. There were several with Sam as the central figure of a group.

"She talks a lot about you, and I mean a lot," continued Damien.

The last room on the right was Sam's studio. Damien pushed the door open and ushered Ethan into it. For the first time, he got to see Sam in her element.

Her straw blonde hair was neatly combed and parted, coming down on either side of her face. She wore a figure-hugging top and jeans. The strap of her camera went around her neck and she was intently fiddling with one of the controls at the back. A half smoked joint stuck out of the corner of her mouth.

"Sam, you have a visitor!"

She looked up from her camera and broke into a smile.

"I see you've met Damien. He's a photographer too by the way, mostly fashion. He's what I meant when I said

fruitcake with a camera

earlier."

"Haha. That never gets old," Damien scowled, tossing his fedora onto the bed.

Ethan took a second to get his bearings right. The studio had vivid images and bright colours all around. He shook his disorientation off and asked.

"So are the two of you... involved?"

"God no!" said Damien, doubled up with laughter. "She's not my type."

"A pretty face isn't your type?" Ethan joked back.

"A pretty face, yes," he said plainly. "But not hers. You on the other hand... you I'd take to bed in a heartbeat."

Damien turned to face Sam with a shit-eating grin stretching from ear to ear.

"Give me one night and I'll turn him."

Sam broke into a fresh fit of laughter, as did her fellow photographer. They held each other for support while Ethan turned a shade of crimson.

"He's between relationships at the moment, that's why he's staying with me," she informed him. "Damien's my best friend and a walking stereotype for all fashion photographers."

"Sorry for the rude surprise. Couldn't resist," said Damien, getting back upright. "I hope my being gay isn't an issue with you."

"Not at all," said Ethan hurriedly. "In fact, my sister's gay."

"I'll have to meet her someday."

Ethan smiled weakly, thinking whether he himself shared that wish.

"So you're definitely not gay?" Damien asked, growing more crestfallen when Ethan shook his head. "Not even a bit?"

"Wow, I haven't seen you this upset since we saw The Red Wedding," smirked Samantha, zipping up her DSLR in her bag. "C'mon, Ethan. Let's get going."

"It was nice meeting you, Damien."

"Likewise. Let me know when you're looking for a change of scenery."

"And by change of scenery, you mean?"

"A night of good hard fucking, of course," Damien said with unnerving calm.

Ethan almost sprinted the last few steps out of Sam's loft.

* *

"Don't let Damien get to you. He's a really sweet guy."

The Gagosian gallery was teeming with highbrow artists, even more highbrow critics and the occasional lost outsider. Try as he might, Ethan failed to see the art in onyx carvings of oversized faces, but the sculptures got rave reviews from all present.

"Ethan! Ethan! Meet Alexei, the man behind the art," she said while dragging an anorexic man with a cane. Like everything Samantha did, the enthusiasm exuded from every pore.

"So you're the famous Ethan," he remarked. "Blink twice if you're here against your will."

They laughed and shared pleasantries. Alexei gave them a brief explanation of the art before going off in search of his agent.

"Let me know when you're about to die of boredom," she whispered into his ear.

An hour or so later, they were on the subway. Ethan received a call, he pondered answering it for a short while before swiping it shut. He noticed Sam looking downcast for the first time since he met her. He patted her shoulder.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"It's nothing, just some pseudo-philosophical nonsense."

"Try me. I'm a good listener."

"You mentioned my Pulitzer Prize earlier. Did you see the picture which earned me that medal?"

"The picture of the young boys in Africa. Yes, I remember. They had just been released from a diamond mine."

"Not released," she added glumly. "They had become old enough to understand how much diamonds are worth, maybe even risk smuggling some, so the rebels pulled them out of the mines and put them in their army to die."

"That's horrible."

"Not for me. My photo of them leaving the diamond mines won me the Pulitzer even while they walked towards certain death as child soldiers. My prize is bloodied with their childhood innocence."

Silence reigned for a few minutes before Sam sighed heavily.

"It makes me wonder if the world is one large zero sum game where one person's happiness always comes at the cost of someone else's. Is it never possible for two people to create happiness from nothing?"

Ethan scratched his chin while he pondered the question. A few months back he was sure of the answer, or so he thought.

"I'm the wrong person to ask," he admitted. "Right now, I have a very biased perspective of relationships."

"You're not the only one," she said in a voice so soft that only Ethan heard it. She looked down at the dirty subway floor and resumed fiddling with her camera strap.

"So we're still on for Lorde next week?"

* *

A friend.

Samantha Penderghast had promised him a friend. Her definition of friend involved independent movies, exploring new restaurants and making fun of avant-garde theatre productions. She had an incorrigibly cheerful air about herself, determined to bring a smile to his face.

Over the next few months, Ethan learned to smile again. His colleagues noticed that he no longer looked like an emaciated famine survivor. He went back to working sane hours, or as sane as his rapidly rising career would allow.

He became her perpetual plus one at parties. From rooftops in the Upper East Side to massive yachts in the Hudson, he navigated the zany, eccentric world of art and journalism with Sam as his guide.

At last came the dreaded day when Samantha asked him to be her plus one on a more personal occasion. They were eating at a Japanese fusion place at the time and her request caused a fair amount of sake to spill onto his pants.

"You want me to meet your family?"

"Jeez, you make it sound like a colonoscopy," she laughed. "I don't

want

you do anything, but my parents have been curious about the guy who keeps me busy nowadays. It's my Dad's birthday."

"How many people will be there?" he blurted, dabbing the wet patch on his pants with the nearest serviette.

"My parents and my brother's family, that's all. My brother is deployed in Iraq, but his wife and daughter are here. They're the nicest people you'll meet."

"I'll take your word for it," he said, giving up on rescuing the pants. He lowered his voice and asked. "Don't you think it gives the wrong idea?"

"No one will think we're in a relationship."

"How do you know?"

Samantha put her fork down and took a deep breath. For an instant, Ethan saw that same downcast expression from the subway flit across her face. Inwardly, he cursed his timing.

"I'm sorry," he added hastily. "You don't have to say anything."

"Thanks. It's just that I have good reason not go down that road again."

Before Ethan had a chance to apologise again, Sam flashed her familiar smile and asked the sommelier for a fresh bottle of sake.

* *

"Will you stop acting like a girl? You look fine."

Ethan sat in their rented car a block away from Samantha's brother's home, making sure his tux left the right amount of space in the middle. It was a nice house in Westchester, on a sleepy suburban street. Sam finally convinced him he looked presentable.

They walked up to the door and rang the bell. Two pairs of footsteps, one rapid and light and one of an adult approached. The door swung open and a little girl who could not be more than three stood there.

"Aunt Sam," she squealed and jumped into Sam's arms. She lifted her niece all the way up and kissed her all over the length and breadth of her face.

"Lana! It's been so long. You're even more of an adorable little princess than I remember."

She put her down but kept her in a tight hug. A pleasant looking brunette lady came by.

"Now, now, Lana, let go of your aunt."

"Oh, give it a rest. I'm fine," Sam affirmed, carrying her niece in her arms.

"You must be Ethan," said the lady, extending her hand. "I'm Thalia. I'm sure Sam has filled you in on the rest."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," he said, handing over a bottle of Chave Hermitage Blanc. "Come on in, meet the rest of the tribe."

Ethan obliged. The house was small, but meticulously maintained. Photos aplenty adorned the walls leading to the kitchen and dining space. He paused in front of the main wall and saw a centrepiece photo with an intricately designed frame. It was of Sam, her niece, sister-in-law and presumably her parents and brother. Her brother was dressed in uniform, proudly displaying multiple awards and medals pinned to his chest.

"Don't let his pic fool you. Underneath all that military décor, he's a lovable rascal."

Ethan turned and saw Sam waiting with an outstretched hand. He grasped it and was led to the dining area where a large Belgian chocolate cake with innumerable candles was present. He met and shook hands with Sam's parents. Despite their age, they looked remarkably fit.

"Quick, let me blow out the candles before Ethan has a chance to count them."

There was a laugh and Sam's father blew them all out in three puffs. He cut out four slices and fed three to the ladies waiting. Lana took the last piece and smeared it all over her face.

"Lana," sighed her disapproving mother. Before anyone could prevent her, she took her daughter to the washroom.

"So, Samantha tells us you're a doctor."

"Yes, sir," he affirmed. "I specialise in trauma care."

"Cut the sir out, will you? It's my birthday already. Don't make me feel any older than I am."

Thalia reappeared with a tray full of light snacks. Samantha took the initiative to open the bottle of wine and pour out five glasses.

"You work in the city, I presume?" asked Sam's mother.

"At New York Presbyterian. I've actually got an offer recently from Mount Sinai. They've got a much bigger department for me."

"Cheers to that," said Thalia and toasted.

"Do you have a place of your own in the city? I hear it's a nightmare finding an apartment."

"Right now, it's only a small place near my work. I'll probably need to get a better one if I plan to invite you sometime."

"That sounds like fun."

The pastries and biscuits disappeared in a flash. Thalia dutifully went to refill the tray. She sat down beside Ethan on the couch.

"James told me this is his last tour. He's already lined up a job with a private security firm run by a few ex-army buddies of his."

Everybody took a bite of the food while little Lana crawled onto Sam's lap.

"When is Daddy coming home?"

"He's coming home very soon, Lana, and this time he's coming back for good."