OUTCAST: Trust, Friendship, And Injustice (Beauty 0f Life Book 9)

by Laura Acton

  Dan spotted Charley sitting in the chair and wiping a sweaty brow. Yep, the knockdown kicks came from Charley. He always did possess some Bruce Lee or Chuck Norris fantasy image of himself … liked to show off his self-taught martial arts skills. I was too easily impressed back then, compared to Ripsaw’s skills, Charley is a three-year-old jumping around yelling cowabunga.

  Brogan smirked at him. Wow, Brogan’s gut is roughly the size of a house now. The ringleader of this bunch of shit is a mean asshole. Possessing no self-esteem Snow overcompensates by employing extreme aggression, inflicting pain and preying on weaker and defenseless people, like seniors.

  Dan cursed his bad luck. Fate hated him with a passion. Right out of the police academy he was assigned to the Fourteenth Division, and Brogan became his training officer. I was so damned naïve, although it didn’t take me long to witness the evil side of life, particularly with Brogan as a so-called mentor.

  Understanding the weaker the person appeared, the more brutal these pieces of crap became, Dan refused to display vulnerability, or things would be a hundred times worse. When Al pulled him to a seated position and slammed him back against the wall, Dan held in a groan as pain radiated up and down both arms and across his shoulders.

  Aw crap! This sucks. I need to do something to stop the beating and slow things down to buy time for Alpha Team to find me. Talk … I suck at negotiations, but if I can start them talking, they won’t be hitting me.

  Although Dan recognized what he should do, the shock of being abducted by these men coupled with the mix of physical pain and his recent emotional turmoil made Dan reckless. Too reckless. Disregarding his matured, calm, stoic countenance, the rash, overconfident persona which he used to compensate and safeguard himself when young and scared, the façade these four men knew well, came out in full force.

  “Ya know, Brogan, I asked shit for brains Al in the alley what you wanted with me. But on my jaunty ride here I figured out the five W’s on my own. So, I won’t bother to ask you, bet you couldn’t articulate it anyways.”

  Brogan glared at Broderick. “Always a cocky, little shit who thinks you are smarter and better than everyone else. Well, you’re not!”

  Dan snorted and peered directly at Brogan. “You always did possess an inferiority complex. And guess what? It’s wholly justified.”

  That earned Dan a punch to the jaw. He couldn’t show weakness to these piranhas, so he laughed instead of groaned. “Want me to share my answers? For … what did you like to say? Oh yeah. For shits and giggles.”

  When the four men remained quiet, Dan launched in, “Well, the first W is who? The answer is obvious. You four corrupt assholes are living proof manure can sprout legs and walk.”

  Fueled by the adrenaline of his rage, Brogan instructed Al and Charley to seize Broderick’s shoulders and haul him up against the wall. With his face contorted into a hateful sneer, Snow rammed his fist into the traitor’s eye then kneed him in the abdomen before letting the Internal Affair’s spy crumple to the cement once again. “The only dung here is you. And you won’t be walking out when we’re done with you.”

  Pain radiated through his gut and face, and Dan realized he should drop the cockiness but for some reason he couldn’t. Jon and Nick would say his head was not on straight and they’d be right.

  Dan shifted himself up after Brogan’s violent outburst. “The second W … what do you want from me? Another simple answer which only takes an IQ as low as Robert’s to figure out. Nothing except my death, but your victims always experienced agony, so I expect you want me to suffer first.”

  He noted Charley and Al nodding with smug grins and expected a punch from Robert for his jab at his intelligence. Not receiving one, Dan’s tone became snarky. “Next up … where am I? That one I gotta give to you. Most likely someplace remote knowing your MO.”

  “No one will hear your screams from Brog—” Robert smirked, only to have Brogan backhand him, cutting him off before he could reveal their location.

  “Shut it, Rob,” Brogan growled.

  Dan read into the exchange. Okay, well, that helps a little. We are someplace TRF is likely to find if Brogan doesn’t want them to tell me.

  As Robert slunk back, Dan continued, “That brings us to why? Again, real simple, you want payback because I shut down your extortion and kidnapping operation and put your asses in jail. Oh, and to kill me. Otherwise, why the fuck else would you bring me here?”

  Brogan glared at him. “So far so good, little shit.”

  “But the last W we probably will disagree on the answer. How am I going to get out of this alive?” Dan said.

  “How isn’t a W and you aren’t,” Robert scoffed displaying his ignorance.

  “I beg to differ, moron,” Dan cockily asserted. Receiving another blow, which sent his head whipping to the side, Dan clenched his jaw to avoid crying out. Damn, I need to stop provoking them. What the hell am I thinking?

  Charley cracked his knuckles, itching to beat Broderick until nothing recognizable remained. “So, boy, how do you think you are going to get out of here alive?”

  Not heeding his internal warnings, Dan smiled, causing his split lip to bleed more, and stated with conviction, “Simple. My family will come for me.”

  Al ridiculed him, “Brodickhead, you have no family. You are all alone, and no one will mourn your death if they ever bother to notice you are gone.”

  Brogan laughed. “How pathetic you think General Daddy will give a rat’s ass about you and come to save you. How fucking laughable. We are all aware no one gives a shit if you live or die.”

  Dan stared defiantly at Brogan. I can’t believe I ever was so trusting, gullible, and lonely that I allowed myself to view these men as friends. They are part of the reason I built many of my shields and masks. I will never extend my trust so readily or permit myself, or others be hurt like that again.

  Brogan goaded, “Any last words before I start to make it really hurt?”

  Dan’s emotional state was so off-kilter from the past two days. Otherwise, he would’ve kept his mouth shut. Instead, the lonely, lost teenager who covered all his hurt with cockiness and bravado emerged as he said, “Hell, Brogan, the only way you can hurt me is if you sit on me.”

  Yeah, not the best thing to say. Al slammed his head hard against the block wall, ringing his bell completely. His body slid down the wall to his right as he went into a dazed state.

  “Dammit, Al. I don’t want him unconscious. He can’t feel pain if he is out cold,” Brogan shouted.

  At those words, Dan finally gagged his recklessness as survival training kicked in. Though his shoulders ached from the strain of his hands restrained behind him, Dan lay unmoving. He allowed his unfocused eyes to close and his aching body to go limp. With his attackers unaware of his ability to control his breathing, reprieve came in a faked black-out.

  He listened to Brogan rage at Al for knocking him insensible, but eventually, four sets of boots climbed the stairs leaving him alone. His face, back, and chest throbbed with each breath. His left arm still burned, and both arms hurt from repeatedly slamming on the ground. The zip-ties stung where they bit into his wrists and ankles. Why does bad shit keep happening to me?

  Dan’s mind drifted, seeking a happy place, needing a diversion from his current pain. Semi-conscious and not in full control, he was drawn into memories of his sixteenth birthday and events which led to him becoming a constable. The misperceptions from his youth mixed with corrected accounts derived from recent chats with family, providing him new insight into his past.

  Flashback – Thirteen Years and Three Months Ago – February 9

  Ottawa – General Broderick’s Home – Library – 11:30 a.m.

  Sitting at the desk with his Latin textbook open, Dan knew he should be studying, but the semantic elements of inflection bored him, so he stared out the window after glancing at the clock. Since arriving here five days, fourteen hours, and twenty-six minutes ago, his parents kept him a virtual prisone
r, preventing him from leaving the house for any reason, not even allowing him to go for a single run.

  Becca contracting pneumonia justified their trip, and Dan equated himself to the fifth wheel. The general only brought him along because he didn’t trust him enough to leave him at the base. For the last six and a half years, he lived in the isolated and frozen Special Forces Arctic Training Base Yukon with his father while his mother and sister stayed in Ottawa. Mother and Becca occasionally visited, but they always met in Vancouver.

  In almost seven years, his fourteenth birthday was the only other time he had been allowed to return home. Though for some reason, within four days of arrival, he found himself shipped back to the Arctic again by his mother. The disappointment he witnessed in her eyes as they left, stung as much as if she had slapped him. She despised him and didn’t want him here.

  On the flight back, General Broderick said absolutely nothing to him or anyone else. Dan never figured out what he did wrong to piss him off, but the general became so angry he didn’t rage at him. His powerhouse of a father went totally silent for the entire trip, pacing and clenching his fists.

  The icy glare sent his way every time General-Hates-My-Guts strode past him scared the crap out of Dan. He tried not to flinch when the enraged general drew near. Although his father never hit him, the general’s muscular physique and cold words cut deep, instilled fear, and garnered compliance.

  His father’s furious expression told Dan that General Badass wanted to strike something. Dan worried whatever he did to screw up had been bad enough the general would pummel him. He had quivered with fright, so lost and forsaken on the return flight to SFATB Yukon.

  Isolated at his ice prison, Dan had no friends. Though, not surprising since the Yukon training facility was not designed for families … only Special Forces soldiers. Even if it had been, he would not be granted the time to build a friendship. From zero four hundred to twenty-two hundred hours, every single moment of his day was scripted.

  A non-entity, no one ever asked for his input or desires. He made no decisions … not when he woke, ate, showered, studied, exercised, cleaned his quarters, went to bed, or got a haircut. He didn’t get to choose his clothes, food, or form of entertainment. Hell, he even had to request permission to use the latrine. And God forbid they thought he took too long, someone would come pounding on the door to check on him.

  Due to the remote location, military tutors arranged by his father provided his schooling. Eight hours each day were spent studying literature, history, composition, mathematics, foreign languages, world politics, and military strategy. The strict instructors drilled lessons into him, and if he didn’t perform to expectations, the general dressed him down. The biting words solidified the fact he was inferior and unwanted. Dan never quite met the impossibly high standards, though he tried his damnedest to seek a smidgeon of approval … which he never received.

  His days were bookended with an hour at the rifle range with General Never-Misses, and he spent four hours every day on the obstacle course, running, or lifting weights. On rare occasions, he was allowed to shoot hoops in the gym or play a solitary game of hockey on the frozen pond since none of the soldiers on base wanted anything to do with him.

  His father wanted a perfect soldier, not a son, so his life revolved around preparing to be a soldier. He hated every last minute of it, except the running. Only when out for a jog did he escape his desolate world. With the bracing wind in his face, he would daydream about what life would be like once he reached majority and no longer had to obey every command. He always conformed. It was painful if he defied orders. A lesson he learned early on.

  Pulled from his thoughts as his mother asked, “Danny, today is your sixteenth birthday. Would you like to invite any friends over?”

  He stared at her as a surge of loneliness and anguish washed through him. How can she be so mean? She knows there isn’t a single solitary person to call a friend and no one gives a rat’s ass about me. Usually, she is more considerate, why is she hurting me like this today?

  The answer dawned on Dan. She will never forgive me for not safeguarding Sara. Our shared birthday is a constant reminder I am the cause of Sara’s death. I’m so sorry I failed to protect her. It should’ve been me … the general wishes it was me and not her. I’m unworthy and don’t belong. Her death is all my fault.

  Dan fought the tears which wanted to spill forth. With seven years of practice, he kept his eyes dry, refusing to cry in front of the father who didn’t want him and punished him for living. Apparently, the general didn’t like his non-answer, the expression on his face, or something else about him as he scolded him.

  “Daniel William Broderick, you will answer your mother’s question now. Knock off this surly, silent, attitude,” William commanded.

  In a reactive move, born of experience, Dan clamored out of the chair and came to attention. His long, blond locks fell into his eyes, but he didn’t dare move a muscle to wipe them aside. “Yes, sir. Mother, there is no one I wish to invite.” He inserted ‘I wish’ when the accurate statement was ‘there is no one to invite.’

  “Nobody? There must be someone?” Yvonne replied.

  Pain lanced through him as if his mother inserted a serrated blade into his heart and twisted. He wanted to scream out all his anguish, but instead, he replied rigidly but with a hint of sourness, “No, ma’am there is not.” Evidently, his tone was enough off he received another rebuke.

  William barked, “Do not disrespect your mother again or there will be consequences. What the hell am I going to do with you, Daniel?”

  Do with me? Nothing! Just leave me the fuck alone. Dan almost laughed at his thought. Shit, I am alone. I have been since I killed my sister and all my family’s love and concern evaporated. No one cares one wit about me.

  What I want is to be released from solitary confinement. Nothing I ever do is good enough. My every flaw or slip-up is thrown in my face. Only two more years and I’m out of here. You don’t want me and won’t miss me when I’m gone.

  Dan stayed at rigid attention, and all those thoughts occurred in a split second because he knew he must respond fast. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir. I apologize for the disrespect, Mother. It won’t happen again, sir. May I be excused, sir?”

  He recklessly tempted fate asking to leave the room since he had not finished his Latin coursework. It habitually resulted in a lecture about waiting for your superior to dismiss you and having the discipline to complete responsibilities before seeking pleasure. Afterward, he would be required to perform hundreds of push-ups, sit-ups, or pull-ups and sometimes all three. But Dan needed to escape to his bedroom … tears of sorrow and loneliness threatened to spill and holding them back became near impossible.

  As the general launched into a diatribe, Dan struggled to push down his pain and hold back his tears. No crying allowed. Man-up. Bawling is for babies. After a ten-minute lecture followed by two hundred push-ups, General Doesn’t-Want-Me-For-a-Son sent him to his room with a stern warning and orders to adjust his attitude before returning to his studies.

  General Broderick’s Home – Dan’s Bedroom – 11:45 a.m.

  Dan softly closed his door even though he wanted to slam it. He lay on his bed, curled up tightly, and buried his face in his pillow to muffle his sobs. He never allowed anyone to witness him crying, but he wept often.

  Desolate, guilt-ridden, frightened, lonely, and unloved, Dan prayed to be numb, but the pain never ended. He was nothing to anybody … abandoned by his family and so utterly alone.

  Ego semper solum. Sono sempre solo. Je suis toujours seul. No matter if it were Latin, Italian, or French, Dan’s thoughts all translated to … I am always alone.

  One Step Forward and Half Step Back

  7

  Thirteen Years and Three Months Ago – February 9

  General Broderick’s Home – Library – 11:45 a.m.

  After Danny left the room, Yvonne’s heart ached for not realizing how her question would
hurt her son, and William’s response made matters worse. William isn’t the only one to misstep with Danny. I created a fine mess with my thoughtless inquiry. I wish to comfort him, but he will reject me as he does every time I attempt to display my love for him.

  Turning to her husband, Yvonne said, “I thought he still kept in touch with Ricky Miller and Mike McDermott.”

  William’s heart sank as he realized he failed his son again. He shook his head. “Daniel stopped writing to them after Dupont abused him. I meant to tell you, but our conversations back then were always so short, and we focused on more important matters.”

  Yvonne’s eyes teared up recalling the hateful, evil sergeant who preyed on their eleven-year-old son while William was here for three months taking care of her. William is correct regarding the duration and content of our calls after he returned to the Yukon base. Due to my darn CFS, my strength and endurance was minimal, and our topic of focus was Danny’s mental and physical health, leaving little or no time to discuss other items.

  Moving to the desk, Yvonne obtained a tissue to dry her eyes. “I should’ve asked you about that privately before querying him. A sixteen-year-old boy shouldn’t be alone on his birthday. He is so lonely. I only wanted him to invite a friend over for some fun.

  “I wish at least one of his cousins could be here to entertain Danny. But Scott, Adam, and Jeff are unable to take leave. Zach, Kyle, and Amelia are down with bronchitis. Tiffany’s and Pamela’s newborns shouldn’t be exposed to Becca, and Ashely is away at university.”

  William nodded. “I know you tried to arrange a party, but he never wants to celebrate. He dutifully opens his gifts and writes thank you notes, but he never uses the items sent … except for the music player Scott sent him loaded with heavy-metal and classic rock music.”