Reborn

by Meredith Wild

  I want to drag her out of the apartment so we can catch up more. So I can feel like a normal person for a minute, but I know it’ll only complicate things for me. So I put it off for another time.

  “I’m running out, Bree. I’ll see you in a bit.”

  She flips me a peace sign without breaking her trance with the screen.

  On the outside, the Trinity House doesn’t seem as magical as the website suggests. Set between two storefronts with simple signage—a small banner in the window—the place seems unremarkable.

  “I’ll be right back,” I say. “I shouldn’t be long.”

  Makanga pulls a grapefruit out of the center console and starts to peel it. “Take your time. I’ll be here.”

  I push through the center’s double doors and see a couple of middle-aged men sitting in the waiting room. A young woman sits at the reception desk.

  “How can I help you?”

  “I’m trying to find out some information about a man who was in your program a few years ago.”

  Her lips form a small pout. “I’m sorry. I can’t share patient information. It’s company policy.”

  “I understand.” I’m not ready to give up yet, though. “It’s actually really important. He’s been missing, and I’m trying to help his family track down anything I can find about where he might have gone.”

  She hums and looks around her desk, as if the answers might be there. She doesn’t seem extremely bright. Then her eyes light up.

  “Would you like to talk to the director? She’s almost always traveling, but she’s here today. Maybe she could help?”

  I release an audible sigh. “That would be amazing. Thank you so much.”

  She lifts a pen attached to the clipboard between us and taps on the paper with it. “Can you just sign in here? She should be with you shortly.”

  I take the pen and begin to write Isab—

  I freeze.

  I finish writing Isabel…and then scrawl Santos for my last name.

  I drop the pen and find a seat in the waiting room. I wonder where the courtyard is and whether Tristan spent much time here before starting his new life. Several minutes later the receptionist calls my name, leads me deeper into the building, and pauses outside the director’s office.

  She raps lightly on the door, and the redhead seated behind an exceptionally clean desk turns away from her computer screen and rises. I take a couple of steps inside.

  “Hi,” I say, suddenly paralyzed by the intense blue-eyed stare she’s pinned on me.

  She offers an outstretched hand. “I’m Jude McKenna. You must be Isabel.” Her fingers are cold, and her grip is solid. “Have a seat.”

  The receptionist disappears, leaving the door ajar, and we both sit. The office seems new with clean beige walls and matching rugs. The woman before me doesn’t blend in with her surroundings though. Her hair is pulled back into a severe bun, which does little to diminish her natural beauty. Impeccably dressed, she could be a model straight out of a women’s work fashion catalogue with her fitted trousers and turtleneck blouse. She belongs in the Capitol building, not here.

  “How can I help you? Kelly said you were inquiring about a patient.”

  “Yes, I am.” A knot of anxiety lodges in my throat. I’m at a loss for words. This all suddenly feels wrong.

  “His name?”

  I blink rapidly. “Um, Tristan Stone.”

  Her nostrils flare slightly. “Doesn’t ring a bell. Are you family?”

  “No.”

  “Girlfriend?”

  My jaw opens, and then I clamp it shut. She smiles, but it soon disappears. She turns toward her computer and clicks her mouse a few times. The privacy screen keeps me from seeing anything she’s doing.

  “Have you checked with the VA?”

  I swallow over the anxiety building with each passing second. “No, he came here. I know he did.”

  “And then…you lost touch?”

  “Right. He just kind of disappeared after he came back from his last deployment. I thought maybe you could tell me something. Last-known address. Anything, really.”

  She turns away from the screen and faces me again. “If it were a police matter, I could help. But unfortunately I can’t share patient information with you.” She pauses a moment, and then her voice softens slightly. “I can tell you that our center specifically caters to veterans dealing with the worst kinds of trauma. Sometimes the only path forward is to start over.”

  I stare into my lap and try to mask the blow of those words, because nothing could describe Tristan better. He’d suffered the worst kind of trauma. And he thought the only choice was to start over…as a trained killer. Except I suspect that path chose him, not the other way around.

  I lift my gaze. “I suppose you’re right. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.” I stand to go. This woman’s vibe is unsettling. Everything about the meeting is. I already feel as if I’ve said too much. Shared too much. What if I’ve left a trail somehow? What if the people who want me dead find out I was here?

  “Miss Foster?”

  My grip tightens on the door. Suddenly I can hardly breathe. The sound of my name—my real name—has sucked all the oxygen out of the room. All my instincts are screaming for me to get out of here.

  She looks me over thoroughly. “I can have Kelly try to track him down. If she makes contact, she could let him know someone is looking for him if you think that might help.”

  “Sure,” I say quickly just to end the conversation. “That would be wonderful.”

  “Just leave your contact info with her on your way out.”

  “I’ll be sure to.” I return her polite smile and hurry down the hall.

  I don’t bother leaving my info at the front desk. I see Makanga outside, his body reclined in the seat, apparently napping. I go to the car and yank hard on the wire. Makanga bolts up and reaches over, letting me in.

  I drop into the seat and slam the door behind me. “Fix your fucking car.”

  “I guess it didn’t go so well in there.”

  “Just… Let’s go.”

  As he starts the engine and puts us into motion, I catch Director McKenna’s figure hovering just beyond the doors, watching us drive away.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Tristan

  Isabel is bait. Temptation of the best and worst kind. Ignoring my past was easy enough when I didn’t have a beautiful, charismatic woman luring me into it. Hell, maybe she’s a siren leading me to my death—or at least much further down the rabbit hole than I ever imagined I’d go.

  As soon as I begin to doubt the journey, curiosity tests the edges of my resolve and I find myself reaching for more. I’m compelled to rip away the gauze that’s made everything dark and fuzzy for so long. Which is exactly why I’m sitting outside the Patriot’s Fare Restaurant & Bar waiting for Zachary Brennan to get off his shift. If I bail, his wife will tell him an old buddy stopped by looking for him. He’ll never know for sure it was me. And I’ll never know about the massacre that sent us both home three years ago.

  I spent most of the night driving around DC. I stopped at a few monuments. Admired them in their illuminated wonder. Drifted back into my own turmoil and drove some more. Then I stopped at a little diner to recaffeinate and did what I probably should have done a long time ago. I pulled up an internet search for Tristan Stone.

  What I found was sparse. My mother’s obituary, a graduation roster from my high school, and an article about an ambush on a Special Forces unit stationed in Afghanistan. Only two men walked away from it alive. Tristan Stone and Zachary Brennan.

  Even if I hadn’t seen his photo in the article, I feel as if I’d know Brennan’s face. He has a large build but a humble stride as he heads toward his pickup truck in the parking lot behind the restaurant. I push off my car and meet him as he’s fumbling with his keys.

  “Brennan?”

  He looks up, his eyes wide. He freezes and blinks a few times. “Holy shit. Holy shit!” He laughs and
then covers his mouth with his hand. “I can’t believe it’s you, man. Where the hell have you been?”

  I force a smile, which isn’t extremely difficult since Brennan seems pleased as punch to see me. I wasn’t sure what to expect.

  “It’s been a while,” I simply say.

  “Yeah, sure has.” His mirth fades a little. “Shit, last time I saw you, I thought we were both finished.”

  I look down a moment and back up, studying his features. “You want to grab a beer or something?”

  “Hell yeah.” He lifts his chin toward the restaurant. Its faded blue paint is peeling off the wood in places. “I know the owner here. He’ll hook us up.”

  I follow him inside, and we settle at a small table near the back of the restaurant. An older man with a thick midsection and an apron tied around it comes up to our table.

  “You back again already?”

  Brennan laughs. “Met an old friend outside. Wanted to buy him a drink. Abe, this is Corporal Tristan Stone. We served together a few years back.”

  The older man jolts back. “Hell, beers on the house, then. Thank you for your service, young man.”

  I shake his meaty hand, feeling like a fraud as I do. Nothing I’ve done since my time overseas has been deserving of pride.

  Brennan orders our beers and the man disappears.

  “So how have you been, man?”

  I let out a nervous laugh. Jesus, fuck. How do I even start to answer that? I can’t pretend that anything about my life has been normal. I wouldn’t know where to begin, so I have to come clean with him. Now or never.

  “This is probably going to sound…odd.”

  His buddy brings our beers and a bowl of peanuts. “Here you go, fellas. Hey, thanks again. I mean it.” He pats me hard on the arm, and I harness all my willpower not to glare so he’ll leave us—me—alone. I force another smile and avert my gaze, hoping he’ll go away.

  As he does, Brennan pops a peanut in his mouth. “Sorry. Abe gets excited sometimes. When I told him I did a tour in Afghanistan, he hired me on the spot. He’s got a thing for vets.”

  I lift an eyebrow, and he laughs.

  “I’m serious. He goes around town and harasses people when their flags get too tattered. Buys them new ones if they won’t replace them on their own. I’ve never met a bigger patriot. Honest to God.”

  “I bet.”

  I don’t understand patriotism, though I’m certain another part of me probably did. Or maybe I put my body in harm’s way for some other reason. To seek revenge for my mother’s senseless death by making my country’s enemy my own. Or maybe my years in the military converted me into a flag-loving patriot, someone worthy of his friend’s pride.

  Brennan interrupts our brief derailment. “So, you were saying…”

  “I was wondering if we could talk about the last mission… The details are kind of foggy for me.”

  For the first time since I’ve been in his presence, he frowns. He curves a hand around the back of his neck and rubs back and forth.

  “That was a long time ago, Stone. I don’t really feel like digging up old graves, you know?”

  “I know, but whatever happened over there really messed me up. I have severe memory loss. I’m just trying to put the pieces back together.”

  His exhale whooshes out. “Damn. I’m sorry, man. I had no idea. They wouldn’t let me see you after. Then you transitioned out, and I couldn’t track you down.” He’s quiet a moment. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure I wanted to.”

  You have a lot of blood on your hands.

  Jay’s words rattle through me. I take a swig of beer and contemplate leaving.

  Instead, I level my gaze to his. “You don’t have to spare my feelings. Just tell me what happened.”

  Did I really need to know?

  He takes a deep breath and then a long pull off his beer. “Jesus Christ, you’re gonna give me nightmares for a month.” He drags his hand down his face and then nods, as if he’s giving himself a pep talk to even begin.

  He doesn’t realize the things I’ve done since are probably far worse than whatever he’s about to reveal.

  Rolling his shoulders, he begins. “We were stationed at Camp Dwyer, but we set up an outpost near one of the local towns to keep a closer eye on things. The valley was a shitstorm, especially with the harvest coming up.”

  “The opium harvest.”

  Fields of red flowers. As far as the eye could see. I blink away the vision and wait for Brennan’s words to fill in the empty space around it.

  “Right. Prettiest place in the country. Most dangerous too. The higher-ups, they just wanted us to keep peace with the farmers. Impossible when we’re two steps away from burning their whole fucking opium crop. So the local Taliban’s taking a cut to protect the farmers whether they want it or not. Funds their activities real nice, and of course it’s a good excuse to shoot at us.”

  “Right.” I don’t remember being in the thick of it, but I’m familiar with how the local drug trade funds all kinds of extremist organizations. Rio was on the same plan without the religious zealotry.

  “Rahul Khan was our man,” he continues.

  I roll the name around my head, but it doesn’t hit any pegs.

  “Who was he?”

  “The local commander. Kingpin, whatever. He’d been gaining a lot of ground in Helmand. That meant we were losing it. Not what we were sent there to do.”

  He starts picking at the label on the bottle, and I have a feeling the story is about to get bloodier.

  “Then what,” I press.

  He exhales. “We came up with a plan. Khan had a drug depot nearby. Taking it out would send a message to the farmers without fucking with their livelihoods, and we’d take back some control. We couldn’t just waltz up to it, of course. So we picked up a tip from a local guy named Javeed.” He shakes his head. “I’ll never forget that fucking name.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s the one who told us how we could get to the drug depot through the caves and underground tunnels. Drew us a map. Told us exactly when Khan would be vulnerable. Planned the whole damn operation for us.”

  “Let me guess. He led us right to trouble.”

  “I was your superior. I could have shut it all down. But once we started talking it out, you were dead set on taking this guy down. Everyone was right there with you.” He pauses a beat. “We all agreed you and I would go through the tunnels. It was going to be quick. In and out. Take Khan out, come back, and then see if his people would scatter. We’d reevaluate whether or not to bring any more heat once we got back.”

  “Why me?”

  “Your Arabic was shit, but that didn’t matter. We weren’t going there to talk. You were a good shot. Almost as good as me. More importantly, all you had to do was look at the map once and you’d be able to get us there and back faster than anyone in the unit.”

  I nod. “That makes sense.”

  He leans in. “You could remember anything, Stone. Numbers, directions, maps. You never wrote a damn thing down. I can’t believe you don’t remember what happened that day.”

  Whatever happened that blighted my memory of that day and everything before it hadn’t changed my inherent abilities—abilities that made me valuable to people like Jay.

  “I can’t explain it,” I say. “I wish I could. I guess that’s why I’m here.”

  That was the truth.

  “We got to the depot just before dawn. Khan was right where Javeed said he’d be. Pop pop. Done. We high-fived and got the fuck out of there before anyone was on to us. It was pitch black in the tunnels, but you led us back through them like nothing.”

  A few empty seconds pass, and I wait for him to finish.

  “Turns out Javeed was jockeying for Khan’s position. He led us right to him. Meanwhile, he tipped Khan off that we were preparing an offensive that morning. That’s why security was light. By the time we got back… Fuck,” he mutters quietly, pinching the bridge of his nose.


  I echo the sentiment in my head but push him harder. “What happened?”

  “When we got near the entrance of the tunnel, we could hear gunfire, but it seemed like it was fading away. You ran right into it before I could stop you. Another envoy from Dwyer showed up and chased the rest of them off before I could get to you. You were fading by then. I thought I’d lost you.”

  “And everyone else?”

  He shook his head, his eyes haunted with the horrors he must have seen. That was enough.

  “I’m sorry.” I feel idiotic saying it.

  “Me too. It’s not something I’ll ever forget. I’m damn glad you can’t remember it, but at least now you know.”

  Several minutes of silence pass. Brennan waves Abe over, and he brings another round of beers. I don’t need it, but I’m sure Brennan does after what he’s just recounted.

  “Your wife was really nice. When I tracked down your address, I stopped by there first to see if you were around.”

  He smiles. “Thanks, man. Angel’s the best. No one was happier when I became a civilian again. She put up with enough while I was in.”

  He looks wistful for a minute, and I can tell he’s smitten. Lovestruck is about as foreign to me as patriotism, but I recognize it when I see it.

  “How about you? Did you and your girl ever figure things out?”

  My jaw falls a fraction. “Isabel?”

  He snaps and points at me. “That’s it. Isabel. She had you twisted up. I remember it now.”

  “I think that might have been the other way around. We weren’t together.”

  “Everyone had their ups and downs, Stone. There was always a chance we weren’t coming home or that we’d get cheated on or heartbroken. So we’d screw things up before life screwed us. Didn’t stop you from talking about her all the damn time. I’m pretty sure you wrote her a letter once a week and set it on fire before you could send it. Hell, you had her picture on your wall as long as I could remember.”

  I stare at him in stunned silence. Moments ago, he described what was likely the most horrific scene I’d ever experienced. It didn’t feel good, but learning that I was still in love with Isabel after I’d broken things off… That’s got my heart in my throat. Brennan seems to realize this.