CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Thirteen years earlier
Intelligence officer in training Sergeant Alexandra Hargreaves walked down a dim hall in the bowels of Fort Bragg. After shaking her awake at two in the morning, the two Military Police officers, one on either side of her, kept a clipped pace through the halls. She had no idea what was going on. She only knew that they wanted her to come with them.
They reached a door at the end of the hall. Unlocking the door, they held the door open and instructed Alex to enter the room. Alex stepped inside the small room and turned just in time to see the MPs close the door. She was locked in this room.
There was a battered table in the middle of the room, with a chair on either side of it. Alex dropped into a chair at the table, while she looked around the room. A white board filled one wall, and the other walls were bare cinder block. The room was more like an austere closet than an actual meeting or training room.
Hearing a sound, she turned to see the door open.
“I was lying in my hospital bed,” Ben said. He leaned against the closed door. “They told me that some Sergeant had aced the intelligence exam. What should they do? I said, ‘Give the Sergeant the test again.’ How stupid can they be?”
Using a cane, he moved with obvious pain. Alex rushed to his side.
“What did you expect? They gave me situations I could have solved when I was a child,” she said.
Tucking an arm under his shoulder, she helped him to the table. He dropped into the chair she had vacated.
“That may be true, but you have now tested out of Special Forces Intelligence training. Alexandra, they test you at the beginning of training so that they have something to compare to at the end of training.”
“Oh, I was supposed to blow the test? Why didn’t you tell me? I’ll take it again. Can I take it again?”
Ben laughed.
“Are you here to take me home?” Alex asked.
“Not a chance. The CIA has dibs on anyone who does well on those exams. The Director himself is salivating over your scores.”
“I want to be a Green Beret, not a CIA agent.”
“You sure you want to do this? You are moving into a world of elite intelligence. They will call you from your hospital bed and make you work.”
“I’m sorry, Ben. You know I’d never . . .”
“Sit down,” Ben said. He tapped a cigarette against the table. “I can’t smoke in the hospital.”
While Alex made faces at him and his habit, he bowed forward to light the cigarette.
“Tonight, you and I are going to run scenarios to make certain that you didn’t cheat on that exam. We are monitored—video and sound. If it is determined that you did cheat, you go home. If you didn’t cheat, you will join three seasoned Special Forces Intelligence officers in a class taught by me.”
“I get to take a class from you? Well . . . That’s great!”
“There’s a condition.”
“What?” Alex crossed her arms over her racing heart. She hadn’t been this excited since she had received her acceptance letter to Special Forces training.
“You will be attached to the CIA. If we need you, and you’re available, you will work for us.”
“Work?”
“I will arrange for you to work under me. The work will be anything from strategy to actual field work.”
“But I still get to be a Green Beret?”
“Yes, Alexandra. You will still be a Green Beret. That is, if you can prove that you didn’t cheat on the test.”
“I didn’t, so that’s easy . . .”
“You have to prove it. We’ll run scenarios tonight. Depending on how well you do . . .”
“We get to run scenarios all night?” Alex cut him off. She was positively bursting with excitement. “Then I get to take a class with you? That’s wonderful! Okay, go ahead.”
“You are a sick, sick girl. You will join your group tomorrow morning on no sleep.”
“That’s all right. I can go at least ninety hours without sleep, easy. Can you make the situations really hard?”
Ben laughed.
FF
October 13—7:30 PM
Olde Town Arvada, Colorado
“Ben?” Alex whispered, opening her eyes in the dark.
She could have sworn she heard him laugh. She listened as feet walked across the wood flooring above her. There was a scraping sound, a chair across the wood, and people laughing. The smell of Gitanes cigarettes, the brand Ben smoked, came through the floorboards. She heard serving ware clink against china as what sounded like a dinner party began. The room above filled with people. Her mouth watered, and her stomach rumbled as the smell of garlic and warm bread wafted down from the table above to torture her senses.
Someone upstairs tapped their feet.
Crap Ben, you know my Morse code sucks.
She looked up at the ceiling as Ben tapped, “I know your Morse code sucks.”
All right.
All right.
Ben says that it’s been two days. Alex flushed with relief. Simply knowing how long she had been in this room grounded her in the present.
John was in Scotland. John. Alex smiled at the thought of John.
Max was with Dad at MI. Dad is . . . she cocked her head. What?
There was a scraping sound. The tapping stopped. That was probably as much as he would risk.
With a sigh, she pushed herself to standing. Taking another drink of water, she ate a tiny bite of the Snickers bar, saving the last piece for tomorrow. She rubbed a finger across her teeth as a modified toothbrush.
Distracting herself from the laughter, garlic, and cigarette smoke of the party, she started her workout. She walked the edges of the room, and worked her way through running, yoga, and deep stretches. She tried a few burpees, but crunches were more than she could bear. She was certain she had never been in as much pain.
Bending over her left leg, she felt the sharp edges of a piece of shrapnel move toward the surface of her hip. Unzipping her jeans, she could feel the hard lump under her skin. Another thing she couldn’t do a damn thing about. She sighed and pulled her pants up.
There was a clap of thunder, and the dinner party overhead cheered. Rain dropped onto the street. The spark that was Jesse moved over to the vent. Alex held her bucket above her head, while Jesse helped move the water into the bucket.
One more day. They would come for her tomorrow.
Then what?
She succumbed to terror. Tomorrow the real torture and raping began. Hyperventilating, she dropped to her knees. The bucket fell from her hands. Panic consumed her. Her life-giving water spilled onto the cement floor.
Laughing people, less than twenty feet above her head, ate their gourmet meal, oblivious to Alex’s struggle for her breath and sanity. Looking up, she saw the sparkle of Jesse.
“You are ahead of yourself,” he said.
She nodded. She slammed the panic and fear into a tight box in her head. Feeling in the dark, she found the bucket and held it above her head. Jesse helped the water fall into the bucket. They filled the bucket with five inches of water before the rain stopped. Taking a drink of precious water, she moved to sit down.
Drowning in the cold, pitch black, she allowed her mind to return to her memories.
FFF
October 14—2:33 A.M.
Olde Town Arvada, Colorado
Alex opened her eyes.
She was shivering. Pulling her knees up to her chest, she wrapped her hands around her bare feet. She pressed her face into her knees in an attempt to stop shaking. Nothing seemed to help. Standing near the basement vents, she realized that she was sweating. She opened her jacket to allow the cold wind from the basement vents to cool her body. Looking up, she saw snow and rain drop onto the street above. The wind whipped through the streets and blew flakes of snow onto her hot body.
“I have a fever, Jesse,” she said, out loud.
“Shh, Alexandra,” he replied
. “Your wound is infected. You need to scrape it.”
“With what?” she mumbled.
“Use the drugged water and your knife.”
“Did you lose your lighter?”
“You have my lighter. Alexandra, do not speak.”
“Hmm, where’s my lighter?”
“That’s an interesting question. I’m going to leave if you speak again. Sign to me.”
Alex stumbled around the room until her hand felt the door. She tapped the floor with her foot until she felt the bottle of drugged water. She slipped off her leather jacket. Setting her jacket next to the wall, she continued to shake with cold and fever. She pulled off her sweater and placed it on top of her jacket. Letting out a breath for courage, she took off her T-shirt. She cut strips from the bottom of the T-shirt with Troy’s Leatherman Mini-tool. Feeling for her sweater, she placed the strips onto her sweater. The room was so dark that she would lose them if she wasn’t careful.
Taking two steps forward and one step toward the center of the room, she pulled the filthy piece of fabric from the knife wound on her left forearm.
“Ugh.”
Jesse was right. She needed to scrape the wound to remove bacteria and dead skin. Singing the first verse of “Home” by Breaking Benjamin, she pulled the lid off the bottle and poured the water onto the wound. The ice-cold water on her inflamed, burning skin sent a chill down her back. Shivering, she splashed water onto her bare feet before finally wetting the Mini-tool knife. With a gust of breath, she inserted the blade into the wound. Another deep breath.
That wasn’t too bad.
She scraped the blade across the wound. Every motion brought waves of pain and nausea. She yanked the knife from the wound. Falling to her knees, she panted against the blinding pain.
“Get up,” Jessie said. “NOW, Sergeant Hargreaves! GET TO YOUR FEET!”
Alex jumped to her feet at Jesse’s imitation of their Special Forces training instructor’s voice. Weaving and shivering, she splashed more water onto the wound.
“Once more,” Jesse said in his normal voice. “You have to do it again.”
Alex’s head turned toward his voice. She weaved.
“NOW. SCRAPE IT, NOW!” Jesse imitated their training instructor again.
Alex fell forward to the ground in a faint. A pool of blood formed under her left arm.
“Wake up, Alex,” Jesse said.
Alex blinked her eyes.
“You have to scrape the wound again. You’ll die if you don’t. Twice. You have to do it twice. Alex.” Jesse’s voice rose in anxiety. Not sure what else to do, he said the one thing that he knew would make her respond. Imitating their bastard of a training instructor’s voice, he sneered, “I knew you didn’t have it in you to be a Green Beret.”
Alex jerked alert. Pushing herself to her knees, she scraped the edges of the wound with the knife. The knife stuck on something in her arm. She tugged and pulled. Letting out a breath, she jerked the knife from the wound. Holding the bleeding wound away from her body, she mumbled, “Green Beret, my ass.”
Jesse laughed.
Wiping the knife on her jeans, her numb fingers fumbled with the Mini-tool. The wet steel bounced in her hand. She caught the Mini-tool just before she lost it forever in the dark. With greater care, she tucked the Mini-tool into her pants pocket.
“I’m a Green Beret, asshole, and you were court martialed for conduct unbecoming an officer.” Her voice slurred and was inaudible. “I’m a Green Beret, and you’re not. Ha, ha, ha, ha.”
In a whoosh, she threw up on the floor. Her empty stomach heaved.
“You have to pee on the wound to disinfect it. You will die if you don’t,” Jesse said. “Alexandra, do not pass out.”
Alex swayed and fell forward to the ground.
“Women are WEAK, insignificant CREATURES.” Jesse repeated what the training instructor said a million times. “Good that you are lying down, Sergeant Hargreaves. Now spread your legs and show us what you are made for.”
Alex jumped to her feet at attention.
“Pee. NOW.”
Vibrating and swaying, her frozen fingers pulled at her jeans. Her fingers fumbled to pull her panties down. Sticking her forearm between her legs, she let go of a stream of urine onto the bleeding wound.
Her head jerked up. She heard an animal suffering, screaming, and howling.
Where was the kitty? Who’s torturing the kitty? Why would someone do that to a poor creature?
“Honey, that’s you.” Jesse’s voice was kind and soothing.
Alex clamped her hand over her mouth. But the howl refused to end. The sound crept past her closed mouth in the form of a moan.
“Get dressed.”
She pulled up her pants.
“Good girl,” Jesse said. “Let it bleed for a while.”
She held the wound away from her. Her blood dropped to the cement. Over her own moan, she heard the drops of blood hit the ground.
“Ok that’s probably enough,” Jesse said. “I wish you had paid more attention in medical training.”
“Jax . . .” she started. Between her pain and desperate longing for her dead friend, she couldn’t finish the statement.
Her frozen, rebellious fingers managed to create a tight bandage from the T-shirt straps. Shaking with cold and fever, she pulled what was left of her T-shirt on. Her sweater, still warm from her body, dropped warmth onto her shoulders. Slipping into her jacket, she realized that she vomited on the jacket.
In that moment, her loneliness, anger, and pain spilled forward, and Alex began to wail. Moving back to her sleeping spot, she slid down the brick wall to the ground. She hit the floor with a thud, bruising the one place on her body that wasn’t bruised. Shaking with cold and sobs, she pressed her knees against her filthy chest. Her fever began to rise.
Everything was gone. Her home had been destroyed. Her husband was not who she thought he was. Her father wasn’t her father. Her teammates were dead. She tried to reach for Max, but he was asleep or distracted somewhere.
Alone, yet somehow alive in this pitch-black purgatory, she howled like a wounded animal.
As her fever continued to rise, the LSD from the drugged water entered Alex’s system. She fell into a delirium. A hundred times more extreme than her recent Ketamine hallucinations, her pain and loss surrounded her like cruel, taunting ghosts.
Without moving his lips, a demonic mime spoke in Eleazar’s laughing voice. He pointed toward her lost husband, her lost father, and her lost home. He took her lighter and burned her Green Beret. The burning pieces of fabric grew to burning ropes that held her in place. She could only watch in horror.
Laughing, he launched a fireball. Zack, Matthew, and Troy screamed and writhed as they burned. As Trece and White Boy howled with rage, he shrank the enormous men to spider size and squashed them under the ball of his foot. He pointed his index finger toward Max.
A bullet flew out of the end of his finger to catch Max in the forehead. Turning his finger, the demonic mime shot Joseph and John. Laughing, the mime executed Raz with a bullet behind his ear. He pushed her parents, Rebecca, Patrick, and Ben, into blood-red quick sand. Screaming and begging Alex to save them, her parents sank to their deaths.
Standing at the Memorial, the mime called to the zombies of her dead friends. They rose from their graves to chase her through Fort Logan Cemetery until they trapped her in the limestone vault. The laughing zombie Charlie closed the limestone door, leaving her inside surrounded by dead bodies and blood. She pounded on the door, begging Charlie to free her. Slipping on the blood-slick floor, she fell face first into her own rotting corpse.
And then, Alex lost her mind.
F
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