"The first line was from Samuel Butler just like Stockton’s letter," Orinda said. They now knew within three weeks’ time, Mason would soon met his fate unless...
Chapter 11
He had to tell her now. There was no way to avoid it. Mason had to tell Orinda that in the days before they were called upon by Mister Vernon Chandler to help with the breaking news another marine was savagely murdered, he started to receive the letters from the Veterans Affairs office.
At first he thought it was because the anniversary of that day was soon approaching, and it was a reminder to keep his mouth shut but after seeing Stockton lying lifeless in the snow and now the letter written in the same panicky, romantic way as Stockton’s last message, to the world, he could no longer deny he was next. His death was being plotted by an evil someone who had a fascination with a 19th century queer poet and more than anything, an obsession with dead Marines.
He had to tell her so she would not be in the dark if she were to be his partner but also so she would now watch her own back because she knew too much.
"It’s another letter, and it’s eerily familiar," Mason said with a surprising amount of calm in his voice. He didn’t stutter once, nor did his eyes twitch when his brain almost forced him to.
"Oh no, Mason. What do you mean another letter? You have to tell me what’s going on. Ahora!" she said.
Orinda already knew what was going on, but now she would get a little more information while she drove the Penn Landing neighborhood streets to the freeway on the way back over the Betsy Ross Bridge. The snow from last night was cleared by the city, and the streets held no clue that there were seven inches of new winter snow just hours before.
"I’m not sure if you remember when we arrived at my place yesterday after it was decided that it would be safer for you to stay there and not drive in Delaware, I collected the mail while in the foyer. There was a letter I tried to shuffle in with the other pieces of mail because I didn’t want to deal with it after the day I had and also I knew it couldn’t have been anything good. The letter before it let me know there was going to be a series of others to follow like the one I received this morning," he said.
The Ativan and cool from the downed window settled his nerves, but he wanted a drink as he told his story. She wanted to know more and he would give her everything she wanted and more.
“I will tell you this now but know the only reason I didn’t do it days earlier was because we had nothing really to talk about. God knows I understand why but we had nothing in common, not even attraction because that was one sided also. I didn’t think I needed to tell anyone about the letters being sent. They were sent from someone who knew I had no one else that cared for my existence. It’s a different feeling to know you are alone in the world and have worries than you would be if you had persons in your life to call a friend. I didn’t have that just days before this assignment. When the first letter came, it was after one of the worst days I’ve had since my adolescent years. Chandler had just let me have it over an assignment that was put in press before he could change what he wanted it to say. I felt like the biggest piece of shit ever because I did not allow time for my boss to change and take my work as his own, to remove my name, my credit and then dismiss me to the echoing sound of a slamming door and the reverb of an empty hallway, but I’ve had worst things happen to me even during times of war. The after effects of war and its memories don’t ask permission to wake you and wait for the okay of approval. The closer and closer it got to the date on the calendar, the memories became constant reminders and voices repeating the same disparaging words.”
To speak of the voices and the visions of his past made his body quiver from both ends of his spine and Orinda noticed. It was a wonder to her what the letters could have said that would be a warning to Mason and why didn’t he tell her before. If this person wanted to harm him before they were assigned a project to work together, she would have never have learned his story.
She was thankful for the chance, but she wanted exact answers. Mason paused as he looked out the window and she waited. He turned away from her completely with his back now toward her and then removed his flask from the inside of his coat pocket.
He threw his head back a few times to take as much of the content as he could and then waited a minute or two before slowly and solemnly twisting the clamped cap tightly. Orinda looked on while she also cautiously watched the road. This story seemed like it would be another doozy, one of the doozies that would take some time, but the Pennsauken Police Department was only minutes away. She thought maybe she could offer to spend the night again, and he could tell her the rest of his story but she needed something now.
"Mason, I know this is tough for you. I understand you have something about your past you don’t want to really talk about, but this is your life here. Do you understand that?"
"I do understand, Orinda, but what I can’t understand is why I have to be next. I didn’t do anything to anyone. We did what we were ordered to do over there," he said.
He vowed to himself and also to his squad and commanding officers that he would never speak about what happened, but it looked like his squad was being erased. It appeared that he and the Camp Monteith brass were the only ones left alive with the ability to confess the truth.
"I vowed to never tell anyone. It’s been 16 years since we did what we did over there. We swore we would never talk about it ever! That vow has held most of us to the oath ‘til death. Now that my time is near up, I need to tell you what we did, but you must promise that you won’t tell anyone. At least until I’m done."
She said nothing verbally but her hand placement on his thigh as he turned his head to meet her eyes told him that she wouldn’t tell even if her life depended on it.
"I won’t give you another dramatic story of war but I will tell you this: what the Marine Corps taught us was usually different than what was reality. During war, the only lesson that was graded was the Marine Corps. You could always tell in the military when you are going to have a bad day. I learned this when I was in A school. The sun shined differently on certain days so that you would know from the second you stepped away from home whether it will be a good or bad day. The sun would shine brighter than normal. I learned this. Hell, now that I look back, it’s been this way since I was kid. When I woke that morning, the bright sun made me strain my eyes so much, it hurt. I had been drinking the night before, and it didn’t agree with the early dawn Marine Corps reveille especially when we were going out into the Ghetto. That’s what we started to call the entire area because it was located in the rundown armpit of Europe. Ask any Marine or Sailor who has ever toured the Mediterranean, and they will tell you the same. The way God smiled on other parts of the region was a curious wonder as if He didn’t love Serbians that much. In turn, this is how we figured they must have caused the war and were killing Albanians by the hundreds, maybe even thousands. They were thugs to the Balkans what the Vice Lords are to Chicago’s ghettos. That’s why we called the area the Ghetto. So when the day began with brightest of suns plus a hangover, I knew it was going to be a bad day. I drank too much the night before, and it was not because I wanted to communicate but I needed to relax because I felt afraid and stressed. I knew we were going back out the next day for a few days, and when you’re at the rear during war, going back out into the fight rattles your nerves. I had just finished using the head when our squad was called for unscheduled mandatory muster. We were escorted into the Commanding Officer’s office to a conference room where an armed Marine sentry stood guard at the door. Some walked like they knew what was about to happen, and others walked with hesitation. An invisible force pulled their bodies in the opposite direction, forcing a natural facial grimace, but the uniform covered their body's natural responses. When the doorway opened, the room revealed the CO, the XO, the assistant director of the Joint Chief of Staffs, The British Minister of Defence each with interpreters and two uniformed men who looked like either Russians or vamp
ires. The Russian representatives had eyes that belonged in hell. The lighting was minimal, and the room felt cold. I swear I was able to see their breath as they all exhaled in unison. This moment may have been scarier than any combat I ever saw. The intentions in the room were ill from the very beginning. We were personally summoned by evil, and there was nothing we could do. Some Marines were like hunting hyenas or vultures circling the sky; they could smell death and were enticed by the smell. Stockton, in particular, smiled because he knew we were going to get the call. The Marine escort lined us all up in the aft part of the room so the lighting in the back hid our faces but accented everyone convening at the table. An agreement had already been made; all they needed before they shook each other’s hands was confirmation that there was a group of Marines as corrupted as they were. Everyone smelled blood from both sides. They could smell it in our veins and from our barely laundered uniforms, and we smelled blood because we knew something was coming. This meeting was not for us to receive some reward for valor, and it was definitely not to recognize us for honor. No one in the room had that. Even the sentry that escorted us to the conference room paired a smile with evil eyes."
Orinda pulled into the parking lot at the precinct, but Mason hadn’t noticed because his eyes were closed the entire time as he recalled his story to her. His eyes were closed because the combination of Ativan and Slivovica made him nauseous, but he needed them to hold himself together while he told this story to the first person ever. When he opened his eyes and noticed this, immediately he began to panic. His breathing became labored and heavy and the idle car’s heater set to on made him sweat from underneath his cap. He began to fumble around for the seatbelt and to unlock the door at the same time.
"Papi, por favor calmete. (Papi, please calm down). There’s no rush. This is important and for the last 20 minutes I noticed you were okay; you were calm. You didn’t stutter once, and you didn’t seem to worry about your surroundings. I can honestly see why you are a journalist. You tell a great story. I’ve been parked here for about 5 minutes until you recognized. Por Favor (please) continue your story, maybe it will help us more so than the letter Griffin has.”
The panic came from the revelation that he had done a few things he had vowed to never do. He vowed he would never tell the story but also vowed to himself he would never trust anyone as much to tell it, too. He vowed to never put too much of himself into another person because once they’re gone, you have to remember who you were before them. The other bit of panic came from memories of being in the room of death and the death order. He felt the need to escape his memories more than his past.
"A-a-a-are you s-s-sure because I can stop until we’re d-d-done here. We need to get inside," he said hoping she would allow him to stop. They didn’t have time for him to continue, but in reality he knew from knowing her that he would have to finish at another time. On the other hand, right now wasn’t it. They needed to get inside to meet with Griffin. That was more important. Orinda wanted to listen to more, but Mason was right.
The story he needed to tell her had to wait a little longer because they had minimal time. Mr. Vernon Chandler didn’t give a fuck enough to give them more time before coming into the office to brief him on yesterday’s finds. It was still such an amazing curiosity why this story was so important to him. It wasn’t assigned because of Mason’s skill and that was for sure because if Mason weren’t a marine, Mr. Chandler probably would have asked someone else. He and Orinda would never ask his reasoning. They did what they were told in order to not have their heads torn off.
"Don’t forget where you were in the story, Mason. I’m glad you are opening up to me more. I’m glad because I think if you give me the right information, I can save your life but we have to move fast for now to prevent dealing with an angry Chandler. Let’s get inside and meet with Griffin, analyze the letter, get some details from him and then head into the office. Maybe I can come back to your place again tonight. We can talk, and you can finish telling me about what happened. You have my ears burning because I want to hear the rest of your story,” she said and then opened the door.
The chiming-door-ajar sounded to remind them that the headlights were still on as she rushed to get out of the car and into the building. Mason took his time, opened the door and immediately pulled his cigarettes from the inside breast pocket of his overcoat. He needed to feel the poisonous calm of nicotine through his bloodstream. Telling the story reminded him of another flaw that stemmed from being afraid to speak due to his disability and that was discussing things he allowed to happen when he could have used his gift to prevent them.
"I-I-I will be in th-th-there shortly," he said, as he nervous patted the bottom of the pack to get a stick of relief, but even that was becoming too hard to do. "You g-g-g-go ahead inside. I will be there in a few minutes. Besides, I need to cover my breath from...well you know." She knew but said nothing. Her nod and smile were enough to say she understood. As she quickly walked away, snow began to slowly fall on the brim of his paperboy cap as he billowed smoke into the air.
The smoke and his breath looked the same, but he could tell which was which inside of the cloud. The moment that his guilty conscious was waiting for was close, but he couldn’t finish and now his mind wouldn’t turn off. How come? That was the repeated question he asked himself as he stood there captivated by the sound the cigarette paper made as it burned. He calmed himself with its assistance. He needed to get more out because it weighed too much especially since he was counting each second of sand to fall in the short side of life’s hourglass. Suddenly he heard the doors open removing him from his thoughts as he took his time finishing.
"Mason, are you coming in? They are going to get Griffin now," Orinda interrupted. He lost track of the time in the cold. He couldn’t stop thinking about that dark room. He never looked at brass in the dark the same ever again. He was lost in the nicotine as well. The cigarette’s smell of smoke and stale tobacco was pungent. He didn’t say anything. He only flicked his cigarette into the accumulated snow and listened for the fiery orange tip to sizzle after being extinguished and began to walk in her direction very slowly because she was right. He had to go inside and face what he knew would be discomfort because of his obvious vulnerability.
Mason headed in her direction only slow enough to finish his thoughts before entering the police department. He wasn’t afraid to be awkward in front of Detective Griffin now because only hours earlier Mason cried as if Griffin wasn’t there. However he was afraid to be uncomfortable in front of Griffin because he was at his worst yesterday when Griffin ruined what started with him and Orinda in the car. That’s what made him most uncomfortable of all. It was what was happening with him and Orinda. The awkwardness they shared was different from what it had been before they were assigned this case.
The uncomfortable moments when they didn’t have anything to talk about were forever gone, and the fact he and she were closer made him vulnerable. She was allowing him what fear and embarrassment had not allowed him to do for years, and that was the ability to talk about the darkness the world didn’t know about. It was the darkness that if the world did know, they would look at the Earth’s lone global superpower in a drastically different way. That same thing Master Gunnery Sergeant told him once while he did up-downs as punishment:
"The country was built on my money, guns, the backs of blacks, and internal guilt Marine."
At the time Mason didn’t care what he meant, but he figured that it was somewhat factual. Thinking back now, what Gunny meant was America was built on as much corruption as it was built on good principles, but coincidently, the world forgets. Sometimes the world was forgetful of the lengths of wrong America was willing to go through to get its way and its points across. Orinda allowed him to open up about the darkness in hopes that she could share with his life her light. Her light.
Chapter 12
"Nice of you to join us, Mason. How are you today?" Detective Griffin asked as they shook han
ds, and he invited him into what looked like some kind of low grade forensics lab. It was obvious the department did not have enough money to invest in a modernized digital lab because they were missing a few things. There was no large high definition display screen that would allow a congregated group to view the fine details of a piece of evidence among other things. This thought was based off of what Mason had seen at a digital forensic lab in Philly he toured some time ago.
"I was able to get the paper dried at one of the other labs in the region. One of the forensic officers was able to digitally duplicate the original letter, so we could return it back into evidence. If you would like to turn off the lights, we can view the monitor without the overhead light impeding," Detective Griffin said as he walked away from the light switch. Mason made his way to Orinda and stood next to her and the monitor. A technical officer sat in front of the monitor to control the screens viewed.
Detective Griffin walked up directly behind Orinda to point at the screen. She jolted as she bumped forward but didn’t say anything. She only moved her hair from her face. Mason noticed this and said nothing as well.
"If you look here and here, the person who wrote this didn’t leave consistencies. The letters don’t have any special characteristics, but we did notice that when certain words were written, he polished up the most negative and devastating words. Death, dead, die, all look different from the other words," Griffin revealed as he walked around to Orinda’s left side with his hands on her waist. Mason heard the sound of his hands running on her fabrics but couldn’t see as much. He knew what was going on and if Orinda wouldn’t say anything about it, he would.
"H-how a-a-bout you take your fucking hands off of her and turn on the lights; you fucking prick. Right now!" Mason demanded. He held his tongue for too long. He could no longer bear the thought of Griffin breathing on Orinda’s neck in the dark space they all shared. It was like he couldn’t wait until the lights were off, so he could touch her.
Slivovica Mason Page 9