by Kylie Walker
“She’s downstairs. I told her to take her dinner break. She’ll be gone for at least an hour.”
She nodded almost imperceptibly and said, “It’s time my love. You have brought me nothing but joy and pride in my life and I thank the Lord for giving you to me. You have always been the strongest one of us. Your father didn’t mean to leave all of this on you. He just wasn’t built to handle it like you were. Please forgive him, Asher. Please take care of him.”
“I am only worried about you right now, Mom.”
She smiled again. “I’m so lucky,” she said with tears in her green eyes. “Please help your father move past this. Everything has fallen apart while I’ve been sick. Everything is a mess.”
“Mom.”
“Let me finish, honey. His son and the family business will be all your father has left when I’m gone. Please help him Asher. Please help him rebuild it and please forgive him. Don’t leave him alone.” she closed her eyes again and Asher could see the evidence of the pain as it crossed her face. When she opened them back up she said, “I can’t fight anymore honey. I’m so sorry, but it’s time.”
He gently wiped away the tear that had escaped and was rolling down her cheek. “I know, Mom. I’m sorry that I’ve tried so hard to keep you here when you were hurting so badly. It was selfish but I just don’t know what I’ll do without you.” He felt his own tears begin to well up in his eyes as he leaned forward and kissed her paper thin cheek. She was a shell of the woman she used to be and this cancer had not only taken her, it had killed their family as well.
“You’ll be a great man.” she said. “That’s what you’ll do. You’ll make me as proud in death as I was in life.”
“I love you so much, Mom. I couldn’t have asked for a better mother.”
“I love you more,” she said with a little smile. It was what she used to always tell him when he was little. “Good-bye my sweetheart.”
Asher inserted the syringe into the tube that came out of her chest and pressed down on the plunger. “Good-bye Mom. I love you.” When the syringe was empty he pulled it out, put the cap back on her tube and tucked it underneath her body. Then he popped the syringe in the same container as the needle and knelt back down by the bed. He lay his head down on the pillow next to her once more and listened to her breathe. The tears ran silently from his eyes. Her breaths became shallower and long, agonizing seconds stretched out in between them. They were agony for him. He waited for her to die. It was less than ten minutes later when she slowly pulled in her last breath. He waited for the exhalation, but it didn’t happen and he knew she was gone. His quiet tears turned into deep, heart-wrenching sobs as he wrapped his mother up in his arms and held her for the last time.
Chapter 10
Present Day
It was a few days after the accident before Asher was alert enough to really grasp what had happened. The thoughts were jumbled up in his head and he wasn’t sure what was real. He knew he was in the hospital. Dean had been there, but not his father and not Mia and he knew why. First, he killed his own mother and then his father had thrown him out of the house. Then he had gotten drunk with Travis and now Travis was dead. They probably all hated him. He couldn’t fucking believe it. He wished that none of it was real.
When he had first woken up in the hospital a couple of days ago he had just come out of surgery. He had a dislocated shoulder, a broken femur, a few broken ribs and he’d lost his spleen and had a chest tube for a few days while his punctured lung healed. None of that mattered though when he finally got them to tell him what had happened to Travis.
A sheriff’s deputy had come in to talk to him and told him that he had been thrown through the windshield and landed about twelve feet in front of the car on the pavement. That would explain all of the cuts and abrasions on his chest and stomach and arms. Travis had been wearing his seatbelt. When they had impacted the tree, the car had crushed him, killing him instantly. The deputy had asked him if they had been drinking and Asher had told him honestly, yes. There was a part of him that was hoping they would arrest him, a part of him that needed to be punished for killing his mother and his best friend. The deputy said they knew Travis had been driving and since he was the one that caused the accident, there wouldn’t be any charges brought against Asher.
“Can you do me a favour?” he asked the deputy before he left.
“What’s that?”
“My mother died right before all of this happened. Can you call the mortuary for me and find out when her services are?”
“Sure,” the deputy replied with a sympathetic look in his eyes. Asher hated that. He didn’t deserve the man’s sympathy. He didn’t deserve anyone’s sympathy. A little while later the deputy came back and said, “It’s today son, in a couple of hours.” Asher started to climb out of the bed. “Whoa, I don’t think they’ve discharged you yet.”
“I am not missing my mother’s funeral!” He yelled a the deputy.
“Okay, stay in the bed for a second and let me get a nurse.” Asher watched the deputy leave and then he climbed out of the bed. There wasn’t a spot on or in his body that didn’t hurt, ache or throb. He could barely hold himself up as he searched the room for his clothes. He finally found the plastic bag that had his shirt and pants he had been wearing the day of the accident. He pulled the shirt on over his head and looked down at it. It had holes in it and it was all bloody. He struggled with getting his jeans on because he couldn’t bend over. He had staples in his abdomen and shoulder, stitches in his face and arms and chest. He was a fucking mess, but still better off than Travis and his mother.
He finally got his pants on and started looking for his shoes when the deputy came back in. “I thought you were going to stay put.”
“My mother is dead. I’m going to the funeral.”
“You can’t go looking like that.”
Asher looked down at himself again. He remembered his father throwing him out. He couldn’t go by there and change. He picked up the phone at the bedside and dialed Dean’s number. When Dean answered he said, “Man, I need a huge favour.”
**
Asher found out from Dean that Travis was being buried that afternoon as well, two hours after his mother. The county was so small; they were being eulogized and buried both in the same place. By the time Dean brought him some decent, clean clothes and he showered, he was too late for his mother’s church service. He got to the graveyard as the pastor was speaking. There were a lot of people there and he stood in the back where he wouldn’t have to endure their stares or worse yet, his father’s rage again. He knew that most of these people would be attending Travis’s burial as well. His church service should be over soon and they would bring his body out. Asher thought about Mia. What she must be going through? What did she think of him? It suddenly dawned on him that he had been in the hospital for three days and she had never come to see him. Her brother was dead and that was horrible but wouldn’t she have come to see him if she knew he was hurt? Jesus. What if she never wanted to see him again?
As his mother’s services came to an end and people lined up to file past the coffin and wish his father well, Travis’s family arrived for his burial. Asher didn’t see any of them at first. His eyes and his mind were focused on the box they were going to seal his mother in the ground in. He felt something on his arm all of a sudden and he turned around. It was Mia. He felt relief until he saw her eyes. They were like rivers of fire that dragged him under.
“What the hell happened, Asher? Why was Travis driving your car? Why was he drinking and driving? He never did that. Stacey said when she left him at Dean’s he was completely sober.”
Asher’s head was still fuzzy about the details. He wasn’t sure where to start. He tried by saying, “My mother died…”
Mia’s face softened. “I know. I’m so sorry for your loss. But Asher my family is devastated and we need answers.”
“We don’t need any answers! Right here is your answer!” Mia’s mothe
r had arrived. “I told Travis and I told you too, Mia. He’s bad. I told you both he would get you into trouble but I had no idea he would kill your brother, my only son!”
Asher was looking at the two women, feeling like he was in a state of shock. Mia’s eyes were accusing and her mothers were full of venom. Meanwhile, his own mother lay dead four feet away. This was fucking surreal.
“Mrs. Halloway. I’m so sorry about Travis.”
She gritted her teeth and reached out like she was going to slap him. Mia put her hand on her mother’s arm and stopped her. “I hate you. You should have died and not my son!” she spat out. Asher looked at Mia again and wondered if she felt the same. He looked over towards his mother’s grave again, this time locking eyes with his father. He had never been in a place before where so many people despised him.
“I’m sorry,” he said as he began to backed away. He walked as quickly as he could across the grass of the cemetery. He could hear Mia and his father yelling his name. There was nothing more they could say to him that he wasn’t saying to himself. He had single-handedly destroyed two families in the space of one night. Asher had to get out of there and go where he wasn’t able to hurt anyone he loved ever again.
Chapter 11
Seventeen years later
Mortar fire was so common that Asher and his teammates hardly even noticed it anymore but that morning it was different. They were the last ones left in Helmand Providence, Afghanistan. The marines had just pulled out and Special Ops was scheduled to pull out the following day. The war was over or so they said. The insurgents hadn’t let up on their mortar fire but it was so non-lethal that sometimes it was even laughable. That morning Asher woke to the sound of it hitting close to the barracks. His feet were on the floor and he was jamming on his boots next to his buddy Two-Finger Freddie who slept on the bottom bunk. They were both wide awake and ready to move in seconds.
“What the fuck?” Freddie asked him, like maybe he had thrown the mortar.
“Fuck if I know,” was Asher’s standard reply to most of Freddie’s questions.
They were pulling their gun straps across their shoulders as the second round hit. That one was close…too damn close, and even more unusual was that normally, the insurgents were one-hit wonders. The third followed it almost immediately and shook the barracks like a massive quake.
“Fuck!” Freddie hollered out again before Asher heard the sounds of gunshots outside. They headed for the door but before they made it there was an actual explosion. The lights went out as they were both propelled backwards and smoke instantly filled the room. Asher landed on his back but immediately rolled onto his stomach. It was the position they were trained to take. Legs crossed and hands over your ears to save what hearing you could. The barracks were filled with the sounds of coughing and hacking. He couldn’t see anything through the fog or smoke that filled the room. He made a near fatal mistake by holding his head up and sucking in a deep breath. Whatever was in the air set his lungs on fire. His eyes were burning and watering so badly that he could barely keep them open. It was a fucking chemical bomb!
Over the sounds of coughing he yelled out to his men, “Everyone okay?”
He tried to listen for the sounds of his team. There were only eight of them. He heard Piper and Pierce yell out in the affirmative, followed by a wheeze and a hack. A few seconds later came Hancock, James and Sulley. Then there was silence. “Mack! Freddie!” the coughing continued and as his heart raced into a panic he tried talking himself down. They just can’t talk, they’re coughing. Louder this time with his lungs searing in his chest, he yelled, “Freddie! Mack! Damn it answer. Are you okay?”
A few feet from him he heard a gurgle. As he was dropping to his knees he heard Freddie call out behind him, “I’m okay, Staff Sergeant.”
“Mack?” Asher could barely make out his silhouette. He used his hands to feel along his face and chest like a blind man until he felt the thick rush of warm blood bubbling up out of his chest. Fuck! “Hang on Mack. We’re going to get you out of here.” His own voice was unrecognizable. His throat was like raw meat.
“Hey!” the sound of the Staff Sergeant from team two’s voice floated in with the smoke from the east side of the barracks. “Y’all gonna stay in bed all day?”
As loudly as Asher was able to manage it, he yelled at his men to get out. He could hear them shuffling and moving as they did. A pair of boots stopped next to him and he knew they were Freddie’s before he looked up. “Top or bottom?” was all Freddie said.
“I got the top,” Asher told him. He grabbed Mack under his arms and Freddie scooped up his legs. Mack had to weigh close to three hundred pounds in his equipment, but they weren’t leaving him there.
As they got closer to the door Asher could hear the sounds of rapid gunfire. He looked at Freddie as soon as they hit daylight and without another word they both crouched down low, holding Mack only a foot or less off the ground as debris from the building and gunshots rained down on their heads. The air outside wasn’t much better than inside. Asher decided that it must have been a suicide bomber with a truck filled with chlorine. Fucking bastards. The Sergeant from team II and two men from Asher’s team stood between firing off shots until they reached the man-made barrier along the edge of the base. They laid Mack down in the mud and called for transport. He knelt down next to him and that was when he realized Mack was already gone. He didn’t have time to mourn him, but he offered him what respect he could by moving his body further down into the pit where it wouldn’t be tramped or fired on. Then he pressed his gun into his shoulder and began firing towards whatever was firing at them. He still couldn’t see anything. They needed to get higher, above all this smoke.
Asher’s team was close by minus Mack. He consulted with the Sergeant First Class and they decided to go in opposite directions. While the Lt. was talking to his team, Asher looked to his own and said, “We have to get to higher ground. On my count, we’re making a break for the ‘look-out.’ Hopefully we’ll be able to see these bastards from there.” His men all nodded their assent. Asher waited until there seemed to be a break in the gunfire and yelled at them to go. They all ran, sucking in the thick, contaminated air and still hacking and spitting as they moved.
They were like ducks in a shooting gallery as they ran across the open area. Asher was relieved not to hear any gunfire until just before the last man in front of him ran inside. Asher fired back, drawing the fire in his direction. He felt the first bullet rip through his side when he was about six feet from the door of the building. He’d only had enough time to register it was probably just a flesh wound before the second bullet caught him in the left shoulder. The adrenaline kept him from registering the pain, but watching his shoulder explode was surreal.
He pushed on and ran up the stairs. His breaths were getting shorter and the pain was fighting through the adrenaline mask. He could hear bullets bouncing off the roof and the side of the building when he got to the top. He paused and waited for another break before he moved again. He ran towards the corner of the building where the Iraqi soldier was. His men had covered the other three corners.
The gunshots continued and Asher pressed his M30 into his non-injured shoulder and sighted it. He still couldn’t see anyone. He looked at the soldier and asked, “Who are we shooting at? Where the fuck are they?”
He shrugged. He didn’t know either. They were probably holed up in one of the buildings down below but they had to have a sniper somewhere up high. He scooted on his belly to the edge and looked over. People were running chaotically through the street; men, women, and children. Once again he perched his gun against his shoulder and placed his finger on the trigger. He sighted along the other buildings in areas that were tall enough for a sniper to be perched on. Just to the East, he saw him…he was inside the open window of a room on the top story of the dilapidated building.
“Sniper!” He turned to fire and….
He woke up to the sounds of his own blood-curd
ling screams…again. Asher was on the couch and his body was bathed in sweat. It took him several seconds to remember where he was. He was home, sort of. When he had retired he had bought a small farmhouse. Every time he woke up like this he was once again grateful his nearest neighbour was three miles away. Otherwise, he would have neighbours calling 911 almost every time he closed his eyes. He hated this shit!
He pulled himself up and went into the small bathroom that connected his living room and bedroom. He had stripped down to his underwear earlier, planning to have one more beer and then go to bed. He hadn’t made it that far. He spent his days working on the farm from sun up to sundown, anything to keep from remembering or dreaming. He looked at himself in the mirror over the sink.
The scar across his left shoulder was deep and wide. Even underneath the tattoos that now covered it, it was still huge. He let his eyes follow the tats down his side to the next scar. That one wasn’t as big as the one on his shoulder, but as it turned out the bullet had nicked his liver and part of that had been removed. The scars across his abdomen were remnants of his accident 17 years ago. He kept those free of tattoos out of a morbid need to remember the hurt he had caused to so many he had loved. He didn’t remember the days he spent at the military hospital in Germany. Go figure. His mind held onto all the shit leading up to it instead.
He leaned down and splashed water on his face. As soon as he stood up and reached for the towel the image that his brain had fought off while he was sleeping, flashed before his eyes in the mirror. He yelled sniper and opened fire. To this day he hadn’t figure out why, but Freddie had stood up. Asher had yelled at him to get down just before the bullet had ripped through one side of his head. The image of Freddie’s head exploding haunted him continuously. Staring at himself in the mirror he screamed again, this time out of anger. He wanted this shit out of his head. He pulled back his fist he slammed it into the mirror over and over. Glass shattered and crumbled into the sink, and blood began to pour from his knuckles. He didn’t give a shit anymore. Everything and everyone he touched seemed to die. He couldn’t stand to look at himself any longer.