Pet for Christmas

by Rachelle Ayala

  My mother’s eyebrows narrow. “So, they know he’s been captured?”

  “We’re hopeful. Dylan’s negotiating with someone, but I really can’t say more.” I hug her. “I’ll let you know as soon as something changes.”

  I exit her apartment complex and notice a cameraman standing on the sidewalk. A woman sticks her mic in front of me, and I sidestep her. Probably someone wanting to ask my opinion about the water rationing and how dry this winter is going to be with the California drought raging in its fourth year.

  “Miss Kelly Kennedy.” She chases after me. “My name is Lisa Lee, local news.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m on my way to work.” I wave her off and turn the corner.

  That’s when a horde of reporters and camera people spot me. They charge toward me, shouting questions.

  “Where’s Tyler Manning?”

  “Is it true he was awarded the Medal of Honor earlier this year and went back to blow up the Warspring Sports Center in Afghanistan?”

  “Did the Taliban capture him?”

  “How’s his PTSD? Isn’t it careless of Warspring to send a guy with PTSD back among his enemies?”

  I stare in shock and horror, my mouth gaping wide open. “This can’t be happening. Tyler didn’t do it. People with PTSD are not criminals. Tyler loves children.”

  One of the mics juts so close, it hits my teeth. Bodies press against me, and there’s no avenue of escape. The jostling and elbowing almost knock me down. I’m surrounded by vicious sharks eager for blood.

  A strong band of pain tightens around my abdomen, and I clutch it as a gush of water leaks between my legs. I’m only thirty-one weeks pregnant.

  “Oh, God. Help me. My water broke.” I fall to my hands and knees, my head ringed with cold sweat, and gasp for breath. “I have to be strong. I can’t lose Tyler’s baby.”

  An hour later, I’m in the hospital with an IV drip. Fortunately, I’m not in labor, but now that my water’s broken, I’m being kept on bedrest with a course of antibiotics. The baby’s lungs are still underdeveloped, and they’re giving me steroids to help it mature.

  The only thing I can do is relax, since the doctor won’t allow Dylan or Jim to visit until I stop having contractions. Mother, Ella, and Bree stopped by shortly after lunch, and Bree said she wasn’t done with her super special picture. I hugged her and made her promise to show me as soon as she finishes.

  Everyone had heard the news already, and I could tell by the coded messages Mother and Ella conveyed that they were worried about Tyler having cracked from his PTSD. I didn’t want to get into an argument in the hospital, especially with my water broken and the doctors giving me drugs to prevent labor, so I sent them away. I don’t need people believing the worst about Tyler. No matter how sick he got, he’d never, ever hurt innocent people.

  It doesn’t help that there are cases of veterans with PTSD committing violent acts, but I know Tyler. He’s not schizophrenic, and he always snaps out of it within minutes. Planning a truck bomb implies premeditation. Tyler’s episodes are caused by stress and strike without warning. He’s never hurt anyone while having flashbacks. I’m more afraid he’d hurt himself.

  Every cloud has a silver lining, because now that I’m in the hospital, I’m protected against the reporters and people asking me about Tyler. He is truly in God’s hands now. It pisses me off that the American public and press could care less about his bravery and his heroic acts of saving lives, but are standing ready to tear him apart because of his PTSD. Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?

  Dylan and Jim stop by in the evening after my condition is stabilized. The baby is not under distress and my contractions have stopped.

  “Any news?” I sit up straighter in the bed and clasp my hands to keep them from shaking.

  “Good news,” Jim says. “We’ve located them. They’re on the run and intel on the ground says two factions of Taliban are after them. We’ll need them to get further away from the Taliban before we go in.”

  He calls being surrounded by two factions of Taliban good? Well, at least they know where Tyler is, and he’s on the move.

  “Of course. I don’t want any unnecessary risk to the guys going in,” I tell him. In the past, SEAL team members have lost their lives during hostage rescue situations. “Will it help for me to speak to them?”

  “That won’t be necessary. We have a female negotiator speaking on your behalf. They have no idea they’re not talking to you.”

  “But Tyler? Has she spoken to Tyler?” I clutch at the bedsheets. No wonder I’ve been left out of the loop. Another woman pretending to be me? I’m not sure I like it. “What has she told Tyler?”

  “Nothing about your situation. She has not been put through to Tyler, and as far as she can tell, Tyler is with them, but they have him tied up.”

  “They’re stupid.” Anger sizzles in my chest. “If the Taliban surrounds them, they’ll need him to fight.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll have distractions planned for the Taliban.” Jim rubs his hands like a boy with a secret weapon. “Tyler’s little group is headed toward Pakistan. Once we isolate them, we’ll swoop in and extract him.”

  “Pakistan? That’s not any safer.”

  “Yes, but it’s better for us to make the deal without sending him back to Afghanistan to face trial.” Jim gives me a superior smirk.

  “What about the boy? Arman? Are we going to rescue him too?” I ask. “He speaks of wanting to meet his mother who’s in Australia.”

  Jim purses his lips and shakes his head. “We kill all anti-coalition militia. We can’t take any chances.”

  “Militia? He’s only a boy.” A lump crawls up my throat and clogs my breath. “Yes, he got greedy and wanted the money, but it’s only for a diamond ring. Did you contact his mother?”

  “No, and you must never speak of it.” Jim leans toward me, taking my hand. “This cannot get leaked, or we’ll have an international incident with Australia.”

  “I thought she could help with the negotiations.” My tongue feels lame in my dry mouth.

  “The agent is impersonating her, too.” Jim chuckles under his breath.

  How he can think this is funny is beyond me. My heart breaks for Arman and his mother who’ll never see each other if he’s killed.

  “Then I can’t allow you to plan a mission. I take back my permission.” I cross my arms and take deep breaths, hoping my uterus stays relaxed.

  “Are you sure?” Dylan speaks for the first time. “You’ll be giving up on Tyler. Winter’s setting in, and they might have their first snow storm. It’s unlikely Tyler will get out without a rescue mission.”

  My lips quiver and a chill steals my breath. “I love him so much, Dylan. I love him. I have his baby right here, and my daughter loves him. But you have to understand. Tyler will never forgive himself if another child dies because of him.”

  “You mean the children at the Sports Center?” Jim’s eyes gleam with an eager look of discovery and something more sinister.

  “Of course not. He didn’t do it. I’m sure you’ll find the culprit. What about the center director who quit? What about the Taliban? What about whoever’s spreading rumors that it’s Tyler and trying to pin it on the Americans?”

  “This should never have leaked.” Jim presses his lips and glares at me.

  “I didn’t say anything. Maybe the culprit leaked it to the press to cover his tracks.” I hate to get into a pissing match with Jim, but I thought he was nice. Looks like he’s just as much of an asshole as the newshounds.

  “Don’t concern yourself with that,” Jim replies. “We have agents there to clean things up.”

  He sounds like he wants a cover up. Jerk. “I don’t want a cover up. I want the guilty caught and Tyler back, and I’m not going to let you guys make him take the fall. If he doesn’t get extracted, he doesn’t. Maybe he’s better off not coming back to face a bunch of people who don’t believe in him.”

  Dylan takes my hand
and rubs it. “Kelly, you don’t have to make the decision now. I’m sure the government knows what they’re doing.”

  “No, I don’t agree. I take back what I signed.” I draw myself up from the bed. “Give me a piece of paper.”

  Jim takes out his notepad and scribbles in it. “It might be out your control. Now that the press has gotten ahold of this, we have bigger diplomatic issues to deal with.”

  “Then it’s even more important that Arman Tarakai is rescued. He’s a witness.”

  “Hardly a credible one,” Jim says.

  What’s with this man? He seems to enjoy pointing out the tough dilemma we’re in.

  “There’s got to be other evidence. I’d start with the supply truck driver and follow the money trail. We can investigate. I do it all the time with insider trading. Follow the money and the timing. Who profits? Who got lucky? Look for unusual patterns, changes, anomalies.”

  “We’re doing the best we can.” Jim retreats to his official bureaucrat lingo. “Please, take care of yourself and your baby.”

  “I’m sorry.” Dylan pats my hand. “I’m really sorry, but I’m praying and believe in my heart God will see Tyler through this. Take care of yourself and Tyler’s little boy.”

  “Let me know if anything changes? Please?” I grasp his arm and let myself lean against his shoulder.

  “Sure,” he whispers in my ear. “Tyler told me about the suicide bomber he shot. The kid was wired and didn’t obey orders to stop at the checkpoint. Tyler saved lives by stopping him. He has nothing to atone for. I believe he wasn’t involved in the truck bomb. I’ve got investigators on this.”

  “Thank you, Dylan. You’re a true friend.”

  “I’m not the only one. Tyler has many, many friends praying for him and many people who believe in him.”

  ~ Tyler ~

  “You have to tell your father to untie me,” Tyler said to Arman. “I don’t think you realize this, but we’re surrounded by Taliban.”

  The child narrowed his eyebrows and sneered at him, practicing the glare of hatred Tyler had grown immune to ever since he stepped on Afghan soil.

  “Look, if I wanted to kill you guys, I would have already. You think I can’t loosen these ties? You think I can’t use my legs to fight you?”

  Tyler might as well be talking to the wind. The longer Arman hung around with Can-Opener, Jailer, and Stork, the more he resembled a jihadist in training. It was obvious he didn’t go to school, and any influence his mother might have had was fading fast. Tyler had asked once about her, and Arman had shrugged as if he didn’t care. Although when he thought Tyler wasn’t watching, he had swiped a tear from the corner of his eye.

  It was the evening of another day of marching, and they approached a squalid house smelling like urine and goat dung. This time the house was occupied, and there were two others nearby, a village if it could be called that.

  Arman’s father spoke to an elderly man, one who walked with a bearing of authority. After a short conference, Jailer led Tyler, followed by Stork to one of the huts, while Can-Opener, Arman, and his father commandeered another one.

  A simple meal of rice pilaf and mutton stew was served, and the host, a man who wore a brightly colored geometric skull cap, knew a few words of English. He monopolized the entire conversation, pointing to things and asking Tyler to tell him the word.

  Apparently, this bored Jailer so much he nodded off. Stork, meanwhile, was following along with the vocabulary lesson, soaking it all in. Soon, the host and Stork produced all their weapons, and Tyler gave names to them, while they plied him with sweets and an endless stream of tea. At one point, the host took out a pair of chopsticks.

  Both Stork and the host repeated “chopsticks” while click-clacking the two sticks, unable to pick up even the largest morsel of food. The host resorted to stabbing, much to the delight of Stork.

  “You eat with chopstick?” The host pantomimed that he didn’t know how to use it.

  “Yes, let me show you.” Tyler was glad Kelly had shown him, saying, When in San Francisco, eat as the Chinese eat.

  He made a sad face at his hands tied behind his back, and Stork grabbed a knife and cut the bonds.

  Tyler’s pulse skyrocketed, and every muscle in his body tightened to full alert. This was his chance to escape. He was tired of being a good hostage and playing by the rules. True, Arman’s father “protected” him, but according to the phone calls he’d been making, he was shaking Dylan down for money. Every call resulted in a larger demand, and Tyler knew that the US policy was no ransom payment in favor of military action and rescue.

  Unfortunately, when a force of special ops soldiers landed, they killed everyone who could be seen as an enemy combatant while sparing unarmed civilians. Since Arman and his father were armed, they’d be shot before they knew what hit them. To gain an advantage of surprise, the special ops preferred to attack at night wearing night vision goggles.

  For now, Tyler needed to distract these two, and once he escaped, he’d move as far away from the village as possible to spare civilian casualties.

  The host handed Tyler the chopsticks, and he showed them how to place them between his fingers and thumb, amazing them by picking up a single rice grain. While they tried, Tyler yawned several times.

  Sure enough, his yawning stimulated the other two men to yawn. The fire was already burning low, and everyone’s stomach was full.

  The host pulled out a blanket, and they all lay down. Stork hugged his rifle, but Jailer had left his propped against the wall.

  Once the men were safely asleep, Tyler filled a canteen from the water pot, took Jailer’s AK-47 and slipped a knife onto his belt. He was already the mule wearing belts of ammunition, but he stole Stork’s pack that held a couple of magazines as well as a hand grenade.

  The tiny village was silent except for an occasional bleat of a goat and the jingling of its bells. The moon was already a waning crescent, and there were more shadows than light.

  As Tyler crept from the huts onto the mountainous path, he felt, rather than saw or heard something following him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ~ Kelly ~

  “Mama, Mama,” Bree’s excited voice flings through the doorway of my hospital room. “I had a dream about Papa. He says he likes my picture, and he’s getting me a dog.”

  I quickly tuck my smartphone under the bedsheets. I’m not supposed to be stressing about the media and all the nasty things they’re saying about Tyler, but it’s hard not to look. Of course, I did find some useful information and have narrowed Arman’s mother down to three women named Elizabeth who had lived in Afghanistan after the Taliban takeover and are now residing in Australia.

  My mother and sister, Ella, follow Bree to my bedside.

  Bree pushes her picture onto my legs. “See? That’s me praying for Papa, and that’s Papa with my little dog. Oh, and that’s my baby brother.”

  Tears rim my eyes, and I give Bree a big hug. In the center of the picture, she’s drawn all four of us holding hands and walking a dog. In each corner, she put one of us praying. Tyler is sitting in a tent with his hands folded. Bree is cuddled with her teddy bear, and I’m sitting in front of the computer. The baby is lying on his back with a rattle, eyes closed, and a cartoon bubble above his head with a picture of Tyler in it.

  “Because he’s too little to pray words,” explains Bree.

  “This is so sweet.” I hug her again and gaze into her clear blue eyes. “Mama will hang this picture up so I can see our family every day while I’m here.”

  “Do you like the puppy?”

  “Did you run out of black crayon?” I point to the dog which she colored brown. She’s been talking about that black Labradoodle for the last week.

  “Auntie Ella called and someone already adopted Inkie.” Bree folds her arms. “It’s okay because Papa’s going to bring me a dog.”

  “Is that your wish for Christmas?” I can’t help being nosy.

  “No, that’s for
my baby brother.” She bounces onto the bed and snuggles against me. “I’m not telling. It’s going to be a big surprise.”

  I shoot my mother a look, but she shrugs and Ella does the same. I’m guessing they struck out with Santa. How are we going to get Bree a Christmas present if we don’t know what she wants?

  “When is Papa coming home from his secret trip?” Bree starts tucking her thumb in her mouth, and then pulls it back and places her hand under her thigh.

  “It’s a surprise. I bet he’s thinking of you right now.” I keep my fingers crossed in my mind. I shouldn’t build Bree’s expectations up, but in my heart, I know Tyler’s coming home. Dylan called me this morning and says that they’ve agreed on a ransom, except the problem is the kidnappers don’t have a bank account to deposit the money. They’re arranging for a contact in Pakistan to meet them at the border. However, the fear is that with winter storms arriving, Arman’s father would turn Tyler over for the easier cash the Taliban offered, rather than hold onto him longer.

  “When are you coming home?” Bree taps me on the arm.

  “Not until Christmas when the baby comes.”

  “You mean I get a baby brother for Christmas?”

  “Wait, isn’t the baby due in February?” My mother asks.

  I take a deep breath. “That’s the original plan, but because my water broke, there’s a risk of infection. Right now, we’re waiting for the baby’s lungs to mature and if he doesn’t come earlier, the plan is to induce at thirty-four weeks, which is exactly Christmas day.”

  “Unlucky kid.” My sister huffs. “We’ll have to make sure he gets two presents from everyone.”

  “Why?” Bree’s eyes are wide. “I want two presents, too.”

  “You already do, one for your birthday and one for Christmas.”

  “But I still want two presents for Christmas, because I have a Mama and a Papa.”

  I can’t help but smile. “You’ll always get two presents from us.”