Insanity

by Xavier Neal

  I question, “Why aren’t they divided down south?”

  She merely shrugs and continues, “HORN was designed to take care of problems here on the home front mostly. Think military meets detectives meets cops—”

  Immediately I interject, “That’s not real. That doesn't exist.”

  Jazz smiles, “Precisely.” Her reference to us not existing apparent, but irritating. “As I was saying, home front mostly. Believe it or not gentleman we have terrorists at home. And I'm not just talking sleeper cells and secret spies, I'm talking traitors. Enemies that do anything from plot attacks here on our soil to using illegal operations like human trafficking to fund terrorist actions. Big players that will need to be captured, interrogated, possibly tortured though we do not use that word, or even eliminated. ”

  Quickly Lordy asks, “Who makes that call?”

  “Above my pay grade.” Isn't it always? “Anyway, we get the names and what is to be done, questioned, captured or killed. All of course off the books and non-existent. Normal dark operations routines. The only catch is....now you're on my time.”

  “Meaning?” I raise my eyebrows.

  “After training is over, you are to be available at the drop of a dime depending on the situation code we are in. That means if I say jump your ass better already be half way in the air. Is it always convenient? No. Is it always the worst possible timing? Yes. Are there any exceptions? No. That's the beauty of most of you being unattached to--”

  My voice cuts her off, “Who's not unattached?”

  “Why you my dear boy,” she says mockingly before taking a drink of coffee.

  In a calm voice I reply, “I'm not attached.”

  “Right...so that pretty little slice of mocha cheesecake you've got back home is no longer off limits?” Anger surges through my veins and I step towards her, prepared for a fight when I see her smile wildly like she got what she wanted. Fuck. She did. “Exactly... but enough on that subject for now. Just know that this is number one now. Always. The perk? You aren't always needed. In between however, with the exception of an occasional check in and work out, you've got it made.”

  Now that I've calmed back down I say, “So basically when it's game on, it's all chips in. And in between--”

  “Normal as can be. That's actually the point. We want you to look like every day people. We don't want anything suspicious about you. It's better that way. You go in, you strike, you come out. You work as one unknown entity. You'll learn the art of that. I also picked you because you each had a different skill that could be used and fine-tuned to amazing capabilities.”

  Curious I fold my arms. “Which are?”

  “Obviously you have the marksman ship of Ares.”

  “Who’s Ares?” Glove ponders out loud.

  “Really?” I cut him a glance.

  “Yeah. Is he like some super spy or something?”

  “He’s the Greek God of War moron,” I inform him.

  “Since when are you Greek?” Glove’s question forces me to shake my head again.

  Jasmine moves past the comment and continues, “Lordy is my linguistics genius—”

  “Wait what!” Glove grunts pushing his face back off the floor and onto his hands like a child in kindergarten listening to story time. “What do you mean linguistics genius? He can’t speak more than one language! He barely speaks English!”

  “Vous êtes un idiot," Lordy smirks proudly.

  “Does idiot sound like idiot in every language or did he mess that up?” Glove gripes.

  Lordy replies, “Ich kann sprechen viele Sprachen.”

  “What the hell is he saying?” He looks at Jasmine who giggles, obviously amused by our village idiot. Glove turns his head back to Lordy, “What the hell are you saying? What language is that?”

  “The first one was French,” he clarifies with a deep exhale. “The second German.”

  “What else can you speak?” I grunt unsure of how I feel about this new information. I should’ve known this already. Why didn’t I? The realization makes me shift the weight between my feet.

  “Speaking isn’t my strongest skill yet. Reading, listening, translating, pin pointing dialects, all those I’m pretty good at. I can do French, German, Russian, Dutch, Spanish, a little Korean, and my Japanese is improving. I learned Arabic and Italian recently.”

  Before I can respond Jasmine speaks again, “See, while you were off grinding your way to the top of your class, Lordy was shipped away to further develop his skills. He's come quite a long way. Natural talent for that sort of thing.” There's a slight longing in her voice. My eyes zone in on her. Seeing that I caught on she brushes it off. “And Glove here is quite handy in close combat quarters.”

  “Bullshit,” I scoff shaking my head.

  Defensively Glove pops up. “I've spent the last couple months perfecting that shit Grim. I can handle myself. Even against you.”

  “Glove...” I warn.

  “Try me.”

  I shoot my eyes at Jasmine who looks like she's enjoying this. Like we're nothing more than circus freaks here for her amusement. After I put Glove in his place, I'm putting her in hers.

  “Fine.”

  Once I'm in a position to spar with Glove, I wait like I always do for him to make the first move, which is usually a mistake. As predicted he goes to make a move and as I shift my weight to dodge it, he immediately counters, like this was the original game plan all along, foot sweeps me, forcing me to land flat on my back with the edge of his blade centimeters from my skin.

  Looking up at him, his eyes burning with pride I grunt, “Do you mind removing your knife from my throat?”

  He smiles that fucking boyish smile, slips the knife back away, and offers a hand to help me. Fuck. I’ll give him that. The old Glove was never that quick and never that smooth. Looks like we’ve all been spending some time sharpening our skills. Just like she said.

  “Well that was entertaining,” Jasmine hums out. “We’re leaving in 18 minutes. I suggest you two go pack.”

  Lordy and Glove shuffle out leaving us alone in my hotel room. At that moment her green eyes look at me, the sassy bullshit clearly out of sight. It’s strange to me that she’s like this. When it’s all of us, she has a hard shell, an obvious front, but when it’s just the two of us, her guard comes down. It would be wise for her not to expect that from me.

  “I saw that look you had earlier,” she stands and crosses over to me. “And the answer is yes. I know.” I swallow deeply. “I know what you did to protect Haven. I know how you helped bury her identity. I know how you dropped a man where he stood to keep a vow you made to yourself and her.” Hearing the words said by someone else, the facts out there like it's common knowledge, causes my fists to clench tighter. My breathing slows, “Yes others know, but now is not the time of discussion for that subject. The time will come. And it won't go like you're imagining.” I know better than to admit fault or incriminate myself. My eyes merely stay stuck on her. I show no response. “Look, I know people Grim. It's my job. I study and predict behaviors. Patterns. Choices. Human analysis is my specialty. Well, one of my specialties. And you...you'd give everything you have to protect who you love. It's a weakness.” Hearing her declare it as such cements Slugger and Clint ten feet under. Six isn't fucking enough. “At least it is to most. Statistically speaking. However, it's the kind of weakness I want on my team. That's the real reason, no matter what you hear or think after this moment, that I wanted you.” With those words lingering in the air she twists the door knob, tossing her head over her shoulder. “You've got 16 minutes Marine.”

  The door shuts and I find myself resting my head against it. Weakness. Weakness is just that. A weak point. A vulnerable space for someone to strike. She shouldn't want me because of it. And why? Why did she have to bring up Haven? I know she's more than just a weak spot. She is the weak spot. Fuck. How is it I've done everything to put her out of mind for the last few months, but fuck me if the world isn't trying to brin
g her right back in front of my face. And how is it that she's the reason I caught Jasmine's eye?

  Official HORN Unit Duty Day 1

  Dead. We were dead for three months. No phone calls. No letters. No email. No internet. Nothing. Dead. According to Jazz, which we call her because that's the nickname she prefers, we didn't miss anything. In fact the only reason Mindy even knows to come get us is because when we were given back our phones moments before we got on the plane, I sent her a text letting her know I'd need someone to come get me. When I first joined the Marines I was prepared. I had trained before training. I had vision. Focus. Dedication. Most of what they threw at me I could handle with little to no problem. Scout Sniper School, same story. There were new skills to learn, but the process for it was the same and to an extent I was prepared. But this? This was nothing I could've ever prepared for. This was nothing I could've ever dreamed of. Honestly now that training is over, all I want is just a day back home to breathe.

  My eyes scan the first class area of the flight, noting that Glove and Lordy who are sitting across the aisle are passed out. I know the feeling. Sleep deprivation. High intensity. Torture tactics. I'm glad they're resting. They deserve it.

  “You think too much,” Jazz hums looking up from her magazine. Annoyed I look over at her from leaning against the window. “So, you wanna talk about it?”

  “About what?”

  “Your situation with Haven.”

  Her name causes a strong pull in my chest. Fuck. That's back? “No.”

  “Perfect.” I know better than to think this conversation is over. “That means you're ready to listen.”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “You love her. Her name is tattooed not only on your arm, but on your heart.” Her stating the obvious causes a desire in my fist to hit something. That shouldn't even be a thought after the time I've spent doing damage with them at training. “It's obvious. And I know you thought you were doing the right thing by walking away. You were. She needed the space. But so did you.”

  Confused I ask, “Excuse me?”

  “Face it Grim. You needed to be able to get your head back together. You needed to find yourself all over again. You needed to be broken before you could be whole again.” My fist clenches harder. “Statistically speaking, the chances of you working out aren't good. You know the divorce rate in this country. You know the second and third rate for it to succeed is even lower, but that's just the thing that I love about you.” I raise my eyebrows. “You're the reason no statistic is perfect. The reason there has to be an exception to the rule. You're the anomaly. And that's what makes you perfect for this team.”

  She's right. I'll make it work with Haven. Just not now. Not until she's ready. Fuck. Not until I'm ready. Clearing my throat I state, “You know Jazz, you know everything about us, and we know nothing about you.”

  “I'm an open book.”

  “Alright. Why are we flying first class?”

  “Because I'm allowed to use my trust fund as I see fit.”

  “Trust fund? You're a trust fund brat?”

  “Yup. And I feel my team deserves the best. Even if it comes out of my own pocket.”

  Interesting. “What do your parents do?”

  “My father is a business analyst. What I do with people he does with businesses. Makes their millions into billions. And my mother...well my mother's job is to see how fast she can spend the money my father makes.”

  I let out a light chuckle and nod. “What do they think about your choice in profession?”

  The playful look on her face fades. Fast. She crosses her leg so the tip of her pointed heel brushes against my calf. “A sick joke.”

  I can't imagine anyone in this country thinking that going out and risking our lives every day is a joke. The thought alone makes my blood boil. My breathing pattern changes.

  “Breathe Grim,” she says in a reassuring voice.

  Realizing she picked up on it quickly I ask, “How did you--”

  “You're not the only one who knows how to observe.”

  Doing my best I shift the subject change, “What about your love life?”

  “Non-existent.”

  “Why?”

  “Well it's not like we have an easy job to meet people,” her sass is back and I'm thankful. “Aside from that, I don't know. Most guys aren't into 28 year old virgins who have a not so secret obsession with grocery store romance novels and dream of an old fashion gentleman...”

  “Like Lordy?” the question makes her face flush red and she snaps open her magazine again.

  “Shut up Grim.”

  I lean back in my seat and smirk as I look out the window. While it feels good to have rattled her feathers, the idea of her having feelings for someone on her own team, doesn't sit well with me. Doesn't seem like a wise idea. But I'm not the one whose job it is to predict outcomes and patterns. She would know the risk better than I would. I can barely predict my own relationship. I have no fucking business trying to figure out that kind of shit for others. As long as her feelings don't put our team at risk, we're fine.

  There's suddenly a grumble and I lean over to see Glove stretching and groaning before looking our direction. “Damn. You're here.” I glare. “What? I was hoping all the weeks of being beat into a pulp were just a bad dream...” Another stretch. Then a grin. He's coping. The training was hard on all of us. I know we each hit a point where we suffered more than the others. They didn't hide theirs well. But aside from Jazz, I like to think no one noticed mine. I've always been able to keep that shit unknown, but that's the thing with Jazz, she just has this way of fucking knowing. I fucking hate it.

  “No bad dreams,” Lordy speaks up stretching too.

  My eyes glance down to see Jazz doing her best not to watch him. She's got a death grip on the magazine in her lap. I chuckle. Her pointy heel nails me in the calf.

  “Grim.” He tosses me a head nod. Then a slight a smirk at Jazz. “Jasmine.”

  I watch the way her body tenses again. She pushes a strand of hair out of her face and does her best to paint that cockiness back on as she finally looks up. “Lordy.”

  Immediately Glove groans again, “Fucking starving.”

  “Language,” she reminds him in a motherly tone.

  “Sorry ma'am.”

  “Ma'am, really?” she grumbles at him as she flags down a stewardess. Glove gives her a dickhead smirk and she responds by flashing him the finger. My attention turns to look back out over the clouds outside the window. Jazz fits right in with the other jar heads I call family. With my career exactly where I want it to be, I wonder if now that I have nothing to throw myself aimlessly into, how the hell am I supposed to remain distracted when it comes to Haven?

  ***

  As we walk off the plane headed straight for the exit, Jasmine makes a point to stop all three of us. “After I meet up with Merlin--”

  “Who the fuck names their child Merlin?” Glove snaps adjusting his bag strap.

  “Who the fuck names themselves Glove?” Lordy's comeback causes me to shake my head. I swear when it's not one, it's the other. If they were actually my younger brothers, I'd head lock them both until they passed out.

  “Merlin,” Jazz speaks up hushing them both, “is his nick name. He's a wizard when it comes to computer things. Anyway, after I meet up with him, and retrieve your cell phones, I'll deliver them.”

  “How will you know where to find us?” Lordy's question makes her giggle that cocky one she's known for.

  “Because I'm good at my job,” is all she says before patting his chest once and walking away.

  Once she's out of our direct sight, the two of them release an obvious breath they had both been holding. We're home. This is real. And so is the fact that I have to come home to the girl I love and know that there's a good chance she's in love with someone else. Fan-fucking-tastic.

  The three of us exit through the sliding glass door and spot Mindy leaning against her SUV with a slightly worri
ed look on her face. Something feels wrong. Off. I look around for my father who's never missed a pick up no matter how much it may have inconvenienced him. I still only see Mindy. Mindy, whose hair isn't done in it's perfect bun. Mindy, whose make up looks faded enough to see the obvious lines of distress on her face. Mindy, who is wearing flats, not heels, a long loose skirt with a solid color top. I know this look. I hate this look.

  “Mindy,” my voice tries to remain as steady as it can. “What happened?”

  She tries to put on a smile and places her arms around me. “Oh Slugger, I'm glad you boys are home safe...”

  Glove and Lordy express their hellos as she greets them after she pulls away from me, but my eyes never leave her face. The same face that never hides true pain as well as she intends.

  “Just a training mission,” is what I hear Lordy faintly say.

  Folding my arms across my chest I speak again. Slow. Deliberate. “Mindy, what happened?”

  Her eyes fall into mine and her body clearly tenses. After a long deep exhale she plasters on the strongest, yet most sympathetic expression she can muster up. A look that is meant to soften whatever blow is coming. “It's Whiskey, Slugger. He...he was shot on duty last night.”

  Immediately the air grows thick. Voices that were bold only seconds ago, muted. My vision seems to constrict and the only thing around me appears to be the echo of death. A faint cackle from that old familiar taunter himself. The one that took my mother. The one that tried to take Haven. The one that because I stepped in the way last time now has a hard on of vengeance for me. Death is once more determined to win.

  “Is he--”

  “He's alive,” she quickly spits out. So death hasn't won. Yet. “But he had to be put under to be stabilized.”

  “Grim,” Lordy's hand lands heavy on my shoulder feeling a lot more massive than I know it is. “You want us to come with? You know we will.”

  “No.” I swallow, determined to keep my face solid and cold. “I'll be fine.”