“He didn’t answer his phone when I called him earlier.” Kearney shrugged. “We can swing by his hotel room. He was supposed to leave tomorrow night but he said he might be checking out sooner.”
Morgan palmed his keys. “I’m driving.”
It was barely fifteen minutes before they pulled into the hotel parking lot. It was a dive, the kind that had doors that open to the outside and a flashing Vacancy sign in the window. Sean wondered just how big the roaches were, rather than whether or not the joint had them.
Kearney led the way to Haverson’s room, on the backside of the building, facing the wooded lot behind the dumpster. The curtain split, allowed a sliver of light to pierce the darkness inside the room. Morgan pounded on the door but only silence greeted them.
“I’ll go see if he checked out,” Kearney mumbled.
Sean pressed his face to the window, blocking out the light with his hands, trying to see inside.
His heart caught in his throat. “Ah, Christ no.”
But he knew. Even as he kicked the door in, he knew. Even as he tried to revive the troubled medic, he knew. As the wail of the ambulance grew closer, he knew.
And when Morgan and Kearney finally pulled him off and let the EMTs take Haverson’s body, reality sank in.
Haverson was gone. By his own hand and with a needle in his arm, Haverson was gone.
Sean went through the motions. Made sure Morgan got the chaplain down to the unit for the guys who knew Haverson. Made sure Morgan took Kearney home and didn’t leave him alone. He locked away the grief and the rage and the injustice of the whole goddamned world. He locked it down and his statement to the police about how he’d discovered Haverson’s body.
He didn’t go back to work. Powered down the Blackberry and turned off his personal phone. Haverson wasn’t even the first suicide Sean had dealt with. But his was the worst.
It burned. In the blackest part of his soul, it burned that Haves was gone. He’d made it. He’d survived combat twice. He’d brought good men home. But the pain hadn’t stopped when they’d landed on American soil. There was no amount of drug that could ease it for him.
Tonight, he would drown the pain. His mouth was thick and swollen and he washed away the taste with a splash of Jack Daniels, immediately feeling the warming sensation curl down his throat and through his blood. Retreat from the war, the ugliness of command, the bitter failure of not being able to get Haverson the help he’d needed.
It didn’t work. It never did. But he tried anyway. The nightmares came tonight, just like they always did. All at once. The dead staring eyes. The mutilated bodies. The severed heads with drill bits in them. The dying man and his crying wife in the burned-out sedan.
Tonight, he wanted to forget. Wanted to sink into oblivion and hope that tomorrow, he would find the strength to get back up again.
Twenty-Six
Sarah finished typing up her report and e-mailed it to the battalion lawyer for legal review. There was little chance this shit show was going to go away any time soon. Smith’s admission and Kearney’s meant that the fight was about significantly more than an extramarital affair. Despite the infidelity and the false investigations from downrange, Sarah had managed to untangle the threads and did the official hand off to CID.
Kearney and Smith had lied about a man’s death. Everything else was fallout from that one bad decision.
There was a sudden flurry of movement in the ops. Sarah stuck her head out of her cubicle. LT Picket stood near one of Sean’s lieutenants, her hand on his chest, her expression filled with sympathy. Tears shimmered in the young man’s eyes. “What happened?” Sarah asked.
“We lost a soldier, ma’am.” McKiernan paused, clearing his throat and swiping at his eyes. “Haverson—”
All the blood flushed out of Sarah’s face a moment before she grabbed her keys, heading to her car.
“Captain Anders.”
Sarah paused as Major Wilson’s voice raked down her spine. “Ma’am?”
“You have a meeting with the battalion commander in fifteen minutes,” she said.
Sarah turned and shook her head. “Please tell the boss I’ve had an emergency.”
“Your daughter sick again?” Wilson asked.
Sarah’s mouth engaged before her brain even considered taking over. “You know what, ma’am, I don’t know what your problem is with me and I don’t really give a flying fuck at this point. One of my friends just lost a soldier and I’m going to sit with him. I’ll sign my counseling statement when I get back.”
She left to the sound of Wilson’s voice screaming at her from down the hallway. She’d worry about that later. Right then, all that mattered was Sean. Finding him. Making sure he was okay.
Because she wasn’t sure that he would be. And that fucking terrified her.
The door to his apartment wasn’t locked. Sarah eased it open to find the space cloaked in darkness. The fading light from outside did nothing to light the dim interior. The absolute silence added to her fear, making it too big for her to contain.
“Sean?”
She heard the sound of glass clinking against metal and she frowned, walking slowly toward the bedroom. Fear curled around the base of her spine, squeezing tight.
He was sitting on the floor, leaning somewhat to the left, his back pressed to his bed. One arm rested on a bent knee and a half empty bottle of Jack dangled from one finger. His eyes were glazed as he looked up at her, his handsome features blurred and twisted with grief.
“Haves is gone,” he mumbled, his speech thick and slurred.
Sarah knelt by his side and pulled the bottle from his fingers. He held tight, resisting her attempt to remove it, then he released it.
Then she saw them. The pills in the orange bottle resting by his hip rattled and shifted as she picked up the container. Ambien. “Did you take any?” she asked quietly, fear blocking her throat. Would she be able to get an ambulance here fast enough to pump his stomach?
He shook his head and relief crawled over her skin like goose bumps. “Was just going to try and sleep. Couldn’t get the damn bottle open.”
He doubled over then lunged for the bathroom, slamming the door in her face. She heard him empty his stomach and was glad his system had purged itself.
It was a long while before she heard the faucet turn on. Even longer before the bathroom door opened, flooding the dark bedroom with artificial light. He staggered to the bed and sank onto the edge, cradling his head in his hands.
It was even longer before Sarah moved to sit beside him. An eternity before she rested her hand on his back. There was strength there. And warmth. But right now, all that escaped her as she simply sat, her hand on his shoulder, offering her silent support in the dark that surrounded them.
“We both know you shouldn’t be here,” he mumbled behind his hands.
She didn’t answer. Instead she rested her cheek against his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his waist. “This is exactly where I’m supposed to be,” she said quietly, when she finally trusted her voice.
“No really, you shouldn’t.” He dropped his head back against the wall, hard enough that she winced in sympathy. “You know why I’m protective of Kearney?” His smile was bitter and cold, so unlike the man she’d come to know.
“I don’t care about that, Sean.” But fear crept in and brought doubt along for the ride.
“You should. Because that escalation of force that Kearny is being crucified for? I did the same fucking thing my soldier is about to be nailed to a cross over and nothing, nothing happened to me.”
Her skin went cold but she stayed still. Not moving. Frozen to the space.
“I snapped. Jack’s vehicle was burning. We couldn’t get a MEDEVAC bird so we had to hold our position. We set up a perimeter. There was a barricade. A vehicle was screaming toward us. I gave the order to blow the engine block. And we did. And it was a husband, trying to get his wife to the hospital in the middle of one of the worst battles of Iraq.”
He scrubbed his hands over his face. “I was so far gone, so pissed. I wanted to leave them. I wanted to burn the whole fucking country to the ground.” He didn’t see her. He was staring at a scene only he could see. “Her husband died. Haves delivered her daughter right next to the body of her husband.” He looked at her then, really seeing her. “I would have let them die, Sarah. I didn’t care.”
When she was sure her voice wouldn’t break. “Sean…”
“Don’t make an excuse for me.” He shoved away from her, prowling the dark space. “I wanted them to die. I wanted to kill everything that moved. I didn’t care. War didn’t demand anything I wasn’t willing to do.” He snorted. “The only fucking reason Kearney is being investigated and I’m not is because the rules of engagement were different on his tour than on mine.”
She stepped into his space, stopping him. “So what do you want me to do? Judge you based on something you wanted to do? You were at war, Sean. And no matter how much you beat yourself up over what you might have done, I’ll judge you for what you have done.” She placed both hands on his chest. “Somewhere in Iraq, there’s a little girl who is alive because of you. You didn’t have to listen to Kearney but you did. That is what matters.”
“How can you just brush it aside like it was nothing?”
“It’s not nothing. It’s a very big deal. But you came home. And you brought your men home. And you’re still a good man.”
“I didn’t bring Jack home. Your little girl doesn’t have her daddy because I couldn’t get him out of that fucking truck.” His broken words shattered against her heart.
“And you can’t change that, either.” She slid her arms around his waist and pressed herself against him. “I’m sorry, Sean. I’m sorry you made the choices you did. I’m sorry a man died.” She leaned up and cupped his face. “But I am not going to be sorry that you came home.”
He shifted and moved and crushed her to him. She held on, slinking her arms around his waist and clinging to the strength of the man that surrounded her. She buried her face in his neck and stood with him. Until they sank to the floor and still, she held him, unable to let him go. Unwilling to let him face the darkness alone.
* * *
She lay with him as he slept it off, letting her thoughts tumble over everything she’d learned that day. Sean had walked back from the edge of the abyss that long ago day in Fallujah. A decision that no one should ever have to make and a decision that no one who’d ever walked through a battlefield would ever forget. He’d lived with what he’d done and it had tortured him. Enough so that he would do anything to protect the man who had kept him from leaping into the abyss.
He’d risked his career and the Army he’d given his life to in order to protect one man. Loyalty: in the end, it was about loyalty. Something there was not nearly enough of these days.
He’d been alone and devastated. Just like she’d been once before. Haverson’s loss was Sean’s, but Sarah wasn’t going to let him go through it alone. She paused, resting her hand over his heart. He moved suddenly, his big hand fisting over hers and holding her steady. She barely kept from squeaking in surprise as she met his gaze, stunned to find him at least mostly sober. She slid her free hand across his cheek. “You should sleep,” she whispered.
“Will you be here when I wake up?” he asked, sounding more lost and alone than she’d ever heard him.
She smiled sadly. “Yes.”
She lowered her forehead to his and simply sat with him. Moisture licked at her fingertips and she didn’t know if the tears were hers or his.
“I failed him.” Broken words, laced with regret. “I failed them all.”
“No. You didn’t.” She shook her head and framed his cheeks with her fingers, tears tracing cool paths over her fingertips. She pressed her lips to his. “You’re not God, Sean. You made the best decision you could have.”
Sean swallowed and the words came easily. More easily than they ever had. “I was going to kill them all, Sar. When we lost Jack and the others, I wanted to hunt down every living thing in Fallujah and destroy it. I wanted to use the main guns on mosques. On houses. If it held a weapons cache or not, I wanted to destroy everything.”
His confession was quiet, tainted with the darkness that had curled up and laid within him for so long.
She slid her palm over his curled fist until it rested on the scars covering his forearm. “But Kearney stopped you.”
He nodded. “Yeah. Then he took an AK round in the guts. He was bleeding out until Haver”— he stopped and swallowed hard at the well of sadness that rose to block his throat. “Until Haverson got the bullet out and stopped the bleeding. It was touch and go for a while, though.”
He couldn’t keep the tension from his face. He half expected her to turn away from him and the darkness that resided inside him. Her fingers tightened on his arm.
“You didn’t. You stopped.” She paused. “You’ve remained loyal beyond what anyone would have called reasonable. Kearney’s lucky to have you as a friend. What you might have done is not the same as what you did.” She leaned up, cradling his face with one palm. “I know what kind of man you are.” His eyes fluttered closed and she brushed her lips over each eye, feeling the moisture from his tears. “A good man. Kind. Decent. Loyal.”
He didn’t respond and Sarah again rested her forehead against his. He pulled her down gently until she lay curled against his body, her thighs twined with his. He buried his face in her neck and was quiet. After a long silence, she felt his body relax, his breath hot and even on her skin. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held him, wondering where they would be if they’d simply been able to do this years ago.
Twenty-Seven
Sarah spent the night with Sean. Jamie had been able to stay with Anna but Sarah, like Sean, had to go to work the next day.
And Sarah had the added bonus of dealing with the fallout from her little explosion of temper, too. She was going to be in charge of burning shit, she just knew it. It was just a question of which shithole country she’d be doing it in.
Sarah saved her file and began printing off the investigation, tabbing the sheets by their respective exhibit number. She hadn’t seen Major Wilson since she’d gone off on her the day before. She was reasonably certain she was about to have her career ended all because she couldn’t keep her damn mouth shut.
She walked down the hall and felt like she was walking toward her own funeral. Her hands trembled. Her investigation was complete, at least as complete as it was going to get.
“Sarah, perfect timing.” LTC Meister stepped into the command group. “Come into my office for a few minutes.”
She sucked in a deep breath.
“Want to tell me what happened yesterday?” he said mildly.
She placed her hands at the small of her back and stood at the position of parade rest. “Sir, I was completely out of line and unprofessional. I lost my temper and my military bearing. I accept full responsibility for my actions.”
God but it sucked being an adult. She felt like saying “she started it” but somehow didn’t think that would fly in the current situation.
“Major Wilson tells me you’re done with the investigation?”
She frowned at his completely ignoring what she’d just said. “I am, sir.”
“And?”
Another deep, steadying breath. “Sir, I’m not convinced a crime wasn’t committed but that’s for CID to figure out. I have reason to believe they were laundering money and that their local national contact who was helping them was killed in an escalation of force incident.”
Meister’s voice was calm, unflappable. It was unnerving really. Did the man ever get upset? “What do you think?”
“Sir, I think people will do some terrible things in war,” she admitted softly.
Meister nodded slowly. “It’s been a hell of an arrival to the unit for you, hasn’t it?”
“It has, sir.”
“I have a job for you, if you’re
interested.”
Sarah went deathly still, waiting to hear if she was going to be supervising the shit-burning pits in Afghanistan. “Sir?”
“Lieutenant Colonel Gilliad would like you to be the rear detachment commander for his battalion.”
Her skin tightened over her bones. Her mouth moved but no sound came out. Her leg started throbbing, reminding her of the command she’d lost because she’d stood up to her last commander.
“After watching you dig into this investigation—and put up with Major Wilson’s shit—you’ve made a reputation for yourself in a very short time.” He held up his hand when she opened her mouth. “I know what happened downrange last time and I’m very much aware of what’s going on here. You were given an impossible mission and expected to perform a super human task. I won’t tell you that the impossible won’t be asked of you again here. But I will tell you that you have a chance to take an organization that’s struggling and help rebuild it.” He took in a deep breath. “Being a rear detachment commander is a thankless job. You have two bosses, your forces are deployed across the battlespace and you’re responsible for a hell of a lot more than most commanders.” He tipped his chin. “Unless you’d rather not command?”
She opened her mouth again and no sound came out. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Sir, Major Wilson…did she tell you I failed a PT test?”
“A PT test that you should not have been required to take until you were fully healed.” He paused. “That has been addressed. We’re strict in this unit, Sarah, not unreasonable.”
Her throat was thick, her chest tight. “Sir, it’s my turn to deploy. I haven't…” A deep, trembling breath. “I haven’t pulled my weight. Someone else should not have to go because I’m staying behind.”
He rounded the desk then and gripped her shoulder. “Sarah, you have more than pulled your weight in this war. You’ve sacrificed more than most. Even if I needed you downrange—and make no mistake, I do—I can’t take you away from your daughter. Your family…your family has sacrificed enough.”
After the War Page 22