FORSAKEN: On The Edge 0f Oblivion (Beauty 0f Life Book 1)

by Laura Acton

Meiying nodded and held back as she studied the handsome blond man in the corner. They went on some strange calls. She wondered why the constable appeared so scared but kept quiet for now. She would ask her senior partner later what occurred before she arrived.

  Checking the time, Juan noted ten minutes passed since he administered the medication. Their patient began showing signs of relaxation, but the wariness remained. The meds must be helping. I’ll wait a few more minutes.

  Dan’s pain started to reduce. Whatever they injected into him took the edge off. With the stabbing pain which light caused ebbing, he scanned the people in the room. Dan noted two new people, a man and woman both dressed in short-sleeved dark navy shirts with Paramedic printed over the pockets and EMS patches on their sleeves. Why are they dressed as paramedics? This makes no sense. They’re screwing with my mind.

  After several minutes, using a soothing tone to reassure the anxious man Juan said, “No more needles. Your migraine should be easing now. Is it?”

  Surprised sounds made words, Dan replied without thinking, “Yes.”

  “Good. I would like to take your pulse and blood pressure. I need to make sure you are okay. May I do that?”

  Asking me? Weird? Dan refused to answer as his ability to think improved as pain lessened. Name, rank, and service number only until I figure this out.

  Getting no response, Juan moved forward unhurriedly showing his guarded patient he held no needles. When he met no resistance, Juan took his vitals. “Pain reducing now?”

  Dan remained mute. Determining his best course of action would be to appear non-threatening, observe, assess, and plan before taking action.

  A tad disconcerted by the ongoing silence, Juan forged ahead. “Any other symptoms of a migraine? Light sensitivity, nausea, sound distortion?”

  Yes, but receding somewhat. Dan answered only to himself as he eyed the medic. No hint of an accent, like the others. With his dark coloring, he could be of Hispanic or Middle-Eastern ancestry. He might’ve been recruited like Traitor.

  Turning to the graying man, Juan said, “I can transport him if you want, but I think he’ll be alright. Migraines hurt like hell but the medication I gave him seems to be working. His blood pressure is only slightly elevated, nothing worrisome and his pulse rate is barely on the high side. Although, he should rest soon. Migraines can rebound.”

  Dale stepped closer to Dan. “Do you want to go to the hospital?”

  Panic surged, and Dan unconsciously shook his head. No hospital! Wait? Hospital? Why would they give me the option?

  “Okay, why don’t we get you up and into the chair. Think you can stand?” Dale reached out a helping hand only to be rebuffed.

  Cringing away from the hand, Dan used the walls for support as he rose in the corner. On unsteady feet, he shuffled to a chair. Lowering himself into the seat, he kept an eye on those in the room, waiting for any attack.

  As Juan packed up, Gibbson went to sit by Dan. “We will make this fast so you can rest, Dan. How about you put your head down and relax while I review the call auto-transcript? Then we can let Thornbuckle do his interview.”

  Dan remained leery of this man. Though he called him by name and appeared disquieted, Dan failed to grasp the point to this ruse. What is an auto transcript? Who is Thornbuckle? Why would they interview me? Needing to conserve energy, he complied with the instruction but watched carefully.

  Gibbson redirected his gaze to the agent. “Thornbuckle, I’ll examine the transcript before we begin. In deference to Constable Broderick’s physical health and safety, please keep your questions to a relevant minimum.”

  Not a cruel or indifferent man, Thornbuckle would make allowances given the constable’s state. “Agreed, Gibbson. I’ll interview Sergeant Pastore while you familiarize yourself with the record. However, I will ask as many questions as necessary to sort out this mess. We’re dealing not only with a neutralized subject but an incident of friendly fire. People will be screaming for answers. If you had seen the animosity hurled at him when I picked him up, you’d understand my position and desire to do this correctly.”

  “Thank you.” Gibbson stood. “Dan, rest here. I’ll be back soon.”

  Gibbson, Thornbuckle, and the two medics exited the room leaving Dan alone. Listening to his captors, he had names for two of them, Gibbson and Thornbuckle. Calling him Constable Broderick instead of Master Corporal Broderick perplexed him. They also accused him of shooting two people, one they called a friendly fire incident. What would subterfuge like this gain them?

  The term neutralized subject sounded odd. He killed targets—no softened euphemisms needed in his line of work. As a sniper trained by Special Forces, his job required him to kill terrorists. Thoroughly baffled and truthfully scared, Dan pushed his fear down by trying to understand the tactics being used on him.

  Did someone discover I’m a member of the elite Guardians and develop all this to mess with my mind? Being part of a covert Guardian unit meant he possessed a higher-level security clearance than regular Special Forces. Can this be an elaborate hoax set up to obtain secrets? If either is true, that means we’ve got a severe security leak, and the rest of the Guardians could be at risk if they are not already captured.

  Rubbing his temples, wishing the pounding would stop so he could think clearly, Dan wondered again if this was real or a hallucination. The pain felt real, though they might’ve injected him with a hallucinogen and it might not be the first dose given where his memories stopped and restarted. Thoughts of his previous captivity returned and panic rose anew.

  He concentrated on breathing … slowing down as he did when making a kill shot. Not making headway in figuring out his situation, Dan focused inward as Brody taught him, finding a happy place which helped calm him and relieved some of his pain.

  By the time Thornbuckle and Gibbson reentered the room, Dan centered himself and blocked out most of his pain—still there but more manageable. Gibbson sat next to him and Thornbuckle across from him.

  Thornbuckle asked many things. Why did you fail to respond? Why did you disregard a direct order? Were you ordered to shoot? Why did you shoot your teammate to neutralize the subject? Was it an appropriate use of lethal force? Were all other options exhausted? What was the threat level? Was there an imminent threat?

  What is the purpose of this elaborate hoax? Deducing what the enemy wanted became the difficult part of the position in which Dan found himself. He remained silent under intense scrutiny from both men. The surreal situation confounded Dan as much as his lack of responses seemed to puzzle the men.

  He applied his training and remained quiet in the face of interrogation. Not providing answers … easy … since he didn’t know the answers. Before the session started, Gibbson told him he could remain silent and didn’t have to answer any questions. Dan reckoned the role the man played was lawyer sent to represent him … but why?

  After an hour of probing, Thornbuckle gave up in frustration. The fact he aggravated one of them meant he gained a small measure of control. Maintaining a stoic countenance, Dan didn’t allow any of his minor victory to be revealed to them because he had no idea what would happen next.

  Thornbuckle closed the file, exasperated with the constable for refusing to supply a single answer. He stood, and his voice reflected his irritation as he said, “Constable Broderick, you are on unpaid suspension until further notice. Further investigation of the incident will take place, and you are not to leave town.” Grabbing the folder, he stalked out of the room.

  Dan sat bemused by the effort put forth to make him believe he was a constable—one accused of shooting a teammate. He had been a patrol officer before joining the military. Being on the police force had been his dream, but that was before he faced a bleak future with no options except to quit the force. Perhaps someone discovered his history and assumed using this might break him down before going after the intel they wanted. Though, a threat of suspension, unpaid or not, seemed lame given the high-stakes.

&nbs
p; Mentally and physically exhausted, Dan wanted to lay his head down and rest, but he must stay on alert. His right side continued to throb, and each time he shifted in the seat it tugged and stung badly. Thirsty but unwilling to drink from the bottle in front of him, it might be drugged, Dan licked his dry lips wishing for cool water.

  Gibbson roamed a concerned gaze over Dan. He still appeared to be in pain and somewhat dazed. His demeanor and refusal to speak were out of character. Perhaps shooting his teammate in addition to a migraine were to blame but he sensed something different and wrong.

  Unable to pinpoint the reason, Dale stood and said, “I’m going to give you a ride to TRF Headquarters so you can retrieve your keys and wallet from your locker. I’m also going to drive you home so you can rest. Don’t worry this will sort itself out. I’ll be in touch so we can talk when you are feeling better.”

  He handed Dan his phone. “Almost forgot. Here’s your phone. With the suspension, I’ll need to turn your TRF ID over to your sergeant. Let’s go.”

  Dan examined the phone. Not mine. Must have a tracking device or something. He shoved the device into a pocket. I might be able to use this to escape. He rose and became a little light-headed, and his nausea returned. Sucking in a few breaths, Dan followed Gibbson from the room, keeping a wary eye out.

  You Shot Ray!

  17

  September 15

  NRB Office – Reception

  As he followed Gibbson into a reception area, Dan became more aware of his surroundings than when he entered the building earlier. He noted the over-sized calendar on display at the reception desk. The month is all wrong. It’s May not September. Dan stopped and picked up an abandoned newspaper. As he read the publication date, his heart started pounding so hard he became light-headed and stumbled. No, this can’t be right!

  Gibbson noted when Dan faltered. He swiftly reached for him and kept him from falling. Dale hooked his foot on a chair and moved it behind Dan as he gently guided him into the seat. “Dan, are you alright?”

  As his eyes darted around, in a quiet voice, Dan asked, “Where am I?”

  Perplexed by the question, Gibbson replied, “Toronto Nonpartisan Review Board Office.”

  “What’s the date?”

  Dan’s grave expression worried Dale. “September fifteenth.” Concern increased as Dan paled and started to tremble slightly. “Dan, what’s wrong?”

  Scanning the area, noting all the people who stopped what they were doing to stare at him, Dan fought rising panic. “You’re telling me this is Toronto, today’s the fifteenth of September, and I’m a constable. Right?”

  Dale nodded slowly scrutinizing Dan’s reaction. “Yes.”

  Staring into Dale’s eyes, he rejected the notion. “No. Not right. I’m in Afghanistan. It’s May twenty-sixth. I’m Master Corporal Daniel W. Broderick, bravo one zero dash two three one dash nine three eight.”

  Dumbfounded, Dale stared. “Dan, you are in Toronto. It is September fifteenth. You are Constable Broderick. The interview you completed was due to a critical call you were on with the Tactical Response Force.”

  His hands gripped the arms of the chair so tightly his knuckles turned white as Dan shook his head. “I don’t believe you. This is some elaborate … something. You can just stop. I won’t be telling you anything. You’ll kill me before I talk.”

  What in the blue blazes is Dan saying? I knew something was wrong … off. He appears to still be in pain, confused, and wary. Dale spoke in a non-threatening manner, “Relax, Dan.”

  Keeping his guard up, Dan flicked his gaze around him again. He found everyone continuing to stare. Being the center of their attention unsettled him, and his heartbeat became more erratic.

  Unsure of the cause of Dan’s odd behavior, Gibbson needed to make Sergeant Pastore aware of the issue. From his experience with the TRF, they took care of their own. Pastore would help Dan. Hoping to reduce the panic he glimpsed in Dan’s eyes he used the same calm voice. “Dan, how about I show you? I’ll drive you back to TRF Headquarters. Will you come with me and allow me to demonstrate the truth of my claims?”

  Dan tried to assess the situation. Nothing made sense. Nothing. Sitting here wouldn’t give him any answers, so he decided to remain vigilant but go with Gibbson. If this isn’t reality, and I’ve been captured again, perhaps I can figure out how they are doing all this. Discover a way to escape, then locate Brody and the guys. If this is reality, what the hell happened to me? How can I lose three and a half months of my life and end up in Toronto on the force again without remembering? I must find Brody!

  The last thought frightened Dan. He wouldn’t leave Brody to rejoin the police force. Though, the first positive thought entered his mind. Maybe Brody is waiting for me at this TRF. Possibly we both left Special Forces and became constables. God, I hope so.

  Dan wished he had his real phone so he could call Brody. He had the one they gave him, but he refused to enter Brody’s number into the cell, it might be a way to entrap his brother. Dan hesitantly agreed. “Alright.” He stood and allowed Gibbson to guide him outside.

  TRF HQ – Dispatch Desk

  Gibbson led him into an unfamiliar building and into an uncomfortable elevator. The drive revealed Dan’s true location … no longer in Afghanistan. Indisputably someone transported him to Toronto, no faking the change of scenery. He knew Toronto well, having lived here for almost three years. How did I get here? The answer remained a complete mystery.

  He silently waited while Gibbson asked the officer at the desk, “Is Sergeant Pastore available?”

  Dan recognized the undisguised show of disgust on the man’s face as he glanced at him but answered Gibbson. “I’ll find him for you. Wait here, please.” He rose and left the area.

  “While I wait for the sergeant, why don’t you retrieve your keys and wallet from your locker?” Gibbson suggested to Dan.

  Having scanned the layout upon entry to identify all points of egress and any potential threats, Dan noted two signs. One said women and the other men. He concluded these were the locker rooms. Without speaking, Dan strode toward the one designated for males.

  On his way, Dan noticed many glares from men standing about in the same uniform he removed at the NRB office. It unnerved him having so many eyes focused on him.

  TRF HQ – Men’s Locker Room

  Dan opened the door, took several steps inside, and stopped to scan the area. He still had no clue what occurred, but he began to accept this as his reality—hard to fake this much detail. The time gap might be due to suffering one too many concussions. Patch always worried about the number of concussions he experienced. He might’ve been right to worry.

  Which locker is mine? Dan decided to go into one of the aisles. Perhaps they are labeled with names. No luck. Only numbers. Panic started to rise again. Why don’t I remember anything of the past three months? Where is Brody? I need to talk to Brody or Blaze. They will help me. Dan reached out a hand to steady himself as the pain in his head and side increased. His world became blurred again, and nausea threatened to make him hurl.

  Only just now arriving back from the hospital, Loki stalked toward his locker in a rare foul mood. Although Ray would be okay, as it was only a minor wound, Loki continued to be incensed. How could the damned rookie shoot him? He supposedly never misses … a perfect shot, which means Broderick meant to fire at Ray.

  Ray was his best friend, his brother from a different mother. They had been on this team together for two years. He, Ray, and Lexa immediately clicked when he joined TRF, and they had each other’s backs ever since. Today would be no different. Loki refused to allow some shoot-crazy, ex-soldier to escape the consequences of hurting Ray.

  Stupid rookie is gonna learn we don’t want or need him on our team. We were fine with only six like all the other teams. We don’t require a seventh, certainly not trigger-happy Broderick. When the object of his ire appeared before him, Loki let loose. He seized Broderick’s arm, spun him, and with as much force as h
e could muster slammed him into the lockers.

  The room sickeningly tilted as Dan’s head and back unexpectedly struck metal with such force the air whooshed out from his lungs. His pain spiked with a vengeance, feeling like his skull split in two.

  Loki unleashed his wrath with a roar, “Why the hell did you shoot Ray? Your own teammate. Why’d you do it? Why?”

  Boiling mad, heated blood coursed through Loki, causing his ordinarily warm olive skin to flush burnt russet. “You should leave. You’re not wanted. You don’t fit. Jon will kick your ass off the team for what you did to Ray. I’m gonna make sure you pay. No one hurts my brother and gets away with it. No one!”

  Dan’s world reverted to sounds without word comprehension. Struggling to breathe, he couldn’t tell the slender yet muscular man with wavy raven hair ranting at him to stop. The man’s fury obvious, written in every feature of his face and motion of his body. The volume and fervor of the verbal upbraiding drew others to the room.

  Vulnerable in his debilitated state, with trepidation Dan observed a six-foot-four man with broad shoulders, buzz-cut light brown hair, and blue-green eyes approach. A man with bronzed skin and close-cropped black hair followed the huge man. He wore a black t-shirt missing one sleeve. A bright white bandage wrapped around a bulging bicep of the sleeveless arm.

  The last person to approach was a petite woman with rich, dark auburn hair pulled into a ponytail. She glared at him with hellfire burning in the golden flecks of her hazel eyes. For some reason, she frightened him most of all, like nitroglycerin. It didn’t take much nitro to make an epic explosion.

  She began screaming at him along with his initial attacker. The broad-shouldered man and the bronzed man started shouting too, but they directed their vitriol at the other two. An unexpected sucker punch hit him hard on the right side, amplifying his existing throbbing burning sensation. Nitro is a suitable term for her. She packs a mean punch in her tiny fist. He barely finished his thought before she swept his feet out from under him.