Veil of Silence

by K'Anne Meinel

  “So far, it’s only a local station from what I understand. I’m to head off any others.”

  Heather nodded. “Maybe you could call it in?” she asked hopefully.

  Marsha laughed. “Yes, but that would be chicken. I’ll go call and tell them I’ll be there tomorrow so they aren’t out or something.”

  “You will do that after you’ve changed and gotten something to eat,” her wife ordered.

  Marsha was feeling so good, she squeezed Heather tighter for a fraction of an instant before releasing her. Amir was squawking about only getting his head through the shirt and trying to get his hands through the sleeves all by himself. She watched as her wife went to quiet him. She smiled. Life was good.

  * * * * *

  Calling her parents’ home, she felt so good about her promotion that she wasn’t going to let her mother and her need for attention stand in her way. She would emphasize it in a way that she would understand…threaten her if necessary. She’d make sure the woman finally understood that being in the army meant discretion. She was proud to serve. What had happened to her, while tragic, didn’t mean her mother could capitalize on it for some sort of fame.

  The phone rang long enough that it went to the answering machine.

  ‘Hello, you have reached the Gagliano residence. At the tone, please leave your message,’ her mother’s voice intoned cheerfully. The phone beeped.

  “Hi, Mom, Dad. It’s me, Marsha. Hey, I’m going to be in your neighborhood tomorrow and was wondering if you would mind me stopping by for lunch.” ‘Their neighborhood’ meant she would have to drive across Chicago, partly around the lake, through the tip of Indiana, and into the lower part of Michigan where her parents lived. “I hope you get this before…” the phone was unceremoniously picked up. “Mom? Is that you?”

  The voice on the other end of the phone was not her mother…it was not her father…it wasn’t even English. The voice, one she had never thought to hear again in this lifetime, was Afghan in origin and speaking Tajik. “Mahsa, you will come to me now and you will bring my children. If you do not, I will kill your parents,” Zabi told her in no uncertain terms.

  Marsha was stunned. She was shocked into silence, her heart beating a mile a minute. The voice was so ominous, so threatening. She wanted to hastily obey, but then she realized she was on American soil and he had no rights here. How had he found…and then she remembered the interview her mother had given. No one had noticed Lieutenant Marsha Gagliano’s return, no one, until her mother bragged about it on television. While it had allowed her to obtain her latest promotion, it had also led her children’s father to them. She realized that since family units stayed together in Afghanistan, Zabi would assume she was living with her parents, that her children would be with her there.

  “Mahsa, you hear me?” he asked angrily. Patience hadn’t been one of his virtues.

  “I hear you,” she answered back in Tajik.

  “Then I will expect you and my children shortly. I understand I have another son,” he crowed. Marsha ground her teeth at that.

  “It will take time,” she tried to tell him.

  “Your parents informed my brother that you live several hours away. I will expect you then,” and with that he hung up. Marsha stared at the receiver for several minutes until the incessant and increasingly loud beeping told her to hang it up.

  “Did you get hold of your mother?” Heather asked cheerfully as she came up from the basement with a load of laundry to fold.

  “Um, yes,” she nodded, coming back down to Earth as she realized Heather was speaking English. She smiled. It was a fake smile, but Heather thought that was because of the conversation with her mother, who could be so trying. That woman was not easy.

  Marsha watched as Heather took the laundry into the living room to fold. She knew she would also pick up toys and put them into the baskets they kept around for the kids. She glanced in the living room and saw that was indeed what her wife was doing. She continued to walk down the hall. She saw the night light on in the children’s room. The bunk beds had worked out perfectly. Amir was asleep on the trundle bed, Bahir above him on the lower bunk, and Hayley on the upper bunk, well fenced-in by the netting Marsha had added as a safety precaution. She looked at her children for a moment before walking into the master bedroom. She stared down at Liam for a moment. He was sucking air with his little lips pursing and unpursing. Probably dreaming of a nipple where food came so readily.

  She started to change her clothes.

  Heather walked in with a laundry basket with half of the clothes in it. She had more children’s clothes to fold and wash, but for a change there was some for her and Marsha. If she put it away right away, it wouldn’t build up. She was startled to see Marsha cleaning a gun on the bed.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, alarmed. She hadn’t even known that Marsha had a gun in the house. She thought she had taken all of that gear with her to Afghanistan so long ago.

  Marsha looked up. She was wearing her ACUs or green battle fatigues instead of the tan ones she had worn in Afghanistan. She only had her t-shirt on for the moment as she cleaned the gun she requisitioned so long ago. She had never thought she would actually need it. “I have something to tell you,” she began and then watched as Heather dropped the laundry basket in the doorway, the clothes spilling out. The noise of it caused the baby to snort slightly, but he had a full tummy, was warm and dry, and wouldn’t waken until he was hungry again or wet.

  Marsha saw the frightened look that came onto her wife’s face. She was sorry for it, but she had to tell her the truth in case something happened this evening. “A few months ago, after they let me know that I was cleared of any wrongdoing and Lance called me back in, do you remember that?” She finished cleaning the gun, put it back together in record time, and put the full clip in the receiver—the handle of the gun—chambering a round before slipping on the safety and putting it in her holster. She looked up as she asked the question.

  Heather nodded as she leaned against the open door and slid down it. She knew she wasn’t going to like what her wife was about to tell her. She watched as Marsha picked up her shirt and, putting it on, began to button it.

  “The reason he called me in was that Zabi had petitioned through the Afghan government. He wanted his children back.”

  Heather’s eyes widened at that. “You’re not going to give him our…” she began, but Marsha put up her hand to stop her. She didn’t have a lot of time.

  “Of course not. We ignored the request. I even joked with Captain McKellan about having him eliminated, but we ignored it. We thought if he never got a response he would give up.”

  Heather nodded to show she was following along.

  “Since it’s been months, I thought he’d either try again through official channels or give up.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

  “I didn’t want to upset you. It was right after Liam was born and I just didn’t want to upset things.”

  Heather was annoyed at her wife for protecting her in that way, but that didn’t explain the gun. “I take it things have changed?”

  “When I called my parents, it wasn’t my mother that answered,” she started to explain.

  “Your father…?”

  Marsha shook her head. “After hearing me leaving a message on the answering machine, the most unexpected voice came over the phone…it was Zabi.” She waited for the name to sink in for a moment. “He told me if I didn’t bring his children to him, he was going to kill my parents.”

  “Why don’t you let the professionals handle this? Report it!” she pleaded, knowing her wife would handle this the way she saw fit.

  “Because I have to. Don’t you understand? I have to! That bastard raped me, over and over again until I thought I’d go mad. I only kept it together for the sake of the children, for the hope that someday I might be able to escape him, that I might get my children out of his clutches. I have to do this,” she pleaded
in return.

  Heather stared at her wife. This was not the calm, cool, and collected Marsha she had come to know. The woman before her had hidden demons that the SERE psychologists hadn’t even begun to fathom. The look in Marsha’s eyes was near madness. Heather wasn’t so sure she shouldn’t be afraid. She nodded to show she understood, but was hoping that Marsha would get out of the house. She needed this madwoman out of her house.

  “I know this is crazy,” she said, unknowingly echoing her wife’s thoughts. “This has to be me. I know you will probably call the base or Lance McKellan or the psychologists…but give me a head start. An hour, that’s all I ask. Give me an hour to get there and see what I can find out.”

  “It takes at least three or four hours to get to your parents’ house,” she pointed out, remembering the worry of driving The Wreck that distance for Hayley’s visits. She had finally asked that they come to get the little girl, annoying MaryBeth further at the inconvenience.

  “Then give me those hours to get there and see what I can find out.”

  “And what if Zabi is there?”

  “He is. He answered the phone.”

  “And then what? You kill him?”

  “If I have to,” she promised. “If I can take him as a prisoner, I hope the army puts him in a cell and throws away the key. He isn’t alone,” she cautioned. “He mentioned his brother is with him, probably because he speaks some English.”

  “Zabi didn’t speak English?”

  Marsha shook her head as she finished her dressing. “No, he felt it was beneath him. His brother, however, dealt with many…” she paused for a moment as a memory slid into place, something she hadn’t been able to grasp before.

  “What? What is it?” Heather asked, seeing the bemused look momentarily on her wife’s face.

  “I just remembered something,” she said in awe as the memory began to become clearer.

  “What is it?”

  Marsha shook her head. “It’s not important to this. Please, will you wait to call the troops until I have a chance to check on my parents?”

  “You said Zabi answered the phone. So he has them?”

  Marsha nodded, looking at her wife hopefully.

  “Okay, I’ll give you six hours. That’s enough to get there through Chicago traffic and look around…but no more.” She rose from her sitting position on the floor. “I need you to come back to us. I can’t raise these children without you,” she pleaded, trying to get Marsha to see through the haze of revenge.

  Marsha nodded once, walked into Heather’s space, and hugged her. They were both very aware of the loaded gun on her hip. She pulled back to look into those cornflower blue eyes. “I love you, Heather Gagliano,” she said emphatically, feeling it right down to her toes.

  “I love you, Marsha Gagliano. Don’t disappoint me,” she mockingly threatened.

  “I won’t,” she answered as she leaned her forehead on her wife’s. “I have too much to come back for.” She gave her a kiss, a deeper one than normal, and held it for several seconds before she gently pushed Heather away. Leaving the bedroom, she wasn’t surprised that her wife followed her as she grabbed the car keys and headed out to the garage. She looked back once more to see the worried look on her face. “I’ll call if I can,” she promised and was given a slight nod as Heather held herself in, crossing her arms and looking worried.

  * * * * *

  The drive across Chicago was horrible. Why on earth there would be a traffic jam this late at night was beyond Marsha’s comprehension. Her thoughts were on what she would find once she got to her parents’ place. She didn’t have any delusions about what Zabi would do to her parents. He would kill them simply because he could. Also to revenge Marsha’s insolence at daring to escape, much less take his children with her. She was certain her mother’s interview had led his English-speaking brother to them. They weren’t stupid hicks. She had known they would find out where she was if they could. She knew he was probably angry that he hadn’t been able to surprise her, beat her, humiliate her in front of her parents. The man had a sadistic streak a mile wide and had enjoyed holding her captive in his cave, in his tent, in his arms. He knew she didn’t like him. He knew she would resist him. Just the fact that she had stopped fighting him, resisting him, had taken some of the fun out of it for him. He blamed his impotence on her and beatings were a way to excite him again. Her being pregnant was the only way to assure his prowess.

  Marsha wasn’t sure what she was going to do when she got to her parents’ home. It was on the eastern shores of Lake Michigan, a very provincial little town. Her parents’ home was cozy, gorgeous actually. It had been a great place to grow up. It had also proven stifling to the young lesbian who knew she couldn’t conform to their expectations. Her joining the army had been a betrayal of sorts to her mother. She couldn’t understand why her daughter wouldn’t behave like the other girls in their small town. Marsha couldn’t explain that she couldn’t behave like the other girls because she had dated several. Their experimentations had confirmed to Marsha that she was indeed a lesbian. She sighed as she remembered the turnoff she had to take. It had been so many years since she had been here, she hadn’t been certain she would remember.

  She drove, not to her parents’ lakeside house, but to the local Walmart. She left her service pistol, minus the round in the chamber and with the safety on, under the seat. She didn’t want any problems due to being armed in the store. She went in, drawing curious glances as she put things in her cart. She wore no insignia to show her status as a lieutenant colonel. She just had her name, Gagliano, on the front of her fatigues.

  “Hey, soldier,” two guys tried to pick her up. The look on her face had them both backing down. This late at a Walmart was obviously not the time to pick up a lonely soldier gal.

  She checked out and was back in the van within half an hour. She checked her gun again, put the bullet back in the chamber, and put the safety back on before replacing it in her holster and snapping the flap closed for the moment.

  She turned off the lights before turning down her parents’ rural road. It was nearly impossible to see with the overhanging trees and no street lights for miles. She counted on that for her enemies as well. She did, however, drive carefully and only once heard the sound of gravel as she drove slightly off the road. She parked down from her parents’ property line and slipped across. She cringed as she used the power lock mechanism on the van and it beeped once, flashing the headlights. Cursing under her breath, she headed into the woods and, remembering the paths of her youth when she and her friends played cowboys and indians, she slipped rapidly towards the house.

  She saw that the lights were on in her parents’ home. She knew her parents normally went to bed by ten p.m. every night. They watched the local news and then went to sleep. She could see someone pacing and wondered if that were Zabi, his brother Maahir, or if they had brought more of the tribesmen with them? She saw a strange vehicle in the drive, something her parents wouldn’t be caught dead in. It was then that she saw the other four men. One was smoking, the light of his cigarette giving him away. He was obviously there to guard the vehicle, but doing a terrible job.

  The other three were patrolling the perimeter of the house. She wondered why, when she realized they fully expected her to drive up with the three children and calmly hand them over. Well, they were mistaken. She wished she had time to sharpen the knife she had purchased to a razor edge, but it would have to do. Even if its edge was blunt, she’d take out these men, one by one.

  She slipped up on the first of her targets, the one with the cigarette he couldn’t live without…he didn’t. He barely made a sound as his lifeblood was pumping out of the slit across his neck. She didn’t wait to watch and see if he would die well, she knew where the knife had cut. She went on to her next victim and then her next. Only the fourth, alerted somehow to his companions’ silence, was a struggle. She ended up plunging her military-issued Ontario 490 into his heart and holding her ha
nd over his mouth to keep him from alerting those in the house. She then wiped her knife on his Shalwar Kameez. As the light from the house fell on his face, she felt immense satisfaction knowing that one of her rapists was now dead by her own hand.

  Marsha slipped onto the back porch and was disappointed to find that the patio door she had counted on using was locked. Using her knife, she attempted to jimmy the lock, but some sound or something caused Maahir to come into sight. Marsha could feel the pounding of her pulse in her head and in her arms as she saw one of the men she hated. Not because of the rapes, but because the man would return her to his brother out of a sense of duty. Maahir had actually been kind to her in camp when Zabi wasn’t looking. To have him here, in her parents’ home, was causing Marsha all sorts of anxiety. She slipped away, hoping he wouldn’t go looking for his guards. She went to the scene of many a childhood escape and was disappointed to find that her parents had removed the trellis she previously had used as a ladder. Swearing under her breath, she went to the pantry window and pushed on it. It hadn’t been locked, it had probably been overlooked. Unfamiliar with American homes, she hoped it simply hadn’t occurred to the men that a window in the pantry would need to be checked or that there would even be a window there.

  As she slipped through the pantry and into the kitchen, she could see her parents tied to the elegant dining chairs her mother took such pride in. The set was from the 1800s and she had tried on more than one occasion to say they were a family heirloom. They probably were, but not the Gagliano family. The Gaglianos had come over after WWII and didn’t bring any furniture with them. Marsha kept herself from being seen as she reconnoitered. She didn’t want her mother or father to get hurt by their own actions, however well intentioned.

  Marsha heard a creak upstairs. She knew exactly where that loose floorboard was. She’d had to hop over it many times in her youth to avoid detection as her mother had dog-like hearing. Was it any surprise that MaryBeth must have realized that Marsha was in the house? She heard her yelling, or attempting to yell through the tape they had around her mouth. Marsha heard it and someone else heard it, and they came running.