Jake ends the call.
“Okay, since you insist on coming, you have to take on the alias of Heather Howard, Doug’s older sister who lives in San Diego.”
“Fine, if that’s what it takes to back up your story, then I’ll go along with it.”
I look out of the back cab window to find the man still wrapped tightly like a mummy in wool blankets.
Jake reaches into the glove compartment and pulls out a crumpled baseball cap.
“Wear this,” he tells me when his phone rings.
Jake answers his phone, accidentally pressing the speaker mode.
“Jake! What the hell is going on? Heather just called me,” Doug yells.
Jake rolls his eyes. “It’s nothing. This drunken hunter made his way onto the property. He was wounded and delirious. He started pointing his gun and making threats, so I nicked him in the leg.”
“What the hell, Jake?!” Doug yells.
“We are taking him to the emergency room,” Jake explains.
“WE?! You mean Liz is with you?” Doug roars. “No, no, no, don’t take him to the emergency room, just bring him to me and I’ll take care of everything.”
“I thought about it, but this guy is a real ass. You don’t want him near you. He will just cause more problems. I’ll drop him off at the emergency room so I can wash my hands of him. Liz believes if she helps corroborate the story, it will end things once we leave. I’m going to have her pose as Heather in case anyone asks.”
Doug is much calmer. “Good thinking. I hope you can just drop him off without any problems. You should be able to. The version of a drunken trespasser will not bring alarm to anyone in authority. You know I don’t mind taking care of him for you, even if he is a total ass.”
“I know.” Jake pauses. “Doug, I didn’t wound him badly.”
“I’m sure you know what you were doing. You always do, Jake.”
The call ends without a goodbye.
Jake combs through his hair with his hands, frustrated over the situation. When he looks over at me sitting in a Padres baseball cap, he can’t help but laugh.
“I’m sorry, Liz, but you do not look good in a hat.”
“That’s why I never wear them. Not even if hats are in style. I never buy them.”
“It totally conceals your eyes, so you don’t even look the same.”
“See, it won’t be a big deal if I tell them you were in the right to shoot the hunter and I won’t be identified,” I say brightly.
He smiles and shakes his head. “There’s something about you, Liz. You make everything feel fine when it’s really not.”
Jake has not chosen the easiest route to the emergency room. He drives all over Calgary as if being followed. Is he being hyper-vigilant, paranoid, or both?
We pull into a mega hospital on the south side of Calgary and follow the signs leading to the outside emergency room entrance. There are ambulances parked in the drop off zone as Jake parks at the curb behind them. Paramedics are restocking their vehicle when they see us pull to the curb.
Jake motions for help. The moment the hunter is uncovered, he acts ballistic, flailing his hands and trying to hit someone, yelling extreme vulgarities. A gurney is rolled to the base of the truck bed and he is placed on top. The attending medics call over two police officers.
The drunken hunter twists and turns violently on the gurney.
“That man tried to kill me!” he yells repeatedly, pointing to Jake.
An officer asks him to calm down, but instead of calming, the hunter grabs hold of the officer’s shirt and threatens to sue him for not arresting Jake. The man does not release his grip. The second officer forces the belligerent man’s wrist and handcuffs it to the gurney and a cross-punch with his free arm earns him another handcuff. Once he crosses the threshold of the emergency room, he is jabbed in the hip with a long needle. It only takes seconds for the hunter to silence after the medication is injected. I watch as the hunter is wheeled away and disappears behind massive automatic glass doors.
The officers turn to Jake. “How did you come across this hunter?”
“He was alone. He came onto my property with his leg already wounded.”
Jake describes to the officer the location of his property.
“He pulled his gun on my friend, clobbered my black Lab in the eye with the butt of his gun, and started making threats while pointing his gun at us. He wouldn’t stop even after given several warnings, so I shot him. I couldn’t allow him to act on any of his threats.”
“Well, what more can you do in that sort of situation?” the officer replies.
The second officer walks to the passenger side door where I sit. He taps his knuckles on my window. I open the door and Jakes helps me out.
“Well, you’re a tiny thing, ma’am. We have to ask you aboot the shooting.”
I look strangely at the officer. Did he just say “aboot”? Did he mean to say “about”?
Jake notices the officer’s Canadian accent, so he places himself in front of me.
“Yes, Heather, he needs to ask you about the shooting,” Jake says.
“It’s just as Jake said, he came onto the property with a gun and an open wound. He was obviously drunk and delirious, making threats, and wouldn’t stop or back down. Jake shot him before things got out of hand. We wrapped both of his legs and brought him here.”
“You made the right choice. What could you have done differently under the circumstances? Not much. Do you have any identification on you, ma’am?”
I shake my head. “We were in too big of a hurry to get here.”
Jake pulls his wallet from his back pocket and hands over a couple of forms of identification for the officer to choose.
The officer looks down at the cards, strolls over to the California license plate on the truck, and then strolls back to us.
“What is a U.S. Marine from California doing here, shooting Canadians? This isn’t the Middle East, you know!”
Once the officer saw Jake’s identification revealing his military status, the officer’s disposition changed dramatically. Any bias this man was harboring against Americans came to the surface.
I step closer to the officer. “You just said that we made the right choice. You just told us we couldn’t have done anything different. That man was trespassing. That delusional, hostile man held a gun to me!”
The officer scowls. “What did you say your name was again, ma’am?”
“Heather. Heather Howard,” I lie quietly.
“You’re an American, too? You look like one.”
What is this officer getting at? Where is he going with this? I don’t like it, I don’t like it one bit.
Jake steps in. “If there aren’t any further questions, officer, then we’d like to get back. There’s a big mess in the back of my truck, Heather has a long drive back to San Diego to make today, plus, I’m blocking the entrance to the emergency room with my truck.”
Jake opens the door and helps me in.
“You have all my information if you have any further questions,” he states to the officer as he walks around the bed of the truck.
Jake gestures a polite wave before he positions himself in the driver’s seat.
I do not take off the Padres ball cap or say a word until we are out of city limits.
“Jake, that was weird! Everything was fine until he found out you were a Marine. It’s like you are held to a different standard. I didn’t like his demeaning tone. It was rude of him telling me I am tiny and look like an American!”
“Liz, I am. I am held to a higher standard. I’m trained and experienced. I know better. I have taken oaths that hold me accountable for a lifetime,” Jake goes on to explain. “I shouldn’t have shot that man, but I couldn’t let him hurt you.”
“That’s normal. Anyone would have thought that way. If anything, you knew how to inflict a simple flesh wound. It would have taken me or anyone else a couple of times to disarm or disable him. You did it preci
sely within seconds.”
Jake smiles, winks and says, “You’re such a good American, Liz, sticking up for a Marine.”
“How that officer turned so quickly really bothers me.”
“Liz, I’ve never seen you fired up like this before.” He smirks. “It’s kind of a turn on.”
I roll my eyes. “Come on, Jake, I think I have that man’s blood on me.”
I shiver in my seat over the thought of the hunter’s blood on my clothes.
“I do, too. It’s all over the blankets and that mattress has seen its last day.”
“I just want to get out of these clothes and take a shower.”
Jake helps me out of the truck when we arrive at the cabin. He pulls the mattress from the truck bed and drags it to a clearing. He tells me not to go into the cabin as he disappears in the garage and returns with a can of lighter fluid and a box of matches in his hands.
Jake sprinkles the toxic liquid lighter fluid over the mattress, then the wool is thrown on top. Jake takes off his blood-contaminated clothing, lights a match, and tosses it on top of the heap.
Jake gestures for me to toss my sweatshirt and jeans in the bomb fire.
“I hate trying to wash out blood. I hate the look of blood. I hate the smell of blood. I can’t tolerate it anymore. It’s better to just burn it than to try to wash it out,” Jake says with disgust.
I toss the sweatshirt and T-shirt I am wearing into the fire. Smoke is rising in a plume of black clouds. My pants go next. I watch my clothes ignite and burn. The fire blazes like a signal fire. I smell the blood burning. I’ve never smelled anything like this type of stench and hope I never do again.
I look at Jake’s emerald green eyes; he focuses on the smoke floating. It’s as if this experience is going with it into the air. This is a therapeutic ritual for Jake. Perhaps it’s not his first time burning away a bloodstained memory into ashes.
My teeth chatter as I stand watching Jake pour water on the withering cinders.
“You’re freezing cold, Liz!” Jake says, laden with concern.
I cross my arms around my body and rub my chilled arms “Yeah, I guess it’s no longer summer time. We can’t be hanging outside in just our underwear anymore,” I say dryly as I look at Jake, who is only in his jockey shorts.
He picks me up as if I am a sack of potatoes, flings me over his shoulder, and smacks my bum. I squeal.
“You’re such a smart mouth, Liz,” he says playfully before turning to kiss the cheek he has resting on his shoulder.
Jake carries me into the cabin, but doesn’t set me down.
“Yours or mine?”
“What?”
“Your shower or mine?” Jake asks again.
“That all depends.”
“On what?”
“If I am showing alone or with you. The one upstairs is bigger.”
Jake carries me up the stairs before he sets me down on the bathroom counter top. His actions fill the void of not answering my question.
Chapter 40: Jake
Liz is messing around with the barbeque on the back porch. I watch from afar as she lifts the gray dusty cover, revealing the gourmet outdoor barbequing grill my grandpap bought.
In my mind, I hear the clicking noise of propane tanks lighting. Click! Click! Click! Beads of sweat form above my lip and my heart races as I imagine the barbeque exploding.
Liz takes a washcloth from the kitchen and begins wiping the dirty grill. I jog over and walk up the back stairs as Liz returns to the kitchen to rinse out the dirty washcloth. I shake off the cover before concealing the barbeque.
“Jake, what are you doing?” Liz asks, baffled as she steps back outside.
“Putting the cover back on. What does it look like I’m doing?”
Liz gasps at me, “Why would you not put an outdoor gourmet grill like this one to good use? She gestures to the grill. “Jake, I’m surprised you’re not grilling every night. Let’s at least use it before it gets covered with snow.”
“I don’t want to light it.”
“Why? Is it out of propane?”
“No. It’s completely full.”
I lower to my haunches, pulling the edges of the cover down.
“I just thought it would be nice to grill some steaks tonight.”
“Yeah, that would be nice.”
I step away from Liz. Her eyes follow me.
“So…what’s the problem? Is there some malfunction in the grill?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Is it just that it hasn’t been used in a long time?” Liz asks incredulously.
“There is nothing wrong with it. It has plenty of propane in its tank and I’m sure it works perfectly fine!”
Liz raises her eyebrows. “Well, then, let’s grill some steaks and vegetables on it for dinner tonight. We definitely don’t have a shortage of those.”
Liz is not letting this go.
“Would you rather grill chicken or salmon? Do you not want steaks?”
“I don’t want to grill anything!” I say with a stern voice, silencing Liz. I rub my hands over my face and then intertwine them at the nape of my neck.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to push the issue,” she says solemnly, walking away.
I grab her by the elbow. “Liz, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so harsh. I don’t like to use that grill because I imagine it blowing up in my face. I picture in my head its effects of blowing shards of metal. Worse yet….exploding in your face if you were to light it. Anything that might explode, I envision it doing so and that grill over there is one of them,” I say as I point to the barbeque.
I collapse into a chair on the porch and pull Liz down to sit on my lap.
“Before I returned from Afghanistan this last time, there were countless IEDs exploding near me. I became nerve-wracked and was left confused after the loudness, and shaking from the IEDs. One time, we were trying to keep ourselves occupied instead of being constantly anxious, waiting for the next thing to happen at base camp. Suddenly, we hear a ‘BOOM!' outside.”
Liz startles.
“I would jump right out of my skin when they would explode. I would see a cloud of billowing smoke and the medic team would get ridiculously busy because people would start to flood in for medical attention. I would gather my men to patrol the area.”
“I started to worry an insurgent had set off an IED just to get us to come off our base and then strike us. We had no other choice; the order was to go out on patrol. We walked where IEDs would randomly explode. I had to question people, be with the squad, and find out what happened.
“Another time, people were lining the streets when we were out on patrol in a populated market area. Somebody pulled up on a bicycle with a bomb strapped to it. They casually walked away and detonated it. The explosion was right next to a bunch of shops. The sight and smell was grotesque.
“The IEDs had a disturbing effect on me in the end and it became too much. I guess I became tired of having shards of metal plucked from my skin. That’s why I leave the grill alone. I have had intense experiences with blasts year after year. For some reason, I cannot shake this edgy feeling since I’ve been back and it has stayed with me longer this time. I’m absolutely terrified of the grill.”
We sit in silence.
“That’s also the reason why I feel that I cannot go back yet. I need to shake the feeling completely as I have in the past. Some guys do tour after tour, returning with the trembling feeling, but I just can’t.”
Liz kisses me tenderly on the cheek before whispering into my ear, “Let’s put the grill in the boat and drop it in the middle of the lake. If the grill bothers you, then we don’t need it.”
I squeeze her tightly and chuckle.
“Standing under an explosion of fireworks at a Fourth of July celebration must be pure hell for you, especially during the grand finale. I’m never taking you to a crowded college homecoming football game when they light the fireworks and the cannons blast at half-time.”
“They don’t have celebrations like that in Canada, at least none I go to. I don’t go to the ones in San Diego, either.”
I hold Liz on my lap and we sit in the calm, quiet, peacefulness of each other. I love how she isn’t trying to fix my problem by lighting the grill to force through my fear. She just listens and understands. I need patience more than I need someone pushing me.
Chapter 41: Liz
We drive an hour from the property to a place where Jake wants to go rappelling before the first snowfall. I’ve been rappelling, but not since college so my nerves are a little bit on edge as I imagine scaling down a sheer wall of smooth rock. I hold my gaze out the passenger side window to distract myself so my nerves don’t get the best of me.
The aspens have lost their leaves, the pines have remained the same with their deep greens, and the rest of the forest trees have turned from shades of gold to orange, and many are crimson red. The mountainside looks as if it is erupting with red, hot lava. The drive alone is spectacular. I would be content with a simple drive to take in all the awe-inspiring fall colors. Not Jake; he does not simply go for a joy ride in his truck. Jake has a purpose today, one he is looking upon with great anticipation.
At a bend in the road, we stop in a dirt parking lot. I notice there are three parked vehicles, assuring me we are not in a solitary place. Jake grabs both backpacks in his hands. I take the one with our lunch and water. Jake straps on the heavier one full of ropes, anchors, and figure-eights.
I look around the area, a bit confused, since all I see are a nearby creek and hiking trails, no cliffs.
“Jake, I thought we were going to go rappelling. There’s nowhere to rappel around here,” I ask, baffled.
“We’re going to hike to a rock and rappel.” Jake extends his arm to point in the direction we will be hiking. He looks at his destination with a sparkle in his eye. I, on the other hand, am petrified by the idea. When Jake turns back around to face me, I force a smile.
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