Accidental Warrior: The Unlikely Tale of Bloody Hal

by Colin Alexander

  “Some kind of summer program?” the driver asked finally.

  Hal returned a steady gaze. “Yeah. Kind of a survival program. I’ve survived so far, but I’m headed home now.”

  “Hnnh. Yeah, one of my cousins got hooked up with one of those militia groups. I get it. Nobody would come get you?”

  Hal laughed at that and pulled the wreck of his old cellphone out of his belt pouch. “Minor technical malfunction.”

  The driver laughed as well and waved him up to the passenger seat. The truck was headed to White Plains, which was fine for Hal’s purpose. He sat back and marveled at the buildings as the truck rolled east. At first it was like a dream, then he realized that it was all real. When he saw the skyscrapers of Manhattan, he could feel a knot in his stomach relax. He was home, truly home. The trucker dropped him off near the Westchester Mall less than two hours after he picked him up. Again, Hal felt stunned, this time at just how fast they had arrived. Clearly, some re-adjustment would be needed. The driver asked if Hal needed any money to get home from the mall, but Hal just thanked him and waved goodbye. It would be less than three miles from there to his parents’ house, a short hike. Again, he had to grin, if only to himself. A year ago, he would never have thought to walk home from White Plains.

  The walk took another hour. It would have been much less, but when he turned off Route 125 into his old neighborhood, he found himself stopping to look at houses, yards, trees. The Josephson kids were out playing with a Frisbee in their front yard. They stopped their play to stare at him. Hal waved at them but they let out a yell and ran behind the house. I can’t look that frightful. But, of course, he had been gone nearly a year. What stories might have circulated about his disappearance? He shrugged and finished walking the last three blocks to his parents’ house.

  It was one of the older houses in the area, a ranch with rose bushes in the front. His father’s Lexus was in the driveway, an assurance that his family had not moved. When he rang the doorbell at the front door, it was his mother who opened it. She looked at him. Then she screamed. Then she fainted.

  The next few days were a maelstrom of activity. There were questions from his father, his mother, his sister, from every relative they called. He invented a story about having gone out west and joined a group similar to what the truck driver had mentioned. When he couldn’t think of consistent answers to the questions that kept coming, he resorting to saying that things had become tense and he didn’t want to go into more detail. Still, the questions did not stop, so he claimed he could not remember a lot of what had happened. He refused to talk to the reporters—one from the local paper and one from CNN—at all. He also did not want to talk to that “nice Detective Arrington” who, his mother assured him, had spent so much time trying to find him.

  His parents told him that there had been no activity on any of his cards or accounts. A student from the Pennsylvania college had found his wallet outside the house that had hosted the party and turned it in the day after he had been there.

  Hal used the dead cellphone as the reason he had not contacted anyone, but his father could not understand why, in ten months, he had not been able to get one of those cheap pre-paid ones. Hal could tell that whatever stories he used to explain away the previous ten months were wearing thin, and that the only reason they were not shredded was that his family preferred to celebrate his return.

  That led, of course, to the family dinner. His father’s brother came with his wife and their three children; so did his father’s sister with her second husband and two children each from their first marriages. Ivy, his mother’s older sister, came too, thankfully without either of her exes but with her twenty-four-year-old son, Paul, who had terrorized Hal since Hal was five years old. An array of other relatives whom he knew only slightly showed up, which made two dozen people jammed into the Christianson’s dining room.

  They started by toasting his safe return and then the same questions started. Hal gave his usual answers and it did seem that they would lose interest and focus on the ham, until Paul spoke up.

  “So, Hally-boy, can I ask you something?”

  Hal gritted his teeth. He had hated being called that since he had been in elementary school.

  “What really happened at college?” Paul continued. “Did something scare you or freak you out and you just ran away? You can’t just run away from stuff, you know, or maybe you’re not ready for college. You can talk here; we’re all family.”

  Hal’s eyes locked on to Paul’s face. The man had graduated college and was an assistant manager in a department store, which he liked to portray as giving him power over other people. But, in that moment, Hal felt like he had met Paul for the first time. Paul lived at home with Ivy. He was a big man, but much of that was pudge; his hands were soft. Why was I ever afraid of him? This man is pathetic.

  Hal smiled. “Thank you so much for only talking about a couple of things I screwed up. I’ve done so much else wrong you were kind enough not to mention.”

  Paul stared at him, mouth open. Hal thought he looked a bit like the would-be governor that day outside New Rochelle, when he could not figure out what to say.

  But his mother picked up the thread. “You know, Hal, Paulie may have a point. Maybe you’re not mature enough to go away to school on your own. Maybe you could stay home and go to a commuter school.”

  Hal looked at two dozen faces around the table, staring at him. The look on those faces was: pity.

  After that dinner, Hal’s parents could not agree on what they should do for him, or with him, but one point they did agree on was that he had to see a doctor. This was his old pediatrician, Dr. Shah, who asked a whole series of questions of his own. Then he had Hal strip down for a thorough exam with an electrocardiogram and enough blood drawn to make Hal wonder if he would need a transfusion. He spent a while examining the wide band of scar tissue on Hal’s side.

  “What happened there?” Shah asked.

  “Bad scrape, I guess,” was Hal’s reply.

  After that, Shah had him dress and come into the office, where the desk was loaded with papers and the shelves with books. Shah looked at him as though he was a rare zoo exhibit.

  “You know, Hal,” the elderly pediatrician said, “we will need to wait for the blood tests to come back, but I doubt they are going to show anything. I would have to say you are in tip-top shape. You’ve grown another inch, added a lot of muscle. Physically, you are in great condition. But,” he paused, “I would like to know what you’ve been doing since you’ve been gone.”

  Hal shifted in his seat. “Why? You said I’m in good condition.”

  “Why?” Shah repeated. “I saw you just a year ago for your pre-college physical. Now, you’re missing a back molar and that scar across your ribs looks like something violent happened. There’s another scar on your scalp above the hairline. Look, you’re over eighteen; whatever you say is confidential. I won’t tell your parents. Will you tell me what happened?”

  “No,” said Hal.

  Hal’s father unwittingly provided the solution to the escalating storm of questions and arguments. Beginning the day after Hal’s return, he called the university daily, arguing that Hal should be re-admitted for the fall semester. It was a fruitless pursuit until fate intervened. It happened that the police pulled over one of the year’s incoming freshmen, who proved to be both inebriated and combative. One result was a sudden opening in the class and an opportunity for the administration to demonstrate their empathy for Hal’s situation.

  In contrast to the never-ending questions at home, the school was like a sanctuary. Yes, his classmates wanted to know what had happened, most especially his former roommate Bobby Marshall, who had been interrogated three separate times by the police. Still, when Hal said he did not want to talk, the questions ended. He enrolled in a full load of classes, despite the administration’s advice to take it easy at first, and found everything interesting, far more so than he had ever found classes before. Engineering
seemed to be a topic he might want to follow. He found the mechanics of a flush toilet fascinating.

  On his first week back at school, Hal hung around physics seminars until he found a youngish theoretical physicist, Dr. Jerry Kim, who seemed approachable. Over coffee, after a talk Hal did not understand, he asked Kim if there could be any truth to the idea of parallel universes in other dimensions.

  “You mean, outside of science fiction?” Kim asked.

  “Yeah. I mean, for real.”

  Kim chuckled and wiped the lenses of his thick glasses with the bottom of his polo shirt. “Not that anybody knows,” he said. “There are some interesting concepts in string theory and some odd findings in particle physics. The math is pretty esoteric, though.”

  “But,” Hal persisted, “if something just, well, appeared, could we explain how it happened?”

  Kim laughed. “Sorry, no. I mean, I could spout off a bunch of arcane theories people have kicked around, but I don’t think it would mean much. If something like that happened, magic might be as good a word as any.”

  Hal decided there was no point in majoring in physics.

  Classes aside, Hal had worried about his social life before he went back to the campus. That had been a problem even before he disappeared for a year. Now, would he be considered too weird? Perhaps others would think he was dangerous.

  Those fears dissipated rapidly. He had no lack of company on campus, some of it unexpected. Cassi, of all people, became a frequent companion. She had broken up with JoBeth over the summer, a trauma that obviously still hurt. Hal listened when she wanted to talk and the conversations just continued from there. To Hal’s surprise, she had never hated him, had actually thought Hal had hated her. Equally to his surprise, he enjoyed hanging with her. She had a quirky sense of humor and a different slant on life. She also had hurts and losses and appreciated that Hal lent a willing ear. Possibly the fact that their relationship was obviously platonic had something to do with it but, still, it was pleasant.

  Meanwhile, Jenny Savage—whose Columbus Day weekend with her parents had created the opportunity for Bobby and Hal to go to the Water Gap in the first place—developed the habit of running into him, at the Student Center and elsewhere. Jenny was fun, too. The surprise for Hal was that she asked him to campus parties. Her interest was definitely not platonic.

  The fencing club was twice the size it had been the year before. Laszlo was still working on his graduate degree and still coaching the club. He greeted Hal with an offer to lend him some gear.

  Hal pulled the protective equipment on with a small grin on his face. This was going to be very different than a real fight. Once he saluted Laszlo, though, a different set of feelings flooded in. There was a saber in his hand, an opponent in front of him. His mind said it was an enemy who stood there. His mind saw real swords, real bayonets. He went after Laszlo on the piste with all the ferocity he had shown at Gardiner’s Farm. When they were through, Laszlo walked slowly over to the bench, pulled his mask off and sat down. His hair was plastered with sweat.

  “Fuck, Hal, what have you been up to this past year?” Laszlo took a deep breath. “I mean, your footwork’s gotten sloppy and a few times you weren’t paying attention to right-of-way, but, shit, you’re positively lethal out there.”

  Hal grinned at Laszlo. If only you knew. Fencing was just a game, but it was fun. In particular, it was fun to beat Laszlo.

  All in all, life should have been fine. Except for the fact that it wasn’t. Hal couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something wrong.

  He couldn’t put his finger on it, that is, until the night of the Halloween party.

  Fraternities had been banned from campus for years, but there were still houses where groups of students lived. Where there were houses full of students, there were house parties fueled by alcohol and other forms of intoxicants. This particular house was located just down the street from the center of campus. By ten o’clock that evening, the party was in full swing, with participants dressed mostly as superheroes or animals. Hal had come with Jenny, as he did almost all the time by then. Cassi had come with them too, since she was now friends with both, and Bobby tagged along because he had no one else to go with.

  Bobby was dressed as Spiderman, Jenny as Storm and Cassi as a cat. Hal had dithered over his own costume, but after being told that appearing as a redcoat could be taken amiss by some people, he opted for a Captain America outfit. He was working on his third beer when Bobby grabbed his arm.

  “Hal, we got trouble.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s Cassi. In the front room.”

  It was only a few long strides from where he was standing. What he saw was Cassi, with Jenny standing next to her, in an obvious argument with Duke Rohrebach of the football team. He could hear the shouts, laden with expletives, even over the Bon Jovi that was playing. Rohrebach laughed, reached out, grabbed Cassi’s left breast and pulled her close. Cassi screamed and tried to swat the hand away, which was about as effective as knocking away a metal pipe with a piece of pizza.

  “Oh, I’m sorry!” Rohrebach bellowed. “I thought that was part of your costume. Didn’t think a lezzie girl had anything real there. You are a girl under that, aren’t you? Maybe you should take the costume off and we’ll see?”

  “Get your motherfuckin’ hand off me!” Cassi tried to kick him in the groin, but he blocked that with his other hand. “Fuckin’ asshole!”

  Rohrebach’s next laugh was cut off when Hal stepped in between the two, knocked Rohrebach’s arm away and shoved him backward. Cassi let out a yelp, and kept shouting invective at Rohrebach from behind Hal, where Jenny now held her.

  “What the fuck is going on?” Hal’s voice was hard but level.

  Rohrebach took a step back. “Just checkin’ out the diversity, Captain,” he said. “You a friend of the queer bitch?”

  This is going to end badly. “Yes.”

  Rohrebach was not as tall as Hal, but he was broader through the chest. Sculpted muscles stretched the opening of his short-sleeved shirt and ran down his arms. Another man stood behind Rohrebach, with a similarly muscular build. He laughed as he raised his beer.

  “What are you smiling at, fuckface?” Rohrebach said.

  Hal was a little surprised to realize he was smiling. Well, I’ve faced worse situations. I just wish I had a sword. The thought made his smile broader.

  Rohrebach just looked mean. “You must be fucked up,” he said. “Is that it? You fucked up, asshole? We’re going to fuckin’ kill you.”

  “Well, I’m here,” Hal said. “Let’s get started with the killing and see what happens.”

  All the talk stopped. Rohrebach stared at him. The other man looked for a place to put his beer. Behind Hal, Cassi’s curses stopped as if chopped off.

  “Jesus Christ!” Bobby yelled. He stepped in front of Hal and pushed him backward. “Jesus Christ!” Two more students appeared as if from nowhere to help Bobby grab Hal and manhandle him out of the front door. Cassi and Jenny followed. Only when they were on the sidewalk, and it was clear that Rohrebach was not coming out after them, did they let Hal go.

  “Jesus Christ!” Bobby said for the third time.

  “Stop with the Jesus Christ,” Hal said. “What is wrong with you?”

  “With me?” Bobby’s voice went up an octave.

  “Calm down, Hal.” That was Cassi. “I’m okay. I’ll deal with it. He’s just another misogynistic homophobe and there’s a lot like him, even at a school like this. I’ll deal with it.”

  “Why the fancy words, Cassi?” Hal asked. “He’s an asshole. He hurt you. It’s not right.”

  “Yes, and there are ways to deal with it,” Jenny put in. “You know that.”

  “Sure,” Hal said. “But, Cassi, you probably won’t even report it, will you? You’ve told me about enough other things. There’s always a reason to let it go. But there’s a way to deal with it. Right here. Right now.”

  “Christ,
Hal,” Bobby said. “You can’t just go starting fights. Besides, with the two of them, you would get your lights punched out.”

  Bobby might have had a point, but Hal was not in a mood to consider it. “Sometimes you have to fight. I’ll go back in and we’ll see.”

  “No!” The shout came from all of them.

  “Hal, you’re starting to scare me,” Jenny said.

  Hal looked at them. They were his friends. He liked them, but they seemed more upset that he was ready to fight than that Cassi had been abused. What was wrong with them?

  “Look,” Bobby said, “why don’t we go down to Milardo’s, get some pizza. We’ll all cool down.” The three of them agreed on that, not because pizza was such a great idea but because it was an excuse to leave.

  Hal shook his head. “I’m not up for pizza. I’m just going to take a walk and clear my head.” When the others stayed grouped around him, he added, “I’m not going back in. Promise. I just need some time by myself.”

  He walked away, headed back through the center of campus, past the administration buildings. He gulped in the cool night air as though that could clear the fog in his head. What was wrong with his friends? What was wrong with standing up for someone? Why should Cassi have to get hurt, then need to go tell someone about it and hope that, sometime later, something would be done about it? Why not stop it right then?

  By the time he had climbed the hill behind the football field, he knew the answer. There was nothing wrong with his friends. That was the way they were expected to act, here, in this world. Students at an elite, private college did not settle scores in a fight. He was what was wrong.

  He sat down on the hill near the observatory, his mind a jumble of thoughts, one chasing out the other. There was a chill in the air now at the end of October. What would John Slade be up to on a chilly October night? By now, firewood would be split and stacked for the morning. John would be in his bed, no doubt wishing there was someone else to split those logs. Hal grinned. Then he remembered Verplanck’s hand on his shoulder, Verplanck saying that Hal had changed the world. He saw the sun glint off the bayonets at the wall at Gardiner’s Farm, and shuddered at that memory. Lights at the gym lit up the faux red brick bastions guarding the front door. He thought of Anderson at the bastion near the East River. Where would Anderson be? Back in Nya Sverige, he assumed. Down below him, there were flashlights on the field in front of the administration buildings. They reminded him of the campfires he had watched when he sat alone by the trees after the Battle of Gardiner’s Farm. That was when Bel had told him that he wasn’t a coward.