by A. C. Wilson
Yes until that day and every day after, he had had a firm hold on the pain he had suffered. Why would he share them with some random stranger anyway? They would only pity him. They would only look at him as if he was defined solely by his past and then he would have no choice but to succumb to it.
Well, that was bullshit.
Blake took another drink of his coffee and cleared his throat. Sometimes the little voice in his head was right. Sometimes it did nothing but torment him. Today must be his lucky day.
Standing up to put his coffee mug in the sink, Blake decided that he was going crazy inside the house. He was getting too familiar with being alone and it bothered him. He hated most that he lived inside his head. The war for him was going on inside rather than outside. The enemy happened to be himself. So in a matter of five minutes, Blake had tied on his tennis shoes and pulled on a sweatshirt. Opening the front door, he welcomed the fresh morning air as he came out onto the deck and closed the door behind him. Taking in a lung full of cool air, Blake kept his eyes closed until he had repeated the process several times. The hammering in his head was already starting to dissipate and with some relief, he took in his surroundings.
Everything was quiet on the street. He heard a squirrel chatter furiously at something and from the corner of his eye, he saw something move. It made him jump and instantly his senses were on full alert. He froze in his spot as he glared into hard gold eyes. The almost painful beats of his heart marked each second that he stood there. Those large, wary eyes took in the strange person also watching it. Blake nearly wanted to laugh. Nearly.
“What do you want?” Blake asked the odd cat that sat on the porch railing. No answer, of course except for the slight twitch of its black tail. That had been the movement that had caught Blake’s eye and sent him to attention. Still the cat watched him. They considered each other. Blake took in the long black fur and the white patch on its throat and chest like a tuxedo. Gold eyes pierced his own as if to say “who the hell do you think you are?” The surly nature fit the feline. From the vibe that Blake got this particular cat didn’t have an owner. In fact it looked as if it owned the neighborhood, if not the world.
Giving the cat a resolute nod, Blake moved carefully off the porch and down the sidewalk. Only turning to glance once at the cat who still sat proudly on the railing, staring at him. Blake turned back to the sidewalk and with a determined breath, he started to jog slowly down the street. His chest began to hurt twenty minutes into the jog. He definitely wasn’t up to par yet from the injuries he had experienced. Blake’s side felt like it was on fire and he felt the newly healed flesh tightening across his back. His muscles screamed at him. Stopping at the end of the street he had turned onto a while back, Blake focused on his breathing.
In. Out. In. Out.
He jumped when a dog on a leash and its owner walked past. Blake’s heart started thumping double time. The man noticed Blake’s reaction and stopped his pet.
“I’m so sorry. We didn’t mean to startle you.” The man smiled easily and Blake tilted his head in confusion. He felt as if he were remembering something or someone, but couldn’t put a name to it. The man mirrored Blake’s look and for once he didn’t feel crazy.
“I’m sorry, but I swear that I’ve seen you before.” Blake shook his head and smiled tightly. Maybe he was really starting to lose it now. He didn’t usually converse with strangers, but this town had done abnormal things to him. It all started when he had decided to stay in Hot Springs.
“That’s funny. I had the same feeling.” The man told his dog to sit and Blake looked at the Husky mix patiently waiting. “I’m here working at the Johnson Therapy Center. My name is Declan Marcos and this is Jax.” The man held his hand out and Blake felt an instance of clarity. Blake took his hand.
“Blake Phails.” He smiled and shook hands. “I came on leave and want to check the place out. From what I hear the center is good at helping trauma sufferers.” Blake stumbled over his words. He found it hard to lump himself into the category. It made him feel weak.
“I would be more than happy to show you around. I suffer from PTSD and TBI too. The horses have such a profound effect on brain.” Declan Marcos indicated his head where Blake could see a thick scar marring one side behind the man’s ear.
“You served?” Blake asked of the man, absently running his hand over the back of his neck. Declan nodded.
“I got out a couple of years ago. I couldn’t make the therapy sessions work and I didn’t want to relive the war going on in my head. All I wanted to do was end the pain.” Declan patted Jax’s head and Blake knew exactly what the man was talking about. It wasn’t the first time someone had mentioned suicide. It happened more frequently than it had any right.
“So you came here?” Blake asked, noting the inner turn the conversation had taken. Declan shrugged.
“I found a great support system here and I got Jax from the Pets for Vets program. He is always with me, even at the center and I’m reminded each day that I’m not alone. I have responsibilities and I want to live my life on my terms.” The proud, successful smile made Blake want that as well. It gave him hope that things could change. It would take time and it would take work, but it could get better.
“Maybe I’ve come to the right place then.” Blake mused softly and surreptitiously rubbed his back. The jog had jarred some things loose and it wasn’t just the physical, although his newly healed wounds hurt.
“Things definitely happen for a reason.” Declan reached into his short’s pocket and brought out his phone. “If we share our numbers, we could meet up at the center. I have to go in this afternoon if you are interested in a tour. I’m sure Mr. Johnson won’t mind.” Declan waited expectantly as Blake got out his own phone. They exchange the numbers and said goodbye.
Blake turned and walked down the street back the way he had come. There was a minute bounce to his step that hadn’t been there before the visit with Declan Marcos. He had heard about veterans with PTSD often found animals to be a source of comfort, but he hadn’t really considered such a thing for himself. Growing up he wasn’t the typical boy with his dog following him everywhere. Pets were impractical when your mother was detained otherwise. Sometimes taking care of him was a chore she failed miserably at completing. Blake felt his stomach turn. He hated thinking about his past. There was nothing in it that he could change.
It took another twenty minutes to walk back to his rented house and he wondered if the cat was still there. Would it be waiting for him to return? Was it friendly? Was it someone’s pet? Pursing his lips, Blake thought that from the look the cat gave him there was no way the cat belonged to anyone. It almost looked like the lone wolf type. Blake shook his head at the canine reference for a cat. Pushing his burning legs the last few feet into the yard, he noted with a sinking feeling that the cat was gone. The spot that it had been sitting on was now void of assessing gold eyes.
Climbing the deck’s stairs to the front door, Blake was careful to be quiet. Perhaps the cat would come back. Setting his hand to the door knob, he pushed in with his thumb and opened it. Just before he walked through the entrance into the house, Blake looked once more. His heart did a little flip when he saw the graceful feline leap up onto the spot it had been sitting on before. Blake gently closed the door and turned towards the cat. Its eyes widened at the movement. One step in its direction and the cat’s body tensed. Blake recognized the moment before it would go lithely away. Taking that same step away, Blake thought a second and decided that maybe food would entice the cat.
Disappearing into the house, he came out with the plate of uneaten breakfast. The cat’s nose was immediately working overtime as it sniffed in the direction of the plate. Taking tiny steps to the middle of the deck, he put the plate on the wood and then retreated to the steps. The food was almost exactly halfway between himself and the curious, but wary cat. He could almost see the feline’s brain working the odds of making it over to the food and getting away before somethi
ng might happen. The temptation of food must have won out, because the cat seemed to have made up its mind. Blake watched carefully. He had no way to reassure the cat that he wasn’t going to hurt it. From the slight limp and patch of missing fur on the cat’s back foot, it had had its share of ill wishes. Patiently waiting to see what the black and white cat would do, Blake tried not to squirm but his back was hurting. He slid a couple of inches to the left and he watched as the cat darted forward, grabbed a slice of bacon deftly and scrambled back to the railing. With a flash of black fur, the cat was gone and Blake was minus one piece of bacon.
Blake chuckled to himself as he replayed the cat’s mad dash for food. Shaking his head, he didn’t think the cat would be back so soon and he got up to pick up the plate of food. Maybe the feline would get hungry again. Blake drew the line at calling the cat a friend, but maybe someday it might be. For right now, they were even footing and that made him feel good. Taking another slice of bacon off the plate, he put it up on the spot the cat had vacated in such a hurry. Surreptitiously surveying the yard, he didn’t see the animal hiding in the bushes. Shrugging with a smile firmly planted on his face, Blake went inside feeling a great deal lighter than when he had left.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Inaction was probably worse for a solider than a grueling, forty-eight hour shift. Blake was antsy and agonizingly jumpy over the slightest sounds in the house and the neighborhood. There wasn’t anything to satisfy the burning of his nerve endings. He stared at the bottle of prescription pills sitting in front of him on the table. They represented an enemy Blake has no idea how to battle. It wasn’t like the years he had spent in service to his country. There was nearly always a clear objective and if there wasn’t then there was certainly a good reason. It was ironic how he never thought to deny the mission. Now the mission was to take these pills, walk around in some haphazard fog, and pretend the walls weren’t closing in on him.
Fuck that.
Taking a deep breath, Blake pushed the pills away and got up from the chair. He couldn’t sit there staring at them anymore. He needed to get out of this house. Stuffing his wallet into his back pocket and snatching his hat from the end table, he stepped out onto the front porch. The large cottonwood trees shaded the front of the house and yard. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he held it and then expelled it on a sigh. A couple more times had his head in a better place and he looked around for the cat. There wasn’t a sign of the animal.
Blake scanned the neighborhood up one side of the street and then down the other. It was the timestamp of Mayberry if he had ever seen one. The manicured lawns, the well-maintained, less expensive homes, and children’s toys in the front yard were just some of the signs that Hot Springs was homey and quiet. It was the place where people went when the world got too loud and their ears couldn’t take the clamor anymore. This was home.
Home.
There was the word again. It popped unbidden into his brain. The word that had a plethora of meanings and yet, he couldn’t see what it would mean for him. His chest clenched at the possibility of finding that meaning. Could it be more valuable than anything he had ever worked for in his life? Could it be his saving grace? Blake shook his head and walked toward his truck. He lived so much inside his memories without even being able to look into the future. It bothered him. He had always been able to move forward and heck it had become something of a mantra for him. He couldn’t dwell. He wouldn’t hold onto the past that clawed and clung to his soul. Forward was the only way he could keep his sanity, because if he were to stay tangled in that vast web of chaos he would never come out.
Blake noted his phone vibrating with a message and he pulled it out of his pocket. Declan Marcos had messaged him with the address to the center. Earlier Blake couldn’t wait to go and see what the equine therapy was all about, but now, he almost couldn’t make his truck move in that direction. He wasn’t sure what he would see when he got there.
Will there be other broken men like me?
Will they be damaged and angry?
What business do I have thinking I belong with men like that?
The last question rocked him. As an individual he knew he was different, but wasn’t he broken too? They each suffered from untold trauma and that made them brothers in this war as well.
Brothers.
That word was becoming something of a thorn in his side. Instantly he thought of Tanner and how his brother was gone. A genuine friend taken before his time was up. Blake knew he was being selfish, but he wanted his friend to still be here. Maybe they could have gotten through this mire together as they had done with so many other things. Then again they both might be dead right now. It was a sobering thought. He messaged Declan back and started the engine. Plugging in his seatbelt, Blake pulled out of the driveway and onto the road. Thankfully he was able to blank his mind and follow the directions to the Johnson Therapy Center.
The South Dakota countryside was a beautiful contrast of tall grass prairie and heavily clustered pine trees. Miles stretched with a sprawling sea of waving grass only to butt up against the footing of the inspiring hills. The pine trees standing like sentries, vigilant and proud. No sounds broke the stillness and no traffic marred the landscape. Arriving at the center, Blake was surprised to note that the parking lot was virtually free of vehicles. There were a couple of horses in a round pen. A young man walked out of the barn and across the driveway to get into a truck. It drove quickly away. Blake parked his own truck and determinedly got out. He felt weird. His brow creasing with a sudden feeling of a fish out of water. This piece didn’t feel familiar and he nearly had to pry his feet off the spot he stood.
“Blake!” At the sound of his name, he turned to see Declan crossing the driveway and Jax right on his heels. “I’m glad you could make it.” The men shook hands and Blake made it a point to smile. If anything it might ease the sinking feeling in his stomach.
“I was happy for the escape. I’m not very good at sitting still for long.” Blake tried to lighten the mood and Declan laughed. Blake couldn’t seem to muster more than a forced chuckle.
“I understand that well enough. We were men of action and now the action has to come from some other place.” Declan clicked his fingers to get Jax’s attention and the dog quickly came to his side.
“You mean there is life outside of the service?” Blake meant to be funny, but it came off more as angry chip on his shoulder. Declan offered a pitying half-smile and nodded his head. Blake just shook his head and followed his new friend. Surely the rest of the tour would go better.
Luckily the tour of the Johnson Therapy Center did go better than the first few minutes of him trying to be someone he really wasn’t. Blake was genuinely interested in how the equine therapy worked and Declan was enthusiastic about the process. From what he had gathered the therapy sessions were usually one on one along with a horse. It sounded harmless enough. The veterans also helped take care of their horse as part of the trust building exercises. Everything Declan told him, Blake wished he could participate. His limited vacation plans made it nearly impossible, but maybe they would have something when he got back.
You’re coming back here?
The thought landed like a gunny sack full of potatoes. It sat there just like one too. Blake decided to leave it there until he could actually revisit it with some purpose. The guys rounded the corner of the short barn to find a beautiful gold horse standing at the gate to the round pen tethered to the fence. Blake hesitated for a moment until those big brown eyes rested on him. He felt compelled to touch the horse, stroke the short coat that shone in the sunshine. Hand outstretched before him, Blake inched his way toward the horse’s head. His heart was beating rather quickly and he had to remind himself to breathe. His fingertips brushed the long nose to the velvety softness near its mouth.
“I can see you are in good hands. I need to run into the office and check on a couple of messages.” Declan said from behind Blake and Blake could only nod his head slowl
y. He was mesmerized by the horse. Blake slowly reached his other hand out to stroke the long mane of almost white hair. The strands were coarse as he smoothed them down.
Time passed in bewildered pats and deliberate caresses. The horse’s eyes held him entranced and oddly comforted him. All the voices in his head seemed to quiet and recede to watch him. Oh he knew they were still there, but it didn’t matter so much at the moment. He whispered softly to the horse and noted when the ears came forward.
“Liberty.” The feminine voice behind him gave him pause and he turned slowly around. He lifted a brow before a knowing grin broke out across his face.
“Huh?” Blake could only utter the sound rather than intelligent words. The girl smiled at him and indicated the horse with a gloved hand.
“Her name is Liberty.” It was the girl he had rescued from a flat tire at the grocery store yesterday and today she was here at the center.
“Bailey.” Blake could only utter the name and his inner self shook its head dismally at the lack of finesse. His gaze swept from her blonde ponytail to her light brown eyes to the dirty pink t-shirt and faded denim jeans. It was impossible not to like what he saw before him.
“Blake.” Bailey lifted her eyes and graced him with a smile. It was sweet, but Blake thought that if she ever gave him a full watt smile, he would be dazzled for life. He felt rather foolish for thinking something like that about a girl he had two very short conversations with.