Amy Lynn, Into the Fire

by Jack July

  Bogus gave Tigger a hand signal; Tigger lifted off, rotated the helo and lit the scene with the spotlight. As Bogus knew, all special operations people get some emergency medical training, and Athos had been his unit’s medic; he’d had a lot of training.

  Jack watched over the edge of the bridge as Athos and Luther splashed through the shallow creek forty feet below and crawled under the car.

  Athos flipped to his back coming face to face with an unconscious Carla Jo. He checked for a pulse. Luther crawled under the car from the other side in time to see the expression on Athos’ face. “Luth, tell him.”

  The cabin was quiet. Amy hadn’t said a word since she woke up. Still, she made breakfast and sat down at the table. Dr. Earle sat with his coffee and tried to make eye contact. She wouldn’t look at him. He took a biscuit and prepared it, applying butter and honey, then took a bite. After a sip of coffee, he cleared his throat. “Is this how you apologize?”

  She wore a stoic expression as her eyes bore into him. “For what?”

  “For trying to kill me?”

  Her words were cold and flowed like ice down a northern river. “If I tried to kill you, you would be dead.”

  “Point taken. How about threatening to kill me?”

  “I told you to stop. You should have stopped.”

  “The whole point of your visit is to get past these hard things and figure out why you can’t abide being the more civil version of you. If you say stop every time it gets hard, we will not be successful.”

  She dropped the butter knife on her plate with a loud clank, gripped the edge of the table with both hands and leaned forward. Her expression bordered on rage as she spoke through gritted teeth. “What about that do you need to know? Tell me, what? Do you want to know how once or twice a day, I see it, I feel it, I relive it? EVERY DAY!” she screamed.

  Dr. Earle stayed quiet. She leaned back in her chair and looked away. “It comes with no warning. With. No. Warning. I’ll do the simplest things: cook, clean, hang out with my family, my friends. A moment will come, like a short movie, a scene, a disgusting scene. It disrupts everything I do. I stop, dead in my tracks, like I hit a wall. It takes a good thirty to forty-five seconds to come back.”

  “Does this happen to Fenian?”

  “No, no, never.” She looked down at her own chest and began to unbutton her shirt. “Let me show you something.” She moved her shirt to the side and pulled down the cup of her bra, exposing her left breast. She let her finger trace the jagged scar around the nipple. “Do you see that? Do you see that scar? When I am making love to my husband, his head will slide down my shoulder, his mouth finds my nipple and my breathing gets quick. Terror shoots through my body, because I wait. I wait for the teeth to clamp down on my nipple and the flesh to rip. I wait for him to chew my nipple off. I look at the top of his head and see the little bastard that attacked me look up and smile, blood dripping down his chin. My blood.” She pulled up her bra cup and closed her shirt. She let out a short maniacal burst of laughter. “Do you want to know the real shit part? He thinks I’m enjoying it and he doesn’t stop.”

  “Did you ever think of telling him?”

  She choked out a disbelieving laugh. “No, no never. I will not take my breasts from him. What’s next? My lips, my… the rest of my body? No, no, you don’t get it. He deals with so much, if I take away anything else from him, how could he ever love me?” She patted her hand against her chest and just above a whisper said, “I can’t even love me. I have to love the version of me you said I made up?”

  “Is sex a problem in your relationship?”

  Amy sighed. “No, he’s wonderful. He’s kind, tender, fun… just, wonderful. It’s those moments I can’t shake. Like an airplane: the engines go out and you have to restart ’em before you hit the ground.”

  “So, do the engines, restart?”

  “Sometimes yes, sometimes no, but I’ll never let him know the difference.”

  “Do you think that’s fair?”

  Amy shrugged. They were quiet for a few minutes. Amy took a big drink of juice. “So, there. Is that what you wanted to know?”

  He reached across the table to hold her hand, but abruptly she pulled it away. Dr. Earle rolled his hand over, palm up to let her take it. After a few moments, she did. He gave it a warm, gentle squeeze. “Yes, that’s what I needed to know. You are gonna be fine, just fine. What do you say we go for a walk, then continue telling me about the mission.”

  Her face remained stoic and her demeanor was still cold, but she looked like a bit of pressure had been released. When she looked him in the eye, she seemed a bit surprised. “I never said those words out loud before.”

  Dr. Earle nodded. “I know. Good job.”

  Amy looked in the side mirror. “There’s the blue Audi.”

  Sonda nodded. “Do you want to set him up? See who it is?”

  “My uncle has a saying; ‘You don’t start no shit, there won’t be no shit.’ He’s not interfering.”

  “Yet.” Sonda finished the thought.

  The Audi turned down a side street. Amy pondered for a moment. “I think he knows we know.”

  “Yeah, he’s not trying very hard.”

  “How much farther?”

  “About fifteen minutes. Want to handle it like before?”

  “Sure, works for me.”

  Two old cars were parked in the front of what appeared to be a factory office. Rectangular in appearance with no signage and a truck dock in the front, its appearance was as far from that of an orphanage as one could imagine. Odetta gave Sonda a questioning look. “Are you sure this is it?”

  “Yes. Remember what I said. Try to stay calm while we figure this out.”

  “This is a state-run orphanage?”

  “Yes.”

  Amy did a weapons check, even though it felt strange doing it knowing where she was going. But you could never be sure. They walked to the front door under an awning. The glass in the big wooden door was broken and had been boarded up. Sonda grabbed the handle and pulled the door open. Immediately they were hit with an ammonia smell so strong it nearly knocked them backward. Amy put her hand over her mouth and grunted, “Oh, wow.”

  The room was empty with just an old counter and two office doors, one straight ahead and one on the right. Suddenly a portly middle-aged woman appeared through one of the doors.

  “You do not belong here. Get out, get out now!” she shouted.

  Sonda, playing the role of a meek woman, pleaded, “So sorry, so sorry but please. This woman is from America wanting to adopt. She just wants to see. She has lots of money.”

  Sonda looked at Odetta, who was now in character “Give her some money.”

  Odetta took out a $100 bill and put it in her hand. The woman watched them both carefully, then nodded. “You may look, but only for a few minutes.” She waved them forward, and they followed her through her office and out a door in the back. When that door opened the ammonia smell doubled in strength, causing Odetta to gag. However the smell quickly took second place to the sight. The large room had two main aisles. On the left, at least twenty cribs were lined up. Some of the babies in them appeared normal, others less so. Most were naked, some stood against the rails staring, others sat and rocked. It was eerily quiet. Odetta whispered to Sonda, “Why aren’t they crying?”

  “Babies cry to get someone to come. When nobody comes, they stop crying.”

  “Oh, Jesus.”

  “Stay calm.”

  On the right, two women were working their way down a line of fenced-in children who appeared to be three or four years of age. In truth they were much older; malnutrition had stunted their growth. The women carried bowls with spoons, and the children stood by the fence with their mouths open as the women shoveled in some kind of cereal. Suddenly Odetta couldn’t take it. She was nearly weeping. “Call somebody, call child protective services, Jesus Sonda—”

  Sonda grabbed her arm. “Stop! This is it. This is where the unwa
nted children go. The sick, the dying.”

  Odetta’s eyes kept scanning the room. Each child was in worse shape than the previous. “Aren’t there standards? Somebody has to care, Jesus Christ.”

  “These people get a certain amount per child to care for them. The less they spend, the more they keep for themselves. These systems are left over from the days of the Soviets. We are trying to fix it, but these types of systems don’t go away easy. Now please calm down.”

  Odetta watched as a naked filthy little boy reached through the bars, trying to get the attention of the woman with the cereal, but she skipped by him. Like a dry twig, Odetta snapped. “Hey, HEY! You missed one, you missed him!”

  Sonda grabbed her arm again. “Dammit, stop.”

  The woman they had paid to come in became agitated and yelled for them to leave. The combination of Odetta’s American sensibilities and motherly hormones screamed for justice. Odetta drew her weapon and placed the barrel between the portly woman’s terrified eyes. Odetta growled, “Oh, hell no! Sonda, translate.”

  Sonda went a little pensive. “Odetta I…”

  Odetta shouted, “Translate!” Odetta pulled back the hammer and asked, “Who is selling the babies?”

  Before Sonda could translate, one of the women holding a big bowl of cereal escaped to the back and made a phone call.

  Chapter 22

  Luther rolled out from under the car and shouted up, “SHE’S ALIVE! WE NEED HELP!”

  Jack and Bogus scrambled down the side of the hill. Athos called out to Luther, “1-4-4-1, 1-4-4-1.”

  Luther looked confused. “What?”

  Athos realized that was the Cypriot number for air rescue and that Luther had no idea what he talking about. Athos yelled, “Asthenoforo!” (Cypriot for Ambulance.)

  “What? Would you speak bloody English please!”

  Bogus had plucked Athos straight out of Turkish Special Forces to be one of Amy’s bodyguards. Athos’ father had knocked Bogus to the ground when he’d caught Bogus hitting on his wife, a Greek beauty, some twenty years earlier. In a twist of fate, the two later ended up fighting side by side in a place they shouldn’t have been, doing things they shouldn’t have been doing. They became the best of friends. Bogus watched Athos grow into a fine man and talented combatant.

  Athos’ English was marginal, but he and Amy had worked on it while they ran in the early morning hours around the Irish castle. What they’d never worked on was the medical jargon. Luther knew Athos spoke French, which is usually how they communicated. Athos was still struggling.

  “Pour l’amour de Dieu parlez Francais!” Luther grumped. Bogus and Luther both spoke French.

  “Ambulance aerienne!” (Air ambulance.)

  “Oh.” Luther turned and yelled up the hill, “He wants a medevac.”

  Bogus stopped, pulled out his phone and called Tigger. “Tigger, call in a medevac.”

  “Already did. Boss.”

  That’s why Bogus hired who he hired: they rarely needed to be told what to do. Athos spoke a command from under the car as Jack and Bogus approached. Jack, nearly in a panic, asked, “What did he say?”

  “Jack, you need to calm down. We are going to get her out and she will be fine. Athos is speaking French and I will translate for you. Ready?”

  “Yeah.”

  Jack and Bogus wriggled under the car’s passenger side on their backs. Luther and Athos were under the driver’s side. Jack took one look at Carla Jo hanging limp, arms dangling, face and head bloody, and exclaimed, “Oh God!”

  “JACK!”

  “Yeah, yeah, okay.”

  Athos explained how they were going to get her out. Bogus translated, “We are going to push up on her and I will remove the seatbelt. We need to keep her head and back as straight as possible. We will lower her head-first toward us. When her feet clear, they will bring her out on their side. Understand?”

  Jack nodded. “Yeah, yeah.”

  As they brought Carla Jo down flat on top of them, she stirred. Then she began screaming in pain, thrashing and fighting. They held her arms. Jack soothed, “I’m here baby, I’m here. It’s gonna be alright.”

  Athos gave a terse command and Bogus relayed the message. “Jack, she doesn’t understand. Keep going. Thrashing and struggling is common with head injuries.”

  They slowly slid her out from the driver’s side. It was only then that Jack looked up and saw the lights of a dozen police vehicles and other officers standing around the car, followed by the whine and spotlight of the Bell 228B medevac helo. They gently placed Carla Jo on a backboard and secured the straps. Two big state troopers and a couple of local officers grabbed the board and headed up the hill, Jack step for step behind them.

  As they made it to the top, the Air Ambulance crew pulled a stretcher from the helo and the transfer was made. Jack wanted to ride with her, but Bogus stopped him. “There’s not much room. Let them do their job. We will follow them.”

  Jack nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

  The medevac helo spooled up and lifted off. Tigger landed and Bogus climbed aboard. Tigger turned and over the noise shouted, “Boss, BINGO.”

  Bogus understood what that meant and stopped Jack. “We are low on fuel and have to go to the airport. Maybe you can get a ride from the police.”

  Jack nodded. Deputy Nolan was standing at the end of the bridge, his patrol car nearby. Jack put his arm around Bogus’ neck. “Thank you, you don’t know—”

  Bogus stopped him. “We are family. Go care for your wife. I will be along soon.”

  Jack turned and jogged away. Bogus secured the door and strapped in next to Luther. As the Helo lifted off, Luther turned to Bogus. “I know who he is and what he is, but he seems a bit... fragile.”

  “Fragile? Really? No, no, he is terrified. His entire world flew away in that helicopter. You haven’t found her yet. Carla Jo is his everything, just as Amy is my everything. I wish for you…” He choked up and looked out of the door. When he turned back a lone tear fell down his cheek. “I wish for you to find your everything. Then you will understand.”

  “You miss her badly, don’t you?”

  “Good Lord, yes.”

  Luther nodded. Bogus hardened his look. “Know this: we had all better pray that was an accident. If it wasn’t, people are going to die, in the most heinous of ways. No one, and I mean no one, will stop him.”

  Miss Kitty, Sherriff Carter’s dispatcher/wife and a personal friend of Carla Jo’s, gave Gene a hug when the news came that Carla Jo had been found alive. Gene too felt a great sense of relief and couldn’t wait to share it. He walked down the hall to the holding cell, where he found Sitzberger reclined on the cot. Gene gave him a stern look as Sitzberger sat up. “Well, boy, I got some good news. We found Mrs. Brown, alive.” Then the Sherriff lied, “And does she have the stories to tell. Sleep well, Mr. Sitzberger.”

  Gene walked out of the building, got in his car and headed to the scene to supervise the investigation.

  Dr. Earle looked puzzled, “Here’s what I don’t understand; Sonda told you that’s just the way it is. This is how the orphanage operates. There was nothing you could do to change things. Yet, you kept pushing. What did you hope to accomplish?”

  “Are you kidding me? They murdered a baby. That baby deserves justice. It had a name, Doc, a name.”

  “Cindy Patrick said it was horribly deformed and sick.”

  “Not in God’s eyes.”

  “You’re not God. You are an officer of the United States Government. You had a mission; you had orders, direct orders from the Director of the CIA. At what point did you decide you were greater than the government you represent?”

  “I have always been allowed a certain latitude in the performance of my duties.”

  “No, no Amy, that’s not true. Rationalization is not an excuse. Your emotions got the best of you. You were pushed to the point that you could no longer control yourself. Tell me the truth.”

  “Look, I don’t lie. I am allowed�
�”

  He interrupted her. “Amy? Tell. Me. The truth.”

  She looked down at the floor, rubbed her brow with a hand and said something under her breath.

  Dr. Earle raised his chin. “What was that?”

  She looked back up at him, with the very first hint of shame he had ever seen on her face. With pursed lips and her head nodding slowly, she was clear and concise with her words. “I screwed up.”

  Dr. Earle sighed then deadpanned, “Eureka, a break through. Yes, you did. See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  She pounded on her knees with her fists at every word, “I’m not allowed to screw up.”

  “Really? Says who?”

  “Says me! It is my job to do things right. I’m the one people turn to, that’s my job, who I am, what I am. And what have I done? I have FUCKED EVERYTHING UP! Everything!“

  Doc let her sit quietly for a few moments. Then he spoke. “So, what you’re telling me is the only reason the people in your life love you is because you’re perfect?” Dr. Earle chuckled under his breath.

  She gave him an angry stare, but he continued. “I’m sorry, let me explain something. This type of therapy is difficult to do because of who and what you are. Many of my tools are taken away from me. If we were in my big downtown office, I would have chairs set up in a circle. In that circle would be a collection of your closest friends and family. I promise you, they would each have a list of your imperfections. What you will discover is they love you in spite of them and, in many cases, because of them.”

  Amy leaned back in her chair with a frown. “I don’t feel that way.”

  “I know; that’s why you’re here. What do you say we pick back up where we left off? You were threatening a woman with a gun?”

  Odetta grabbed the woman by her hair and pressed the .40 cal. between her her eyes. “Ask her. Ask her who’s selling babies.”

  Sonda translated in Romanian and the woman cried out in the same language, “I do not know.”

  “She said she doesn’t know.”

  Odetta screamed in her face, “You’re lying!” She stuffed the pistol back into the shoulder holster and laid a vicious slap across her face. “Tell me!” Another slap. “Tell me!” Another slap.