Chapter 3
Sam set his book down and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was only halfway through and he could already guess the ending. It wasn't the story that pulled him in— he'd read better— it was the act of reading that he was after. It calmed his mind and helped to put his own memories aside. For a while, at least, he could be someone else. Only for a little while though, his rumbling stomach and mild headache meant it was time to eat.
He grunted as he sat up, and reached over for his fake leg. With long practiced familiarity, he tightened the straps, attaching the prosthetic to his stump. He had a love/hate relationship with the device. It helped him get around and pretend to be almost whole. Almost. It was also a constant reminder of how he was broken.
Even with the false left leg, his steps were slightly uneven. Something the doctors told him he’d have to live with until technology advanced sufficiently to compensate for the differences that were unique to every person.
Considering the hectic events of the morning, Sam wasn’t in the mood to make his own dinner. A nice juicy burger at his favorite greasy spoon sounded like just the thing to end the day. It was against his strict dietary plan, but right then he didn’t give a damn.
“I’ll run an extra mile tomorrow,” he muttered, to assuage his conscience.
Grabbing his keys, he opened the door, and froze.
“Carly?” he asked, shocked to see the scrawny girl in front of him. “Carly?” he repeated when she just continued to stand there, hand raised as if ready to knock. “What are you doing here?”
“I-I have nowhere else to go,” her voice reached him, though he had to strain to hear her.
Anger warred with surprise for a moment, before anger won out. “And you thought the poor cripple would take you in?” He wasn’t a charity service. Besides, he already had enough run-ins with the law because of his temper. She didn’t look old enough for him to even consider taking her in.
She blinked in apparent confusion for a moment, before looking him over. When her eyes locked on his left leg, they grew wide, and he realized that she didn’t know about his disability. Guilt immediately washed away his anger.
Her mouth moved wordlessly, and then clamped shut. She turned around, and began walking from his porch.
“Wait,” the word was out of his mouth before he could think better of it. She spun around, hope thick in her eyes. “I was just going to get something to eat. I don’t suppose you have any money? No, lemme guess; you don’t know.” He sighed heavily, feeling both frustrated and relieved. Frustrated because he didn’t need any more drama in his life. Relieved because. . . . Well, he didn’t want to contemplate that right now. “Come on, then. My leg is hollow, and I need to eat.”
The way she suddenly smiled reminded him of his daughter, Megan. In fact, the two looked to be about the same age. For a moment Sam was lost in memory, throwing his little girl up in the air, smiling as she screamed, “Daddy, daddy, more!” He had missed most of her junior high years while serving his country in Afghanistan. He felt heartsick, remembering her call a few months ago asking him for money to buy a car. He didn’t have any to spare, and he hadn’t heard from her since. What he did have already went for child-support and his bills.
I’ll bet Luke has enough money buy her a car. Luke was Megan’s stepdad, and if his ex was to be believed, did well for himself.
He had to shake himself, shedding the dark thoughts. He knew all too well where that tunnel led and getting drunk tonight wasn't going to help him.
Besides, he thought, Carly’s not my daughter.
He stepped out, and locked the door behind him. “I hope you like greasy hamburgers, because I’m not giving you a choice.” Besides, you’re so skinny, you could use a bit of fattening up, he thought but didn’t say. With his luck he'd end up pissing her off about her figure.
“I don’t suppose you remember anything about your past?” he asked, trying to start up a conversation as he drove.
“Only that my name’s not Carly. It’s Tamara, or something like that.”
He grunted, wondering what the locket with the initials, “C.H.” meant. Perhaps some boyfriend gave it to her.
Traffic was thick enough, that Sam had to concentrate on the road. He absolutely hated it when another vehicle passed him, or even got close. Some days his anxiety got so bad, he couldn’t drive at all. It wasn't about competition, it was a reminder of the trucks that Al Qaeda had used to block his convoy in. Trucks loaded full of livestock, people, and explosives stripped from stolen US ordnance. The Army had a term for such things. SVBIED: Suicide Vehicle Borne Improvised Explosive Device. As if such a term could ever convey the pain, or torture such things were capable of.
Pulling into Sandis Drive Inn, he had to pull his fingers from the steering wheel one by one. Carly, or Tamara, watched and he had to tamp his temper back down. Yes, he was suffering, but an audience always made things worse.
He didn’t come here enough to be recognized. He let the girl, whatever her name was, order first and was thankful she ordered cheap. Not that anything here was too expensive, but he wasn't rolling in cash either. That didn’t stop him from ordering a double cheeseburger with bacon. In for a penny, in for a pound, as far as cheating on his diet was concerned.
They sat in silence while they waited. One of the things he liked about this place was that for a fast food joint, they still brought the food to you.
“I think we should set some ground rules,” Sam stated. He was sick of the silence between them. Tamara looked at him, waiting. He could see a wariness creep into her eyes and decided to push forward, and get the most awkward part out first. “I’m not looking to hook up with anyone. Trust me, you don’t want my baggage!”
He saw anger enter her eyes.
“I understand,” she said, her voice was level despite her glare.
He nodded, relieved to have that out of the way. She was likely underage. Even if she wasn't so scrawny he figured he'd break her if he touched her. His sex life was as barren as the Arizona desert, but there were some taboos he didn’t care to cross.
Now for the next part. “And I can’t support you forever, so as soon as we can find a better place for you to go. . . .” he let that trail off. He didn’t want to kick her to the curb, and put her out on the streets. Prostitution was illegal, but that didn’t mean it didn’t happen. He had no doubt that someone with less scruples than him would quickly take advantage of her.
The thought of his dear Megan in the same situation almost sent him into a panic attack.
But would he thank some stranger for helping her out, or strangle him?
She’s not my daughter, he reminded himself once again. For some reason, every time he looked into her brown eyes, he tended to forget that. She’s not my—
“Sam, can I ask you something?” Her soft voice pulled him out of his thoughts. He looked up from the table and glanced around the room. He'd been daydreaming, just like the day he'd been hurt. He knew he wasn't in any danger here, but he also couldn't let himself relax. If he'd have been more aware his squad might not have been hurt. He might have both his legs. Sighing, he looked back at the young woman before him.
Their food was delivered before she got the chance to ask her question. He took a huge bite of his burger, hungrier than he realized.
“Might as well,” Sam said after he swallowed. “The food isn’t asking any.” The food was just as great as he remembered. Maybe he was going to have to run an extra two miles tomorrow.
She smiled slightly at his attempt at humor, and he thought she did look kind of cute. No, she definitely wasn’t his daughter!
“What happened to your leg?”
A jolt slammed down through Sam’s spine as images, sensations, and even smells flashed through his mind. Men screaming as the acrid smell of burnt flesh filled the air. His officer, with what was left of his head, sat motionless in the front seat.
No, I’m home. I’m safe. I’m not there anymore. He had to
repeat the litany a couple more times before his heart rate approached normal. Why did she have to ask him that?
Returning to the present, he saw that she was still waiting for his answer. So many of the scars from PTSD are invisible.
“Ask me something else. I don’t want to talk about it.” His voice was colder than he’d meant it to be, and he saw her flinch. Grimacing, he tried to think of something else to say. “How did you get from the hospital to my place?”
Her tremulous smile let him know he hadn’t completely covered his mistake.
“A really nice couple gave me a ride. I met them as they were coming out, and they’re staying at a hotel just up the. . . . What?”
“You got a ride from complete strangers? Are you nuts?” She’s not my daughter. She’s not my daughter. Why is that guy over there watching us so closely?
“Brock and Subie are harmless,” Tamara responded defensively. “Well, okay, Subie wasn’t exactly nice at first, but I got to your place alright.”
“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Sam said, trying to mend what felt like a sinking ship. Why did he even care? He forced himself to take another bite of his meal, but didn’t taste it. That man was still staring. “You’re not my kid. You can do what you want.”
They sat in silence for a bit, and Sam tried to go back to enjoying his burger. If only that man would stop giving them funny looks. By the time his burger was reduced to crumbs, his temper was hot.
“What are you looking at?” He demanded of the other man. “Never seen a war vet missing a leg before?” As soon as Sam got up out of his chair, the man looked away, obviously embarrassed.
“Maybe we should go,” Tamara said, coming up beside him.
Sam spun, ready to attack, but when he saw it was just the girl, he forced himself to calm down. The man wasn’t worth getting into a fight with anyway. He let himself be led out of the restaurant, and back to his car.
By the time he was standing outside his house again, he had his breathing under control. The traffic had been light.
“Sorry about that,” he apologized again. That seemed to be all he was good for tonight: getting riled up over nothing and apologizing for it. He still wanted to punch someone, but knew that wasn’t the best idea right now. Or ever, really, but just like reading it took his mind off of things.
“Something seriously screwed you up, didn’t it?” Her voice coming out with such candor caught him off-guard. Despite himself, he began to chuckle. It was either that, or start crying. He knew he wasn’t but that didn't make it any easier to put things behind him. Besides he wasn’t about to cry in front of Car—Tamara.
“Yeah, I guess it did,” he told her, unlocking the door with his key-card and letting her in. “You take the couch. This place is only big enough for one person, and I only have one bathroom. I get up early and go running, so I’ll try to be quiet. I only have the one key. There’s food in the kitchen for breakfast tomorrow.”
She nodded that she understood and he headed for his bed. It was early yet, and he didn’t plan on sleeping right away. Picking up his book, he tried to retreat from his own personal internal hell. For a little while at least, he could be someone else.
“I’m going to shower,” the girl said. “I still smell like the ocean.”
Sam ignored her, opening his book and picking up where he’d left off before heading out to go eat.
He didn’t miss the sound of the water turning on, or the fact that the bathroom door was left ajar.
Concentrating on his book, he was soon lost in its pages when the shower turned off.
“I hate to ask, but the only clothes I have are filthy and uncomfortable. Do you have anything I can wear?”
Looking up, he expected to see her standing there in a towel.
He was wrong.
Water still dripped from her bruised skin onto the thin carpet. That was all she wore. Her shoulders were pulled back as she presented her meager chest to him, each one topped by a hard nipple. Forcing his eyes away from her small but perky breasts he wondered if could play her ribs like a xylophone. Her eyes stayed locked on him, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away from her slender waist, or the juncture between her legs.
She’s not your daughter, some inner voice informed him, mocking his earlier thoughts. His heart thundered in his chest and made breathing difficult. It had been so long since his wife had left. Here was a young woman, offering herself to him. He deserved it, didn't he? It had been so damn long since he'd done anything sexual that didn't improve his man-to-hand relationship.
She’s too young for me, he thought with anguish and turned away.
“Top drawer on the right; you’ll find a shirt.” His voice was soft, and he had to force the words out. Even his mouth didn’t want to turn away from this gift! “None of my pants will fit you.” Not with those slender hips and long legs. “Go ahead and put your old ones back on. We can take you shopping. I guess I should have thought about that earlier, but It’s been a couple years since I’ve had to worry about anyone other than myself.” This would put a dent in his wallet.
I’d like to put a dent in her—No! Control yourself.
He refused to look at her, forcing his attention at the words on the page. He didn’t see the book though. His mind’s eye showed him her body, in all of its gaunt glistening glory.
He sensed, more than saw, when she grunted and went back into the bathroom. She returned moments later wearing her salt-crusted pants, but still topless. She bent over the drawer he’d mentioned, and Sam kept finding his eyes travelling from the book back to her, before he could snap them back. Either way, he was certain she searched the drawer longer than she needed. There weren’t that many shirts in there.
After what seemed like an eternity, she finally grabbed one, and slipped it on. The thing was way too large for her, the shoulders ending halfway to her elbows and the hem well below her crotch.
Such a nice looking crotch. . . . No! Shaking himself, he had to be careful when he sat up. He didn’t want to let her know how much she’d affected him.
When he saw the slightly agape look on her face as she stared at the bulge in his pants, he realized he wasn’t fooling anyone.
“Put—“ he had to clear his throat before he could continue. “Put your shoes on, and we’ll go.”
She blinked a couple times at him before his words sank in. She bit her lip and nodded before rushing off to do as he bid.
Devil's Island Page 5