by Hunter Rose
It takes me a bit to find the dormitory wing, but I eventually find my room. When I go inside, I look around and sigh. The accommodations are about what I expected – shabby and dirty, stuffy, and cramped. The paint on the walls is faded in some spots and gone altogether in others, leaving nothing but exposed brick that’s chipped and nicked. What paint is left has been transformed from white to a dingy gray, and that sickly smell that fills the corridors outside seems somehow thicker in here. There’s a window, but it’s painted shut. At least there’s an air conditioning unit on the wall. I reach up and fiddle with the knobs, trying to start the air conditioner to cut through the insufferable heat.
“Of course it’s broken,” I mutter.
My bags are sitting on the bed already. After wiping out the drawers and cleaning out the debris the previous tenant left behind, I put my clothes away and tidy up. I’m going to be here for a few weeks, so I might as well settle in. That done, I step into the tiny, cramped bathroom, the tile chipped and cracked, the mirror dull and pitted, and the light dim, thanks to a cover that’s covered in dust and filth.
Resigned to my fate as the people out in the streets seem to be, I reach in and flip on the shower, making sure the water is cool before I undress and step in.
2
Roman
“I hear I have you to thank for this posting,” I crack.
“Well, you’re welcome. I’m glad it all worked out,” he replies.
Zeke grins and leans back in his seat, raising his bottle of beer to me. I chuckle and raise my own, tapping it against his. Getting upset at Zeke for throwing my name out there isn’t going to change anything, let alone my current situation. I don’t know what led to him suggesting me to his boss, but he wasn’t the one pulling the official strings – Lyvers was. He was the one with the connections and apparently, the pull to make things happen.
“Can you blame me for wanting to see an old friend?” he grins. “As you’ve seen, there aren’t a lot of familiar faces around here.”
“I suppose not,” I tell him. “But couldn’t we have hooked up back in the States, man?”
Zeke laughs, then takes a long pull of his beer. We’re sitting in what passes for a bar, just a couple of blocks down from the hospital compound. It’s the kind of place where cheap beer or shots of whatever alcohol they can round up are about the only things on the menu. It makes me miss Landstuhl that much more – what I wouldn’t give for a decent fucking martini right now.
Music plays from a pair of well-worn speakers on a shelf behind the bar, but it can’t quite drown out the sounds of explosions and gunfire echoing in the distance. Zeke has assured me that this place is as safe as it can be. I trust him, but there’s no place that’s really safe – we’re in the middle of a war zone, for fuck’s sake.
But there seems to be an unspoken agreement that the hospital is neutral ground, and it’s not to come under attack – we treat people on both sides of the conflict. Or all three or four sides of it. I can’t keep track of the different factions fighting at any one given time, let alone how many there are in total.
The bar itself is small, barely more than a closet it seems. It’s dark, and like seemingly everything else around here; it’s dingy. A layer of smoke is trapped at the ceiling, swirling and writhing around like it’s alive. It’s a sweet scent, but it masks the stench of stale body odor and even staler beer that lies underneath. There are posters that have become ragged and yellowed by time tacked to the walls, and ashtrays that are overflowing with butts everywhere. A television that’s big, bulky, and gets shitty reception sits on top of a box at the end of the bar, tuned to a soccer match from somewhere.
There are only half a dozen people in the place. Two Syrian men sitting at the bar smoking and drinking, arguing back and forth about something I can’t understand. Two others I think I saw at that hospital earlier, their bodies close together, sitting at a table near the rear wall whispering quietly to one another. And then there’s us.
“Well, where would the fun in that be?” Zeke asks.
“A lot more fun than we’re having here,” I motion to the bar around us. “I don’t know if you noticed, but it’s pretty fucking depressing in here, man.”
It’s true. The atmosphere inside the bar is dark and subdued. Nobody is speaking above a whisper and hell, even the song on the stereo – some Syrian ballad, I guess – sounds pretty depressing.
“Have you taken a look around outside?” Zeke prompts. “I don’t think there’s a whole lot to be upbeat about around here.”
“Yeah, I guess not,” I shake my head. “How in the hell did you know I was separating soon, anyway?”
“I have friends in high places,” he shrugs.
“Apparently.”
“I heard from the guys back home that you’d enlisted. I talked to Charles, and he told me you’d be coming home soon, so I called a buddy of mine up at Landstuhl,” he explains.
“Ah,” I say. “Mystery solved.”
He grins. “I have to say, the fact that you enlisted shocked the hell out of me. The military was the last place I would have expected you to turn up. How’d you end up in the Navy, man?”
I shrug, feeling my mood slightly darken as I think about why I’d enlisted in the first place. Reasons that are my own.
“Just felt like it was something I needed to do,” is all I say.
Zeke looks like he’s going to press the issue but wisely opts to not push me. “Anyway,” he says, “since I heard that, I’ve been keeping tabs on you.”
“Why’s that?”
“Aside from making sure you were still alive, we can always use good surgeons around here,” he responds. “And I thought since your tour is up and –”
“Et tu, Brute?” I laugh. “Your boss has already given me his pitch, and I told him I’m not into it. I did my time, and I’m ready to go home, man.”
I can see the disappointment on his face, but he nods as if he’d expected nothing less. Let it not be said that I make a habit of disappointing people. I take a long swallow of beer and set the bottle back down on the table, then look at him.
“Not that it’s particularly out of character for you,” I start. “But why did you volunteer to come to a place like this?”
He picks small splinters off the wooden table in front of him. “I just – something was missing in my life, and I needed a change,” he states. “I guess I just wanted to make a difference somewhere.”
I laugh softly. “Zeke the Do-Gooder,” I muse. “Some things never change.”
“We can’t live lives of drunken debauchery all the time.”
I raise my bottle again. “No, I suppose not. But we can sure give it a try.”
“Speaking of which.”
I follow the direction of Zeke’s gaze and see a pair of women enter the bar: a dark-haired woman with an olive colored complexion, and a redhead with fair, flawless skin. The second woman immediately catches my eye, and I feel that familiar stirring down in my groin. Zeke is laughing and I turn, giving him a curious expression.
“You were right,” he chirps. “Some things never change. Still have a taste for the redheads, huh?”
I give him a small shrug. “I’m a man of simple tastes.”
“There is little about you that’s simple, my friend.”
My eyes drift back to the redhead at the bar. She’s short – no more than five-four – and thin, but curvy, with full hips, and full, round breasts. Her red hair flows down in waves to the middle of her back, her bangs cut straight across her forehead, framing a face that’s stunning. Her eyes are wide, doe-like, and they sparkle like chips of emerald. There is a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose that give her a sweet, innocent look, and deep dimples mark her cheeks.
She’s stunning. A natural beauty who is wearing little makeup – if any at all. There’s a wholesome, girl-next-door vibe about her I find incredibly appealing.
“Her name is Scarlet,” Zeke tells me. “Scarlet
Carrington.”
“I assume she works at the hospital?”
He nods. “Yeah, she’s been with the organization for a while now. She’s a great nurse. Really knows her shit.”
We’re speaking low to avoid being overheard – the place is so small; it wouldn’t be all that difficult for them to hear us. But they seem pretty wrapped up in their own conversation and don’t seem to be paying attention to us anyway.
“The dark-haired woman – Andrea,” I start. “I saw you two at the hospital earlier. She seems pretty into you.”
Zeke grimaces, and I know I’m right. I’ve only been here a couple of days now, but I’m already catching on to some things – just how much Andrea is into Zeke, chief among them. As observant as I usually am, I’m surprised that I missed seeing that redheaded beauty until just now.
“So, what’s her story?” I prompt. “What can you tell me about Scarlet?”
“I don’t know much about her, to be honest. She’s quiet. Keeps to herself for the most part,” he says. “I’ve really only ever seen her hang out with the other nurses.”
“She shy or something?”
He shakes his head. “No, I don’t get the idea that she’s shy. I just think she prefers to stick with her own tribe. She also doesn’t seem like the wilting flower type to me,” he explains. “I just don’t think she’s a babbler or gossiper or anything like that. She speaks when she has something to say.”
I nod and run a hand through my hair, unable to tear my eyes away from her. Scarlet turns, and I catch her eye, but she quickly looks away. I can’t help but notice the color creeping into her cheeks. She moves her head closer to the other woman and whispers something to her before they start to giggle like a couple of schoolgirls. Zeke grins and taps his bottle on the table to pull my attention back to him.
“I can probably ask Andrea to make the introduction for you,” he grins.
I tear my eyes away from her and focus on the bottle in front of me. “Nah, I’m good,” I tell him. “She’s nice to look at, but I’m rotating home soon and don’t want to deal with anything complicated right now.”
“Come on man, you’re here for a few weeks,” he prods. “Might as well enjoy your time here.”
“Yeah, not really looking to get involved with anybody.”
“Who said anything about getting involved with her?” he pushes. “What happens in the desert, stays in the desert, man.”
I laugh and shake my head. When it comes to women, my track record is about as bad as the Cleveland Browns’ playoff record. I think the longest relationship I’ve ever had in my life lasted about the length of a football season. If that. I always seem to pick women who are possessive, women who want to get married after two weeks, or women who are more interested in my family name than they are in me.
That’s the one good thing about having been in the Navy the last four years – I really haven’t had a lot of time to think about relationships, let alone get myself involved in one.
I haven’t been a monk over my time in the service. Far from it. German girls are a lot of fun, and I’ve most definitely enjoyed my time in ol’ Deutschland. But all those encounters were transient. Whenever I hooked up with somebody, it was with the understanding that it was for nothing more than mutual enjoyment. There was absolutely no relationship implied. And it worked for me.
I suppose, in theory, I could have something like that with Scarlet, but there’s just something about her that tells me she wouldn’t be into it. I don’t know what it is, but she just gives off a vibe that tells me she’s not the kind of woman who’d be up for a one night stand. But then, maybe I’m just overthinking things. Wouldn’t be the first time.
“What about you?” I switch the subject. “Are you getting together with anyone?”
His smile is rueful. “I’m not really in a place where I’m looking to get together with anybody –”
I scoff. “I say that, and you start busting my balls. What happens in the desert, man!”
“Because I’ve got somebody back home, and I don’t want to fuck that up. You don’t. You’re a free agent, brother,” he shoots back. “That’s the difference.”
I raise my eyebrows. “You’ve got somebody back home? You? Really?”
Zeke gives me a wry grin. “Stop sounding so shocked,” he says. “It happens.”
“Well, I want to hear all about this mystery woman,” I observe. “But we’re going to need another round.”
I get to my feet and head for the bar – which is all of about fifteen, maybe twenty feet away. Maybe. I lean against the end of it, waiting for the bartender who seems more interested in the soccer match than he is in doing his job. He’s a portly man with thinning hair, bloodshot eyes, and a bulbous nose. He’s wearing what used to be a white but is now a sort of gray short sleeved button-down shirt. His face is covered in a thin sheen of sweat.
Scarlet, who’s standing huddled together with Andrea, cuts me a sidelong glance as I stand there. She gives me a quick once over, the expression on her face coldly regal and distant – and yet she still manages to convey an air of something that smells like disapproval to me. As if she’s either above it all – or that maybe I’m somehow beneath her notice.
“Roman Wheeler,” I introduce myself. “Doctor Roman Wheeler.”
“You say that like I should be impressed.”
Her voice is as bland as her expression. I know I told Zeke I’m not interested in pursuing a relationship, and I’m not. I’m not looking for emotional entanglements. And like I said, I don’t get the vibe that she’s a no-strings-attached-fun kind of woman – but it never hurts to find out for sure. I can’t deny that she’s a gorgeous woman, and I happen to like sleeping with gorgeous women. So I might as well swing for the fences, right?
After all, Zeke’s right – I’m here for a few weeks, so I might as well do my best to make the most of my time.
“Are you not?” I ask with a grin.
“Not even a little,” she fires back, rolling her eyes.
I pause and flash her a grin. She’s tough. Feisty. I can tell that she’s going to be a tough nut to crack. Which is kind of like catnip to me. The bartender finally steps over to where I’m standing, pops the tops, and sets a couple of bottles of beer down in front of me without a word before turning away and going back to the soccer match on the television.
“Fair enough. I just rotated in a couple of days ago,” I tell her. “So, you’re a nurse with International Physicians?”
“Wow. I guess you doctors are pretty smart after all.”
Andrea laughs softly and turns away, but I can still see the smile on her face. She’s clearly enjoying the show. Scarlet’s tone isn’t exactly harsh, but it’s not exactly playful either. It almost seems like she’s annoyed by me interrupting her. Or maybe she actually is just totally uninterested – which would be a first for me, I think.
“I see they’re still teaching sarcasm at nursing school,” I quip.
The expression on her face slips, shifting from neutral to slightly sour. Clearly, if I’m going to crack this nut, it’s going to take some time. Unfortunately, I don’t have much in the way of time. I’ve only got a few weeks here, but trying to get her into bed might provide a useful distraction to keep me from focusing on the shitshow I’m currently stuck in. Worst case scenario is that I don’t actually end up getting her into bed – which would also be a first for me. After all, back in college, they used to call me The Closer. I rarely ever failed to seal the deal.
But she looks at me the way she’d look at something moldy she found in the back of her refrigerator – slightly disgusted. The corners of her mouth flicker upward, though, as perhaps what could be a smile starts to creep across her face. That slight crack in her façade is intriguing and makes me believe that maybe this isn’t a completely lost cause after all. As quick as that would-be grin touches her lips, though, she reasserts control of herself and even that scant trace of a smile is gone again.
&
nbsp; “If you don’t mind, I’m trying to have a quiet drink with my friend,” she says.
I look at her for a long moment and give her a half smile. “Sure. Sorry to interrupt,” I tell her. “Look forward to seeing you around the hospital.”
She says nothing but turns back to her friend as I pick up the bottles. As I turn away, I can’t help but notice the color in her cheeks and the smile she’s trying like hell to keep from rising to her lips. I carry the bottles to the table and sit down across from Zeke, who’s giving me a wide grin.
“Struck out, huh?” he jokes.
“Struck out? I didn’t even get into the batter’s box,” I admit. “That is one hard woman.”
He shrugs. “You really giving up that easy?”
I wave him off. “Have you ever known me to give up? You know I like a challenge.”
He raises his bottle. “That I do,” he declares. “Well, happy hunting, my friend. Happy hunting.”
As he regales me with his tale of the girl he left behind, I can’t take my eyes off Scarlet, incredibly intrigued by her.
3
Scarlet
I take a sip of my beer and listen to Andrea telling me about her latest conquest – a doctor from Australia who’d rotated in a couple of weeks ago. As usual, she’s giving me far more details than I really want to know. I’m only half-hearing her, though. I can’t quite manage to keep my eyes off Doctor Roman Wheeler.
I’ve seen him around the hospital the last couple of days, of course. It’s hard to not notice the newcomers as they roll in. It’s even harder not to notice when they look like him. Tall – easily six-two – with sandy blonde hair and blue eyes that sparkle like chips of ice. He’s got a lean, swimmer’s body – taut and corded with muscle – and golden, sun-kissed skin. Even in this place, his hair and the stubble on his face are neat and stylish, as is his clothing, and his hands somehow look freshly manicured. He’s a man who quite obviously takes care of himself and is just as obviously very fastidious about his appearance.