Page 115 of Theta

Mom leans toward me, muttering, "That's a non-operating fucker. Someone useless in combat."

The man continues. "You froze, buddy. Clutched your rifle like it was blankie. Cried for your mama all the way back to the FOB.” He pronounces the acronym rather than spell it. “We called you Cabbage Patch for weeks."

"Cabbage Patch?" I can't help interrupting.

"The li’l baby dolls with the big heads?” the man says.

I snicker. "Oh."

“That’s my son,” Dad explains. "Just had his first taste of combat, including being held in iso for two weeks."

"No fuckin' shit. Well, son, if you're anything like your old man, you'll come through it no problem. Next time we hit the shit, he came in clutch. Saved all our asses. Couldn't call him Cabbage Patch after that." A pause. "I gotta run, Harry. Be glad you got out and went private. Being brass ain’t always what it's cracked up to be. Meetings up my asshole.”

“Meanwhile, I'm gonna be chillin' on my private beach, on my private island," Dad says.

"Yeah, and where's my invite?"

"Steely, you don’t need one. Get yourself some leave and come visit."

"I got some comin' end of the month."

“I’ll send you the coordinates."

A laugh. "What makes you think I need 'em? You forget who I am?"

"Consider yourself invited, old man. Come see us."

"Old man. Fuck you, Harry. I can still kick your ass six ways to Sunday.”

"I don't doubt it. Alright. You go. I just needed that backup."

The other man raises his voice. "Son, I've been in iso. We'll talk more when I'm down there to see you all, but I'll leave you with this, for now—I'm seventy-three goddamn years old, that shit was fifty-some years ago, and I still sleep with a light on." A quick pause. "Gotta run, kids. Love to you, Layla."

“Back at ya, Steely."

Dad ends the call, then, "That was my former CO and my mentor, four-star general Dan Webber, known to a select few as Steely." He looks at me. "That help?"

I nod. "I…I feel…" I roll a shoulder. "I dunno. I’m feeling a lot. I feel like all my pieces are gonna come apart, inside."

Mom crushes my head to her belly. "Because you've been through hell, my boy. You're allowed to come apart, now." She crouches and gazes up at me, cupping my face in her hands. "It's okay. It's safe. You're safe. She's safe."

I shake my head, panic sizzling and slashing through me. Guilt. Fear. Shame. Terror. All the shit I refused to let myself feel. "Fuck."

Story squeezes my hand. "Hey, hey. Killy? Look at me, baby. Look at me."

I force my eyes to her. "I'm s-s—"

"What did you say to me, before, when I was crashing out? Shut the fuck up with that shit, Killian. I don't want it. You did everything right." She lifts my hand to her lips. "Let it out, babe. It's okay. Trust me, everyone here gets it."

Selah nods. "We do. I was held captive, also. Only for a few hours before ’Selm came for me, but I knew what was…what was planned for me. I have never known fear like that. Not since, and not before." She glances at Story. "Until she went missing and we realized who had her, that is. And that is an entirely different kind of fear."

"Captivity of that kind is deeply psychologically damaging, Killian," Anselm says. "You must not reproach yourself for struggling with the natural emotional aftermath of such trauma."

"I didn’t…” I shake my head. "I didn't realize how… what I was…how bad I—"

"You couldn't," Dad finishes for me. "You put it aside because you had to stay alive. You had to fight. And you did. So." Dad pats my thigh. "Debrief us. Give us the whole nitty-gritty.”

Story and I take turns telling the story, obviously leaving out the more…private details.