Page 27 of PSYCHOlogical

It was a risk I couldn’t take.

I silently recited the intel sheet’s instructions. Eliminate all occupants of the residence.

I lived in a world of black and white. Everything of this earth was categorized. It was either right, or it was wrong. I now stood on that division line between the two, uncertain of where things fell. The orders of my intel sheet were to eliminate her, no questions asked.

What should have been as crisp as a razor’s edge—right on one side and wrong on the other—was now a gray area of uncertainty. I mentally shook my head, hoping to clear it of my automated manner of thinking.

“Can you find your way home?” I asked.

Relief shot from her lungs. She nodded eagerly. “Uh huh.”

“Count to two hundred, out loud,” I said. “When you get to two hundred, stand up and go home. But, only after you reach two hundred. Understand?”

“Uh huh.”

“There’s no one left here to hurt you,” I assured her. “As long as you count to two hundred.”

“Oh…kay,” she stammered, nearly bringing herself to tears. “Thank…you.”

Pike trained his weapon on her. “Intel sheet said—”

“Fuck the intel sheet,” I snapped. “Load up.”

“Go ahead,” he said, his weapon still pointed directly at her. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Stripped of her innocence and wearing the scars from the unspeakable horrors she undoubtedly endured, Amber Kilgore began to count.

I thought about what Doc Rhoades said about Shep. I wondered if Pike, like Shep, was a sociopath and a sadist. If he derived pleasure out of harming people.

I cleared my throat. “Load. Up.”

Pike’s attention remained fixed on the girl. Illuminated by the glow of my night vision, but invisible to the her, he remained statue-still, staring straight ahead.

Unaware of the stand-off we were in, Amber counted, eager to complete the task that would free her of the living hell she’d been thrust into.

In perfect timing with each number that passed her lips, my heart took a simultaneous beat. Convinced that she and I were somehow connected, I fixed my barrel on Pike. I was prepared to see a flash from the muzzle of his weapon, and to hear the muffled report of it being fired. I knew if he took that path, the next weapon to fire would be my own.

Protected from the lingering tension by the darkness that enveloped her, Amber continued to count. “Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three…”

Like a wolf standing in wait for prey, Pike stared at the naked teen. The passage of time was suspended by the sound of her unsteady voice as she approached her numeric goal.

I raised the barrel of my weapon slightly. The tip of my finger slipped into the trigger guard. I drew a short breath and held it.

Squeeze the trigger before he does, Briggs.

The barrel of Pike’s weapon lowered.

A breath of relief escaped me. I stepped aside and gestured toward the back door. All told, the mission took less than five minutes. In that time, I felt like I’d aged ten years.

After the men walked past me, I took one last glance at Amber Kilgore. Her hands covered her eyes, as if she were playing a game of hide and seek. Thoughts of my own childhood surfaced.

Although she couldn’t see me, I winked and turned away. Semper fi, Amber.

We walked into the moonlit yard. Filled with equal parts adrenaline and anger, I removed my headgear. Pike removed his, paused, and looked at me. His expression was one of disappointment.

“Eliminate all occupants of the residence,” he said, reciting the written instructions of the intel sheet, verbatim. “Did I miss something?”

“She was a twelve-year-old American,” I said.

“A twelve-year-old American occupant of the residence,” he argued.

“My assignment,” I said. “My fucking choice.”

“There’ll be hell to pay for defying those orders,” he said.

He may have been right. But whatever I owed for the decisions I made, I was sure I’d already paid it ten times over.