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He looks at me, confused. “Reese, let me call you back.”
He hangs up and walks toward me. I hold my hand up, stopping him in place.
“Go, she needs you!”
“I can’t leave our mission open like this!”
“This is not your mission!” I scream at him.
“It became my mission. DuPont has done enough damage and Reese is still an open target!”
“She needs you. I’m not walking away at the end,” I say, hoping to convey my plan. “I will take it all down.”
“I’m right there with you.” He stands taller. “Don’t think you can shut me out. DuPont ruined my life, and he has his claws into Reese. Fuck, Adam, I never knew how deep Reese was in all of this until you came along. I was so focused on myself.”
I think about his words for a minute and he needs closure. He’s not right in the head and going back now could be detrimental to him and Reese.
“As long as you promise that no matter what, you will make it out and get back to her, you can stay,” I say. “I can’t walk into this with the right mindset knowing she won’t have you at least.”
He nods and folds his arms over his chest.
I wipe away what’s left of my tears and face Kevin.
“So, any suggestions on what we should do?”
He smiles and claps his hands together. I can almost see him skipping down the hallway as he heads back to the living room.
I have lied to him. I already have a plan in place. He will not take part in this endgame. Even if he hates me, I’ll make sure he gets to Reese.
I miss her already.
CHAPTER 21
REFLECTION
Kevin Grafton
No amount of prescription medication will ever cure the emotional turmoil that soldiers go through. Embedded in our minds, we are trained to finish a mission. See it through. Do not rest until it is complete!
Adjusting to civilian life—there is no guidebook. It’s a different world. Normal people like to question you about your time in the service. They want details or want to know what it’s like.
They say things like; I would have joined, but… But? But nothing.
I am caught between the man who knowingly understands the aftermath and the loving sister who would do anything for me. I want to be there for Reese. Her painful sobs were something I hadn’t heard before. Adam’s crying and acts of self-harm only proved his words to protect her. He’s made good on his word and for that, I have a lot of respect for him. He’s been the only person to see my truest raw self and understand that support groups, pills, and meaningless chats about the weather make no difference in my recovery. Talking. Comprehension. Understanding.
We are men cloaked in darkness. Any light you see is an illuminated mirage. We show you what we want you to see and nothing more. In the “light,” you see a functioning adult. One that can smile and nod to the person walking by. We buy coffee and clothes as if the world turns with no pain. The darkness is where we live. Consumed by hate for ourselves and hate for the world that promised us a future with its fingers crossed behind its back. Darkness is our companion.
Adam follows me to the living room and opens a hidden panel in the wall. This man is a crafty fucker. I look around and wonder what other secrets he and this place hold. Probably more than I could mentally hold. He pulls rolled-up building plans and papers from this secret cubby. He hands me half of the pile of paper and he keeps the other half. One look and we both understand what we need to do.
We sit in the living room with building plans laid out across the floor and coffee table. For a solid hour, we look at every single inch of these plans. Not a single word is spoken, not a sound. Instead, Adam hands me a permanent marker, and I observe him making notes on a wall. He points to another bare wall for me to make my notes. We are handling this like a military operation. We go back and forth from blueprints to writing on the wall. Any person would see this as an unfamiliar language and symbols. To us, it is our language. Short lingo for a quick talk. Clear radio traffic in what we equate to a logical mind.
When I dot the last period and set my marker down, I turn to see Adam standing and facing his wall. Motionless.
“Adam?” I firmly say.
He still doesn’t move. His breathing is steady and his shoulders slumped. This is the last sprint to the end.
I take a seat on the couch and wait for him to come back to reality. After a few minutes, he turns and looks at me, eyes glassed over with nothing but pain hidden behind his red eyes. He grunts while shrugging taking a look at my wall. Adam takes the next thirty minutes, pacing back and forth between my wall and his, changing things on both sides. He walks with authority, clearly a leader. I almost envy his platoon, but then again, my conscience reminds me I am part of why they are no longer here and I am. I am a sheep, a follower of my shepherd, a baby in need of a mother’s tit.
