.o0o.

 

‘James Hansen was the first to die. It wasn’t my fault. But it was my responsibility.’ The words were written in a bold, efficient hand across the top of a yellow legal pad. The sentence repeated itself exactly. Over and over down the entire page.  As if someone had assigned him a cursive punishment of repeating his lines

Meagan’s heart dropped as a cold chill crept down her back. Had she found evidence that Brandon was a serial killer?

Maybe that’s why he was here? He’d taken himself away from people to avoid any temptation to murder them. Of course she’d come along and placed a nice tempting target right in front of him. What had she gotten herself into and what would he do to her if he found her reading this?

A quick glance out the window showed him tromping down the hill in search of her purse. Jake bounding through the snow, cutting back and forth in front of him, chomping at the snow, tail wagging, totally enjoying life.

Glancing at the note pad she shuddered.

She hadn’t intended to snoop. Okay, maybe a little. A girl’s got to check out her surroundings. She wanted to know more about the man she was marooned with.

Where was he from and why was he here. The questions were driving her up the wall.

She’d been looking through the book cabinet. You can tell a lot about a man by the books he reads. The fact that he read at all was significant. The case was made up mostly of military history and science fiction with a couple of save the world type thrillers. It also contained a chemistry text book.

She was moving the big text book when the legal pad fell forward. He hadn’t exactly been hiding it. More like filing it away

Re-reading the opening sentence, her breath caught as she got ready to read more. Should she be doing this, was it right. A rush of guilt washed through her as she lifted the page.

‘Smitty, Thomas Smith out of Oklahoma was next. I held his head in my lap while he died.’

Again the sentence was repeated down the entire page. Each word lining up directly under its twin above.

‘Terrence Oakley was last. Jake and I still miss him.’

The sentence filled the entire third page. The words started to run together towards the end as if he had to fight to complete the assignment. Almost like he was trying to push through a deep shame.

Meagan swallowed hard as she lifted the page. The writing continued with a new pen, dark blue this time, still in the efficient masculine hand

‘James Hansen, Thomas Smith, and Terence Oakley are dead because of me. I didn’t do anything wrong. That didn’t change the fact that it was my decisions that put them in place to die. Each time it happened it tore a piece of my soul away. Ripping it from my core and throwing it into the fires of hell. Never to be replenished nor replaced except by a gaping hole of shame, and guilt.

Jimmy Hansen died because he was the first through the door. I picked him for that role. He was short and fast, with hands quicker than a mongoose. He went through like he was supposed to. Bent at the waist with his rifle leading the way. They knew we were coming in. Hell, we’d announced ourselves in three different languages.

The shot punched through his body armor and strait into his heart, he was dead before he hit the ground. I pushed Thompson who was supposed to be second out of the way and killed Jimmy’s killer. I’ll never forget the haunted look of fear and loss on the little girl’s face as I shot her father. The man who had killed my friend.'

Meagan drew a deep breath and held it while she re-read the section. A brief flash of relief flowed through her as she realized he wasn’t a serial killer.

The relief was quickly replaced by a sense of guilt at thinking about herself and the situation she was in. She could feel his pain and suffering with each word and dreaded continuing. 

'Thomas Smith was a quiet kid that never talked about himself. I didn’t know if he had a girlfriend back home. Hell, I don’t know if he ever had a girlfriend. He did what he was told, always pulled his weight, didn’t bitch about how much things sucked. The perfect soldier in that respect. At least from a sergeant’s perspective.

I was the one to assign him to drag; I needed someone I could trust at the tail end of our line. It was his job to make sure no one snuck up from behind and to keep everything in front of him. Things were going well, only to be interrupted by the sickening WOMP sound a mortar makes leaving its tube. Smitty, along with the rest of the patrol jumped for cover and hugged the ground like they were supposed to. The shell landed ten feet away. By the time I got there Doc Roberts was already doing his stuff but it was too late. There was too much damage. I held his head while he bled out onto the dry sand of that mountain trail.'

Meagan’s heart ached as she quickly wiped her eyes then lifted the page.

‘Terence Oakely was a damn good man with a wife and two little boys. A big black guy out of the Mississippi delta, my good friend, and Jake’s handler. He and Jake were closer than two beings could ever be. I swear they could read each other’s mind. Terry’s wife used to say she was jealous of their special bond. Then one day she realized the dog would willingly sacrifice itself for his friend. From that moment on Jake held a special place in her heart.

I don’t know what tripped the IED. The bastard who built it made a mistake. It took a couple of seconds to go off. Enough time for Terry and Jake to get a few feet away. He might have survived the explosion if a stray piece of shrapnel hadn’t gotten him in the back of the neck half an inch below his helmet.

As it was, Terry was between the blast and his dog and as a result he ended up saving Jake’s life, barely. Not as Janet Oakley had envisioned it.  The Army patched Jake up. -  Like they did with a lot of us. -  But he was never going to be good enough to go back into combat.

Again, - Like a lot of us.- '

By the time I got out of the hospital I was able to start the paperwork to adopt him from the Army.  Colonel Stevenson helped push it through and both of us were discharged a month later. I honestly think that getting Jake saved me.

The shrinks say that if I …. ‘

The words stopped on the middle of the page, mid-sentence. Meagan flicked through the rest of the pad but it remained madly empty. What did it mean? Why had he stopped? What did his doctors say? How had he been wounded?

Her heart raced as she tried to understand.

A heavy clomp on the porch brought her back to reality. Brandon had returned.

She stuffed the yellow pad back into its spot in the book case and grabbed a book. Scurrying to the rocking chair she opened the book and pretended to be reading when he stepped in.

Jake shot by him and over to her. His tail wagging like he’d found a long lost secret as he pushed his nose under her hand demanding to be petted. She buried her face in his fur, giving him a kiss on the forehead. The dog smiled back at her with his eyes, melting her heart in a couple of places.

“Is this it?” Brandon asked, holding up her blue purse as if it might be one of a dozen different purses he could have found. “I can tell you, it felt pretty uncomfortable carrying this back to the house. My man status was seriously threatened. Thank god no one was around to see.”

“Wow, you found it.” She said jumping out of her chair. Taking it from his hand, she quickly opened it and did a mental inventory. Phone, brush, keys. All of it there.

“Thank you,” she said as she reached up and surprised him with a big hug.

He felt solid, like this mountain. She knew he hurt deep inside. Desperately she wanted to take away his pain.

The hug was becoming too long and too hard. Still she had trouble letting go. There was so much she wanted to say.

Realizing that if she didn’t step back it was going to become very uncomfortable, she coughed, then separated herself.

He looked at her with one raised eyebrow. Her face became very warm, making her sure she’d turned a burning red color, probably the color of a tomato.

Looking into his deep blue eyes her heart melted again as they stared into each other’s soul. It was one of those moments when a thousand messages are sent and received. Very few of which were really understood. All she knew was that things were different now. She was beginning to understand this man and what she knew about him, she liked.