CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
“You shot him!” I screamed as I felt an undeniable rage rising in my chest. “He was trying to help you!”
Riza turned and aimed the gun at me and I realized that I was at a distinct disadvantage in this situation. She pointed the gun at me and motioned for me to get away from Dax, who now lay bleeding on the deck.
“Riza, he loves you and wants what’s best for you,” I said trying to find a way to tap into something that would remind her of her love for Dax. “He’s your friend, he doesn’t want to see you hurting.”
“He doesn’t care about me!” she yelled as her hand shook. “None of them care about me! I want my life back! I want my life back!”
“This isn’t the way to get it,” said a voice from behind her. Riza spun around, pointing her gun at the person speaking and yelled at him to back off.
“Riza, you don’t have to do this,” Roger said. “Listen to me, I get it. You were in a war zone and you fought for your life every single day. It was stressful and demoralizing to realize that you might be doing more harm than good, right?”
Riza nodded as her hand shook, but she didn’t say a word.
“I know, I’ve been there,” Roger continued. “You survive in unbearable conditions, and you fight for the freedoms of people who seem to hate you, and you watch your comrades die when insurgents do horrible awful things. I get it, Riza.”
“It was horrible,” she said in a small voice. “To watch people die.”
“I know, war is hell,” he said as he moved toward her. “And you come home feeling like no one in the world could possibly understand what you’ve been through. You don’t know how to live a normal life after you’ve been living on fast forward in high alert all the time. Everything feels boring and slow.”
“Yeah, that’s it exactly!” she nodded as she looked at Roger. “It’s like no one else can understand where I’ve been. And how do you talk about that shit with civilians? They can’t handle that, and they didn’t sign up for it. We did. We signed up to serve and protect and we did. But man, what’s left when you come home?”
“I know the feeling,” Roger said as he moved closer and put a hand out showing her that he wasn’t a threat. I watched him, absolutely mesmerized by his calm demeanor and his confidence. This wasn’t the flakey Roger I knew – the one who fell in love with every woman he dated and then moved on after a few weeks. This was organized Roger who understood someone else’s pain and was openly addressing it in an attempt to alleviate it.
“I don’t know what to do,” Riza said in a small voice as she looked at Roger helplessly. “I don’t know how to live my life. I keep thinking that if I just organize it and make it fit into a neat little box, everything will go back to normal and I’ll feel okay. But it doesn’t. Nothing feels okay.”
“That’s because you’re suffering from PTSD,” Roger said. “Believe me, there are thousands of us who are suffering from it. It makes everything feel like you’re walking waist deep in molasses. It makes you feel like an outsider in your own family even. I know, I’ve been there.”
“How did you get better?” she asked.
“It takes time and a lot of talking about how you feel,” Roger said as he held out his hand palm up as he looked at the gun and then at Riza. She shook her head and then looked at him. “Give me the gun, Riza. It’s not going to solve anything, and you’ve already hurt someone you love. Don’t you want to stop?”
“I want my life back!” she cried. “I just want my life back!”
“I know you do, Riza,” Roger said sympathetically. “That’s all any of us want. You can get it back if you want to, but you can’t get it back if you’re dead. Please, give me the gun.”
She looked at him with a pain so raw and fresh that I gasped and looked away. Roger didn’t, though. He stayed with her and held her gaze until she reached up and gently set the gun in the palm of his hand. He closed his hand around it and dropped his arm to his side as he reached out and pulled her to him with his other arm. Riza burst into tears and sobbed in Roger’s arms as the police officers who’d been waiting at the end of the dock stormed the boat and took her into custody.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be there for you,” Roger said quietly as they cuffed her and led her to the waiting car.
“Riza, I’ll meet you at the jail and arrange for bail,” I said as she walked down the dock.
“Why?” she called over her shoulder.
“Because you’re one of Dax’s people, and you deserve the best legal counsel you can get,” I said. “You’re worth it.”
She bowed her head and walked slowly to the car as I turned my attention to Dax, who was being loaded onto a stretcher and wheeled to a waiting ambulance. He wasn’t conscious, and I asked the paramedic if he was okay.
“He’s stable at the moment, but that could change quickly,” she said. “We need to get him to a hospital right away.” She turned and nodded to her partner who helped her lift the gurney onto the dock and they ran toward the ambulance.
I started to chase after them, but Roger grabbed my arm. “He’ll be okay. Let them do their jobs.”
“But, Roger, he was shot,” I said as I looked at him and brought my hands to my face as I began to cry.
“Brooke, he’s going to be okay,” Roger said as he pulled my hands away from my face and tipped my head up. “He’s going to be okay. The shot wasn’t that serious.”
“How the hell do you know that?” I asked.
“I was a medic with my unit in Iraq, and I’ve seen guys live after far worse shots,” he said. “She wasn’t shooting to kill.”
“I need to get to him,” I said as I headed for the dock. Roger pulled me back and reminded me that we needed to answer the investigator’s questions, and then I needed to get Jordie on the phone and have him start arranging bail for Riza.
“We have a job to do, Brooke,” Roger reminded me. “Let the doctors take care of Dax, and let’s go take care of everything else.”
I nodded and let him help me up on to the dock. “Oh hey, my shoes,” I said as I stood looking down at him in the boat.
“Got ‘em,” he grinned as he held up my pumps with one hand.
“How did you…” I laughed.
“Hey, I know women!” he laughed as he hopped up and handed me my heels.