Yanking the radio forward, he quickly yelled into the speaker.
“Hood! Smith! Guys? I need assistance! Now!” Brandon bit out, feeling desperation creep into his voice as he was pressed against the wall. He felt someone bump into him and realized that his sidearm had just been lifted from his belt.
“NO!” he hollered, pushing back with his rifle, using it as a bar to move several people back away. He needed space and breathing room! This was too much and he was alone.
No one was answering or responding – and he was getting corralled further and further down the alleyway. Were they walking towards or away from the truck?
He’d heard the horror stories and seen the videos online – he did not want that to be him! He didn’t want to end up jailed or dead somewhere in the Afghani desert. Sweat beaded on his brow as he was pressed further into the alley way.
“No! Get back!” he barked, looking wildly around. An arm came up around his throat and he felt the press of a blade against his skin. Brandon froze, unmoving, as a woman in a burqa plucked the rifle from his hands. She said something to another man nearby who stepped forward.
He smiled coldly at Brandon before looking to his radio. He pointed at it and nodded, his lips making a moue of disappointment that seemed almost mocking.
Brandon slowly looked down, trying not to move against the knife held tautly to his throat. The radio cord had been cut at some point. This had been planned and executed with finesse to separate the team.
Divide and conquer.
It was brilliant and terrifying at once.
He was staring at a mastermind tactician who knew his territory, his people, and knew how to utilize it to its fullest. Brandon met his eyes again and he realized that his captor also knew he held all the cards at this moment.
He slowly moved his hands upwards in the air, feeling the pinch of steel once again at his throat, as they began to curse, spit, and strip him of all of the gear that he had on his person.
He’d been captured.
Brandon,
I was thinking of what you said about our pact and I like the idea. You are right, we do get along so well, and I couldn’t think of a happier future than to know that I would be shackled to someone I consider my greatest friend.
One condition though – can we have chocolate and raspberry cake at our wedding instead of vanilla with raspberries? I mean, ya know if you bring up marriage and stuff on the first real date, I should just let you know what you are getting yourself into.
I hope you are well. Write when you can.
Tabby
Hey Brandon,
Just checkin’ on you, soldier. I hope everything’s okay. It’s been two weeks since I’ve had word from you and I’m starting to get a little paranoid. NOT GONNA LIE-FREAKING OUT OVER HERE.
Have I mentioned that I’m terribly self-conscious and nervous that we’ve even made a pact… and now there is nothing but radio silence?
If you want to back out-I would never hold you to it.
Miss ya,
Tabby
Brandon,
I was at John and Lily’s today – and we are all starting to worry. No one has heard from you and we miss you.
Write, call, text, send smoke signals, just something…
Tabby
Brandon,
I’m really freaking out now and it’s been a month since you last emailed me. That means you are four weeks behind and you normally write at least once a week. I’m worried.
If you don’t want to get married three years from now or found someone else, I hope you know I just want my friend to be happy. I miss hearing your laugh and think of us dancing all the time.
I hope you are okay and if you aren’t – I might clobber you regardless for scaring me.
Write when you can… Please?
Tabby
Brandon,
I had Mexican food tonight and just cried. I was thinking about you and wondering if you are okay. I know something has happened and I don’t know what to do. I know you are out there in a hot zone and hope you are okay. It’s been two months, buddy.
I’m scared.
Tabby
Brandon,
Please be alive… I need to know you are smiling somewhere.
I miss it.
Tabby
Brandon stared at the small hole in the ceiling and tried to ignore the rustling coming from nearby. He started counting sunrises twenty-two days ago when he realized he was losing track of time.
He was tired, hungry, and mentally worn out. He’d been tossed in this small cell with little or no other contact. Meals were slid into the room occasionally, as if keeping him alive was a side thought.
They didn’t ask him questions and he wasn’t sure he would understand if they did ask him something in another language. He never really picked up or paid attention to learning the local dialect like his friend Jamie Post had. Post went into town, talked to people, ate the foods, and generally enjoyed being there.
He did not.
Now he was stuck, stripped of anything that could be used as a weapon, and in what was basically a dungeon of a room. He hadn’t bathed in weeks and realized that there were no facilities in the room. It was horrendous conditions, yet no one cared.
He was utterly alone.
The only thing that kept him from crying hysterically at his plight was he focusing on the single happiest moment of joy he’d had most recently - dancing with Tabby at Ethan and Daisy’s wedding in his socks and shoveling cake in his mouth until they were laughing.
Tabby was so daring, so outlandish, and so free… sometimes he wondered what she would say or do if their roles were reversed – before realizing he would never, ever, ever want her trapped here.
She was bright and laughing – like a little butterfly. She needed to sprinkle happiness no matter where and just be something strangely pretty out there among the flowers.
He wondered if she wrote or if the military had contacted anyone in his family yet. He was positive that his parents would be beside themselves knowing he was missing. What about his brothers? Parker, Hood, Smith and Hopkins…?
Were they alive?
In a room nearby?
Staring in the darkness at the light streaming through the ceiling, he felt a chill in his bones. He was going to be in serious trouble if the weather turned cooler here. The nights could be brutally cool in the desert at times and known for the nighttime inhabitants that came out of nowhere. He was getting numb to the fear of the unknown scurrying sounds that he heard at times, realizing that it might be something struggling to get away as he did.
Problem was, he didn’t know where to go.
If he was caught again, he would be killed instantly. An American in town, barefoot and ragged, would be a dead giveaway something was afoot. To prevent issues, they would dispose of him quickly, never to be found again.
Was this to be what happened to him?
Was he going to die in this small hovel?
I wonder if Tabby still thinks of me, he mused, staring up at the light once again and saying a prayer.
Brandon,
I hope I didn’t get you in trouble but when I went to the barbeque and everyone was asking if we had talked… I broke down crying. It’s been almost three months without a word from you.
John pulled me aside and we sent an email to some officer out there in Afghanistan where you are stationed, someone John had connections to when he was out there. That person John wrote didn’t say anything other than ‘no comment’.
That’s when John broke down crying.
I know you are out there somewhere, Brandon.
I can’t explain how I know it, but I do.
In my heart you have to be out there because the world would ache if your laugh disappeared. I want you to know I think about my dance partner all the time… my best friend.
You are in my prayers and I hope you are okay.
Yours,
Tabby
Tab
itha got up from the computer after clicking send and dabbed her eyes. Typing the brutal honesty hurt so very much but something was seriously wrong. John had sent out other emails, copying her on them, only to hear responses like ‘it’s classified’, ‘I cannot comment’, or ‘John, you know I can’t say’.
She wrote a little something almost every day to Brandon, hoping that he would get the emails whenever he was safe. Grabbing her purse, she made her way to the car.
Each night this past week, she’d left the school and headed for the church in town, trying to find some sort of comfort from her worries. It was the lack of knowledge that hurt so much. Stepping inside the dim interior, she found her spot was available, sliding into the last pew and kneeling down. Clasping her hands before her, Tabitha lost herself in the memories of Brandon’s smiles and laughter, offering up prayers.
“Tabitha?”
She jumped, glancing up quickly and getting to her feet. John and Lily were standing there, looking at her sadly. Apparently they had the same idea she had. Their little girl, Rose, was asleep in the carrier that was being carried by her father.
“Want some company?” John said thickly.
“I’m so sorry,” Lily breathed, laying a hand on Tabitha’s shoulder.
“Sorry for what? Introducing us? Or just sorry that he’s missing or hurt?” Tabitha said and then sighed. “That’s not fair and now I’m sorry. I’d love some company and don’t ever apologize for introducing us. Brandon’s wonderful and I know he’s going to be okay.”
The couple didn’t say anything, just looked at each other.
“He has to be,” Tabitha insisted, feeling her eyes burn painfully.
“I know you two were becoming fast friends,” John said softly. “It’s good that he has someone on his side.”
“He’s such a good person, how could we not become friends?”
“I know the feeling.”
“Shhh; less doubt and more prayer from Team Griffin, okay? Brandon needs all he can get from us right now,” Tabitha instructed, getting back on her knees and clasping her hands before her.
“Bring him home,” she breathed against her knuckles, “please.”
Brandon stared up at the light and wrapped his arms around his waist. It had been forty-three sunrises since he started keeping track. He wasn’t sure what day it was other than the days seemed to drag on forever. They were still feeding him, so that was a plus. It was like they were trying to figure out what to do with him.
That was the part that scared him.
Turns out that the scuttling noise was a scorpion in the room. The creature stung him on the soft interior part of his foot, causing him to become ill. No one ever bothered to check on him when he cried out or hollered for aid. When they brought him his food two days later on a metal plate, he’d kept the plate for a weapon, smashing the insect next time he heard it in the darkness.
He was getting weak and skinny in the darkness. One meal every few days was taking a toll on his body. His pants were starting to hang off of him, and he wished he still had his belt.
Starting two days ago, he mentally checked off his routine that he did back on base in order to keep his strength up. He was already weakening and it was noticeable. Instead of being able to do a hundred sit-ups efficiently, he was struggling to get thirty done.
Pushups were a thing of the past. His arms were shaking with effort after three pushups. He had to keep his strength, that way if the opportunity presented itself, he could get away.
Hearing a noise, Brandon shot to his feet and winced, feeling the sore spot on his foot. He hoped it wasn’t getting infected where he’d been stung.
The door opened and several men flooded the room, grasping him at once as he was blinded by lights. His wrists were dragged behind him and tied painfully as a hood was put over his head.
Brandon instantly froze.
Terrified, he was unable to move and couldn’t control the tears that tracked silently down his cheeks. He didn’t want to be a statistic. He wanted to go home. The wondering and waiting were sheer agony.
He was shoved from behind into another room, he wished he could hang onto his pants to keep from tripping on them as they slid down low on his waist. Placed in a chair, he heard someone speaking from nearby.
The mask was yanked off long enough for him to see a camera only moments before it was replaced. This time, the words spoken aloud were crystal clear and echoed in his mind.
“We want you out of our land.”
Brandon expected to meet his Maker when they put the hood back on him, but instead, he was deposited back into that cell that had become his domicile for the last unknown length of time. He would renew his efforts in strengthening his body, work on keeping his mind sane, and focus on his soul.
Kneeling down in the dirt on his knees, ignoring the cool air in the room, and he focused on the one thing that reverberated in his mind. He prayed for forgiveness, mentally preparing himself for his own death. His mind kept flashing to the single solitary thing that made him smile, his bright light in his world of chaotic thoughts. He’d always wanted love and friendship – but now he was realizing that he wanted something more.
He wanted someone to understand and be there for him.
He wanted a soulmate.
Tabby.
Tabitha entered the church and saw the seven faces swivel towards her in silent welcome. This had become their routine. This bevy of broken adults that waited for word from their friend.
As she looked down the pew, she smiled sadly, realizing they’d filled it and would be filling another one soon. John, Lily, Jason, Leia, Mike, Cora… the names went on and on. This meeting of friends, a homemade prayer group, had quickly become a habit over the last few weeks.
Every Friday night, she would walk in and spend some time asking for help for her friend… then indulge in a chocolate dip cone. Nothing made her feel better after a gut-wrenching cry than chasing it with chocolate and ice cream.
Today had been especially hard.
There had been a YouTube video released on the news and she caught a glimpse of his profile in the background. He was alive, so that only served to give some sort of slight relief… and she would take that drop in the bucket any day.
It had been over four months since they’d danced and she had seen his smile. Four months since they’d made that silly pact between them. She couldn’t imagine how he must be feeling. Every day that dragged by, she felt more and more concerned.
Some of the soldiers that had worked closely with Brandon were a sheer and utter mess. The sound of his name would silence a room. John and Lily were at odds because he wanted to fly back to Afghanistan to help out… however, she was expecting again.
It was devastating to see the heartbreak in their eyes. Lily knew he needed to go – but John wouldn’t leave her. It was killing him slowly on the inside. Tabitha had never seen the man tear up or cry so much.
Tabitha wrote Brandon regardless.
She told him everything. All about her days at work, how awful thirty plastic recorders sounded off-key, and her deepest wishes and dreams. She told him about how they all prayed for him, how much she was missing his smile, and how she was feeling.
Dear Brandon,
I know you aren’t getting my letters but I feel I still need to send them. I spend so much time on my knees in church praying for your safe return that I think I’m starting to get divets and indentions in my kneecaps. It makes it really tough to shave my legs.
That was supposed to be my lame attempt at a joke.
Get it?
Sometimes I wonder why we promised each other that we’d marry if we hadn’t found anyone. It seemed like such a silly thing to say or do – and I would never hold you to it… but a part of me can’t help but be curious as to what would drive a man to make such a promise.
Was it that you sensed your capture deep down inside?
Did something else cause you to toss out that arbitrary number? I mean,
who says ‘three years’ out of the blue? I believe in fate and karma… but I don’t think I’ve done anything good enough to deserve someone so kind and sweet as you.
I also know you don’t deserve what is happening to you right now and the thought of what you might be going through utterly terrifies me. The unknown horrors that could be happening to you keep me up at night. I’m terrified for you. I hope they aren’t hurting you and I hope they don’t break your beautiful soul.
Please be strong and come home to us all.
Yours,
Tabitha
Brandon scratched at his beard and hair, ignoring the crawling feeling he had all over his body. He was so tired of everything and just when he thought things couldn’t get worse… they did.
The explosions and gunfire started.
At first it was a single gunshot that made him jump and his heart race. He wondered if it was one of the other soldiers, wondering if they’d been captured. Was it some poor soul that was being dealt with?
Was it his turn next?
The silence following the loud noise was deafening and just when he was starting to drift off to sleep again… another loud pop interrupted the stillness of the night.
He wasn’t functioning right anymore and he knew it. He’d lost count of the days. He was hallucinating at times, thinking he heard Tabby’s voice or her laughter. Then the explosions would start… the deadly hollow pops that would pierce his subconscious when he was lost in thought.
Brandon actually thought he might have had a mental break when he’d thought they’d shot Tabby in his dreams. The horror of her happy smile being snuffed out just devastated him. He couldn’t put his finger on why it bothered him so much other than it was like staring at the sun, so bright and beautiful. How had he ever thought she was anything but stunning? Maybe it was his imagination again playing tricks on him?
Remember Honor Page 4
