by Nicole Snow
Two scrawny soldiers in dark gray and red star fatigues come running out, shooting wildly. I cut them both down without even looking into their eyes. That's how it's done. I don't have time for guilt.
I've handled terrorists on missions before. They're all passionate, crazed devils who die like true believers.
Dealing with these Koreans is different. Most of the poor bastards here are brainwashed conscripts, cogs in the machine, malnourished and forced into our deadly fire by nothing but blind fate.
There's no time for sympathy or morals on the battlefield. It's kill or be killed, just like always, and I don't hesitate when it's them or me.
This is survival. This is for Delia. It's supposed to be for my country, my duty, and it is, but the only motivator I've got is probably crying her eyes out in a Bay Area mansion.
I can't leave her there.
Tommy, Brandon, and several other guys plow forward on my command, hurling their charges inside the bunker and clearing anything inside. We move fast. It takes less than ten minutes to break into the control room and wire the whole place up.
There's still gunfire and blasts happening outside, shaking the concrete walls like a tornado, but it seems to be tapering off. I run my hand over my face while the commander does the final checks.
We might actually make it out of this alive, as long as we can beat their reinforcements, undoubtedly streaming in from all directions by now.
We'll find out later if the mission was a success, if it hasn't triggered a wider war. Seoul and a hundred other cities across the peninsula might be burning up right now, and the DMZ could be a total wreck, but we've done our jobs here.
“Coordinates?” I hear the commander bark into his field piece. “Roger. We'll be there in four minutes.”
All the guys inwardly sigh with relief when we see our officer waving us out. The coast is clear. We just have to get to the center of the base where the other teams are working like dogs to clear a landing site for the choppers, and then we'll be on our way.
The commander lights a cigarette and watches intently as we all work to help the other team sweep up the debris. The rain picks up, and so does the wind. It's hard to hear the choppers over the storm.
Not 'til they're right on top of us.
Huge, whirling helicopters descend at last. Men pile on the first helicopter as soon as it hits the ground. It takes off without a hitch. The commander and I are the last ones to board number two with our team, and soon we're soaring.
I can't fucking believe it. I let myself think about Delia again, and I clasp my knees as the realization sets in that we're all in one piece.
It's a good thing I do because half a second later, I'm upside down. There's a noise like shearing metal, and I see the Commander suspended in the air, the last of his cigarette dropping out of his mouth like a cartoon character whose jaw is about to hit the ground.
But there's nothing funny about this. There's a terrible sound a thousand times louder than a car accident, and everything goes black.
When I wake up, my head hurts like a motherfucker. There's a bright, brutal light; too warm and too close to be the sun. I can't figure out what it is 'til I hear the strange, cold voice.
“Cleveland? You are conscious, yes?”
I open my eyes, thinking I'm in a military hospital.
No, that isn't right.
No US field hospital ever looked this shitty, with cracks in the walls and rusted out furniture. I try to move, and something jerks against my hands. It's the same with my feet, totally pinned down to the old chair.
There's a sharp dressed Korean man with spectacles in front of me, red stars on his uniform, and the icy stare on his gaunt face they all seem to have.
“You've been taken prisoner as an imperialist intruder in the peace-loving Democratic People's Republic of Korea. You will tell us everything about what happened before the crash. Do you understand?”
His monotonous, awkward English fades out. All I can hear are my own thoughts pounding in my head, over and over, a mantra that kicks off the savage torture I'm about to face.
Delia, forgive me.
13
Alone (Delia)
24 Hours Earlier
“Dad...” I lick my lips and swallow, clenching my hands neatly in my lap, staring at the madman across the kitchen table. “Before you say anything, I need you to know this was never meant to be malicious. I don't know what she's been telling you, but –“
“Cut the shit.” His hand moves through the air like a knife, and I'm instantly silenced. “Evie didn't have to say anything. I saw it all, the way you were tangled with him, defiling our home. Jesus Christ, Cordelia.”
Dad's face softens, but only because he's so disgusted. He can barely bring himself to say it. I watch him spread his hands on our big table, and they're shaking, overwhelmed by the memory of what he saw on the screen.
My eyes burn when I look at him. I cross my arms, angry, vowing that I won't apologize. I don't care how hard he hits me with those puppy dog eyes.
“I'm trying to understand,” dad says softly, running another clammy hand across his face. “What the hell drove you to this? You're a beautiful college girl in your prime, honey. You could've had any boy on campus. Why Chris? He's strong, he's ballsy, and I get that. But I also know he's a complete bastard, and he can't be any better with his women.”
Dad's anger matches mine. I can't help but soften because he's hurt, thinking Chris really did shred my honor or something ridiculous. I don't blame him, but he doesn't get it.
“We're in love, dad.” The words just fall out.
Am I really trying to explain my love affair with my badass stepbrother to my own father?
Yes. Yes, I am.
“Love.” He repeats it, sounding so neutral, giving me a shred of hope. “Goddammit. Evie was right. Look, Cordelia, I don't know what he's done to you or what kinds of thoughts he's put in your head. She told me he has a way of doing that.”
There goes that hope.
“What!?” Dad tries to reach for my hand, and I push him away, jerking back in the chair. “It isn't like that at all, dad! I'm not some stupid little girl who decided to throw my panties at the first handsome jerk who gave me the time of day.”
Okay, maybe that isn't quite true. But what I feel for Chris deep inside is real, and I shouldn't have to explain it, or make any apologies.
“We love each other. We really do. We were coming out at the party, the night Evie sent you those pics. Sure, we got carried away, and it happened way more messy than we meant. We planned to sit you down when you came home, tell you all about us.”
His face goes pale. I watch him slick back his hair again, looking like some middle aged broker who's just watched his favorite investment plummet on the ticker.
“I'm worried about you, honey. For real. I think you need some help.”
His last sentence reaches through my chest and strangles my heart. That's it. I've had my fill. I can't sit here a second longer and listen to this slimy, sympathetic crap – especially when I know it's her twisting him.
Evie's going to ruin everything if she has a chance.
“I'm not crazy. There's only one person in this house who still needs help, and I wish you could see it.”
Dad's brow furrows. “If you're talking about my wife, frankly, she's turned out to be the sanest all this time. I only wish she'd brought this thing between you and Chris to my attention sooner. I would've stopped it before it became a bigger problem.”
“Stopped it? Like, you think you get to control who I choose to love?”
It's dad's turn to get up. He steps toward me, trying to twist his face into a mask of concern, but I only see anger. Shame. Bitter disgust.
“You don't love him, Cordelia. That's bullshit. You're not going to wreck your life with some kid who's too busy chasing skirt when he isn't getting shot at. There's about a month left of summer. Before you head back to campus, he's going to be out of your syste
m, one way or another. I don't care how much in therapy fees I've got to throw at it.”
Therapy fees? He wants to force me to go to a fucking shrink?
Something inside me snaps. I'm channeling Chris when my hand shoots up and my middle finger pops out. Dad stares on in shock, his mouth hanging open, too stunned to say anything else.
“Fuck you, dad. This is my choice. Not yours. I only decided to sit down and talk about it as a courtesy. I thought we were both adults.” I pause and sigh, readying the final blow. “When Chris gets back, we're taking off together. I'll move in with him while I'm waiting for the proposal. If you settle down and get over yourself by then, maybe I'll send you an invitation to the wedding.”
I stop right there. He's not the only one who's paralyzed. I'm seething, too angry to do anything else except march past him and towards the stairs, heading for my room.
I'm up on the second floor before I hear him running after me. “Delia! I didn't excuse you. We're not done talking about this yet!”
Yes, we are. I keep going, straight to my room, and slam the door behind me.
He doesn't have the balls to come after me. The wicked contrast with my father's weakness makes me think about Chris, and it hurts.
I can't stand it. I wonder where he is, what he's doing, if he's still alive. He wouldn't come out and say it, but I know he's on a dangerous mission. And it's a special kind of hell when I need him more than ever.
I'm so confused. So alone. So trapped, caught between this screwed up family and the last man on earth I ever expected to care so fucking much about.
There's no denying it, though, especially when he's on my mind every waking second, the whole reason I'm fighting with my dad like never before. The only person on earth who ever loved me and pursued me like a lion is thousands of miles away, doing God knows what, and I need him more than ever.
I'm not a religious girl, but I stare out my window and pray that night. I ask whatever gods or forces of nature are out there to protect him, bring him back to me, mend our hearts.
I can't lose him now. And I'll never let another human being tear him away from me either.
The next couple days are a blur. I throw myself into my work, finishing up my seventy page research draft in a matter of hours.
It's a good thing too, because the professor is hounding me again. But this time it's because he likes the synopsis, and he's eager to see if the rest of it lives up to his high expectations.
I make myself scarce. I hear Bruce and Evie talking in the hallways, muttering about me, adding their voices to this sick, dark cloud that's descended over our house.
As far as I'm concerned, it's all in their own damned heads.
All my worries are focused on Chris, Chris, and only Chris. I haven't heard a thing for several days. I keep watching the news, eyeing the Middle East and Asia especially, two hotspots that are always ready to blow.
I'm worried. I wonder if he's in some desert hellhole, alone and dying of thirst, or if he's gotten himself locked up in some third world prison.
Will he ever be the same if he comes home with a broken body, mind, or spirit? Will the same man come back to me?
I'm starting to understand all the agonies of a military wife, and we're not even married.
It's hard to admit it to myself, but I wish we were. I want to be his, for the rest of my life, and if worrying about him being a super soldier thousands of miles away is the price, then I'm willing to accept it.
I'm ready to suffer for this man, the same way I know he'll hurt for me too. I only hope whatever he's gotten himself into now still lets him return in one piece.
It's late evening before I go downstairs for dinner. I think about going out, but it's after ten thirty, and I'm not keen on driving into the city after dark with limited pickings.
I find some leftover curry from my parents' dinner and reheat it, grabbing a coconut water on my way out. Maybe I'll go out for a run around the property, burn off this energy and tension knotting up my muscles.
It's not just the constant worry about Chris that's leaving me on edge. This is the first week he hasn't given me a good, hard fucking since Vegas, and my body reminds me how much I miss it.
I'm wearing the same panties I did on our first trip now, and they're making me wet. I sit down on the patio next to the pool and tuck into my food, trying to savor it.
Anything to get my mind off being wrapped around that bad boy's body, clinging to his muscles, remembering each and every way he drove between my legs like he owned every inch of me...
Shit.
I'm still in la-la-land when she steps in front of me. My desire instantly flicks out the second I see Evie, the last person in the world I ever want to think about when I'm horny.
“What do you want?” I snap, looking at the dark green liquid in the cocktail glass she's brought with her. “Did you come out to hide your booze from my dad?”
So much for being sober. That lasted about a week, if the lying bitch wasn't just hiding her drinks from us the whole time.
“Of course not, dear. He'll be out here to join us in a few minutes. My request. It's a cool, pleasant summer evening, isn't it? I want to put this all behind us as soon as I can, Cordelia.”
“So you've decided you're okay with Chris and I together?” I'm not surprised when she rolls her eyes, but I can't figure out what the hell she's getting at.
“Okay with incest? Ha!” Evie flashes me that man eating smile and steps up, cranes her neck down, way too close for comfort. “You know there are a thousand other boys out there to fuck, right? I've done plenty of it in between my husbands. Sometimes during them too. Grow up, little Delia.”
“Back off.” It's all I can manage.
I swear, if she doesn't get out of my face, I'm going to slash my nails across her cheek and push her to the floor. I can't stand this insufferable, controlling, vicious witch, the first person in my life who makes me want to get violent.
“Ah, there's your father now, coming down the hall.” She takes a long sip of her drink and looks up at the long windows through the gardens, stretching out to the pool and the scenery beyond. “You're in deep shit, missy. Don't say I didn't give you a chance to drop this stupid fling before it got messy.”
Next thing I know, her hand moves and there's a sound of glass shattering below us. Something cold and sticky splashes me, and she rocks back, like I punched her.
What the fuck? I bolt up, and it's only then I realize she threw her own drink in her face.
She's wailing by the time my dad runs up, staggering around like she's blind. And I know that's bullshit. Glass shards are all over, crunching underneath my flip flops, the only proof of her psycho act besides the drink that splashed us both.
“What's going on?” my father yells, pulling her into his arms and shooting me a dirty look. “Christ, do I smell whiskey? Midori?”
“It's horrible, Bruce! I only came out to talk. Things got a little heated, and she threw her drink right in my fucking face. I've got it all over me! This poison, after I've tried so hard to be good. I just –“
She stops herself as my dad crushes her into his chest. I listen to her exaggerated blubbering for the next thirty seconds, too shocked to roll my eyes.
“Come on, darling. Let's go in and get you cleaned up.” He takes her hand gently, wiping the drink off her face with his sleeve, before he looks at me again. “As for you, Cordelia...we're way past disappointed. I expect you in my office in thirty minutes. Don't try to leave. This time, the gate stays shut. Don't even think about getting any bright ideas from your brother. If you wreck anything around here, if you damage my property, I won't be bailing you out next time.”
They turn and start heading for the house. No fucking way.
I run forward, stamping my feet, feeling several shards of glass stuck to my shoes. Ugh.
“Dad – wait! She's lying to you! I watched the bitch come out with that cocktail and throw it in her own face. She's nuts. Rehab h
asn't helped her a bit.”
Evie makes an exaggerated whimpering noise and then rips her face off his shoulder, wailing into the open. It'd be embarrassing if it weren't so sick.
Dad stops, turns around, and gives me a look like he's ready to kill. “Cordelia, shut your damned mouth. You've already said enough about my wife. I can't believe I trusted you once. You're in no position to judge anybody else's relationship when you've been bedding your own goddamned brother.”
I'm not sure what's crueler – his words or his glacial tone.
I stop in my tracks and watch them go inside, her clinging to him, and him holding onto her every miserable word. It's an open sky tonight, just a little after sunset, the stars struggling to come out through all the Bay Area's intense light pollution.
For once, I know how they feel in the infinite blackness. I'm being suffocated in my own home.
Dad's waiting behind his desk, angry as an interrogator. I've rarely seen him like this outside the office, and right now, he's all angry executive.
“Dad, before you start, I –“
“This isn't about you, Cordelia. Not anymore. This is about the good of our family, and a future you're too damned immature to deal with. You won't be seeing any more of Evie's son. If he steps foot on my property again, I'll have him thrown behind bars.”
Oh, this is starting out great. So now he's going to treat the love of my life like a fucking criminal?
“You're overreacting. She's playing you dad, playing you again. I can't believe you're so blind. Evie was in my face a little more than a week ago, calling me a slut, and you stood up for me.”
Dad purses his lips. His eyes darken, and he folds his hands, giving his knuckles a swift crack.
“She was right. I was wrong. The only thing I regret is how blind I was when she tried to warn me about her screwed up, piss poor excuse for a son. I gave him the benefit of the doubt because of what he does for this country. I let my guard down, and yours too.”
“But dad...” I pause, hating how determined he sounds. I can't believe he's already made up his mind on lies. “It's not like that. You have to talk to Chris, let him explain. He'll tell you everything from his point of view. You'll see he's not just trying to get me into bed.”
