Liberation Day - A Thorn Byrd Novel

by Dustin Stevens

“Thorn, I’m sorry I couldn’t make it today.”

  The connection was a little bit garbled, the voice somewhat distorted, but nowhere near the worst they’d endured.

  “I know, Pop. Again, it’s no big deal.” Thorn hoisted a leg through his bedroom window and stepped out onto the balcony, his cell phone pressed to his ear.

  “My son graduated from Harvard today, that’s a very big deal,” his father said. “I haven’t shut up about it since I woke this morning. I’m sure everybody here is sick to death of my bragging.”

  Thorn chuckled, trying to imagine his father’s cohorts hiding their chagrin at the incessant babble. “We’ve been through this a hundred times. You only get so much leave time, better to wait and take it when we can be home together for a while.”

  His father made a response that was reduced to white noise by the connection, his voice too muffled to decipher. Rather than request a repeat Thorn forged ahead. “So, where are you today?”

  The line cleared, allowing him to hear a long sigh belying a handful of emotions. “Somewhere in the Mediterranean, nothing but routine patrols. Easiest assignment we’ve had in a while.”

  “Good for you,” Thorn said, leaning his body forward and resting his forearms against the metal railing that was actually a fire escape, but he preferred to think of as a balcony. “Any idea how long you’ll be there?”

  “Nope. You know they like to keep us on our toes, make sure we don’t have any semblance of a real life.”

  Thorn coughed out a half laugh at the line his father had used a thousand times over the years.

  “How about you? Made any decisions yet?”

  Thorn pushed himself up from the rail and turned, resting his backside against the cool black metal. His eyes glossed over as he shifted his focus and stared out across the grassy quad below, his mind replaying the conversation with Ingram just hours before.

  “I’m weighing an offer at the moment, but I haven’t sorted it all out yet.”

  The response was true, if not the entirety of it. There was still a lot to consider on the offer he’d been made, a lot of variables that had not yet been divulged. He had no intention of lying to his father, but for whatever reason, he didn’t want to say anything until he had it deciphered in his own head.

  “You’re not thinking about going back to active duty are you?”

  “God, no,” Thorn responded, the same question and answer that was evoked every time they spoke.

  The call lasted another three minutes before an alarm sounded on the opposite end of the line. Both sides said their goodbyes as Thorn climbed back through the window, tossing the phone down on his coffee table. He was still wearing the workout gear from the earlier meeting and sat on the couch just long enough to lace on his running shoes.

  Abby watched him with detached interest from the opposite end of it, lifting her head as he rubbed behind her ears and headed for the door.

  After his encounter with Birkwood earlier, he no longer felt the need to make sure she was looked after.

  There was no chance he would be returning any time soon.

  The night air was warm enough to be comfortable but cool enough not to stifle as it wrapped around him, Thorn drawing in a deep breath through his nose. Exhaling it slowly, he kicked himself into motion, settling into a mile-eating lope. While the bulk of the city had congregated around the universities for graduation weekend, the backstreets remained deserted as his feet slapped out a rhythm over the pavement. His shoulders rose and fell in an even pace, the distance disappearing beneath his feet.

  Letting the music stream through his headphones, he allowed muscle memory to carry him on the same route he had traversed a hundred times before. In front of him the evening sun slipped toward the horizon, the golden light washing over his body, pinching his eyebrows low to refract it.

  His final destination came into view as Thorn pulled the headphones from his ears and carried them by his sides, sweat streaming from his face as he slowed to a walk. Passing through the wrought iron gate that surrounded Mr. Auburn Cemetery, he tossed a wave to the security office standing just inside the grounds and walked forward, the ambient noise of the outside world falling away behind him.

  Daylight continued to recede from the sky above as he walked by the old familiar landmarks, past the reflection pond and chapel. Rising from a hilltop in the distance, he could see the lookout tower beckoning him forward, the place deserted save a few squirrels and birds out for a late evening sojourn.

  Halfway there he stopped, leaving the concrete roadway and padding silently across the plush grass lawn. Fifty yards later he found what he was looking for, stopping with his arms folded in front of him, staring down.

  The marker - if it could even be called that - was his favorite in the entire place. No headstone, no plaque, no dates of memoriam. Just a single dog, carved from gray granite, sitting on its back haunches and staring forward in an eternal vigil.

  The only marking of any kind on it was the name Oscar carved into the dog’s collar.

  A small smile creased Thorn’s face as he looked down at it, his last stop before ascending the tower and staring out at Boston, wrestling with everything in his mind until he had an answer.

  “Well, Oscar, what do you say?” he asked, his low voice seeming to reverberate through the silence.

  “The question is, what do you say?” a voice shot back out of the darkness.

  A jolt of adrenaline passed through Thorn as he rocked forward onto the balls of his feet, his hands tightened by his sides. For a moment his body was rigid as he prepared to act, but just as fast recognition set in and he relaxed.

  “Am I that predictable?”

  Emerging from a darkened corner between two trees, Ingram strode forward, his pale face a silhouette above his dark clothing. In measured steps he moved forward and took a spot beside Thorn, gazing down at the statue.

  “I like Oscar, too. I don’t know that he’s my favorite in here, but he’s in the top five.”

  “How long have you been following me?” Thorn asked, pulling his focus back to Oscar, making sure his voice remained even.

  “Long enough to know you’d eventually end up here.”

  “So you’ve been waiting awhile.”

  “Not long, maybe twenty minutes,” Ingram replied. “Most of the time you get here a little before dark.”

  “Had to wait for the call from Pop.”

  “Mmm,” Ingram mumbled, nodding his head. He paused for a moment as they both stood motionless in the dark. “So, not to skip the foreplay, but we need an answer.”

  “What happens if at some point I want out?” Thorn asked, jumping right to the big issue that had been nagging at him all afternoon.

  For what it was, the opportunity was enough to at least pique his interest. If a day, a week, a year later that interest was no longer there, he needed to know he could walk away, no questions asked.

  “Then you’re out. Of course there’s an ironclad non-compete clause you’ll have to sign and there may be some compensation repayment, but we’re not going to force someone to stay in the field that doesn’t want to be there. People get hurt, or worse, that way.”

  The answer wasn’t everything Thorn wanted to hear, but he received it without revealing anything to Ingram. There was the usual litany of questions about compensation and leave time, but something told him this wasn’t the type of position where haggling was necessary.

  For the past six months, Thorn had considered a dozen different directions he could go. He’d fielded job offers from alumni football players working in finance and consulting, had taken the LSAT in case he wanted to apply to law school. His father was high enough in the navy to have some sway should he want to go back in a non-active capacity.

  Each one had been dismissed as a fallback, not quite the kind of thing he was looking for.

  This could be that thing.

  “When do I start?”

  A thin smile grew across Ingram’s face. “A
s soon as you answer one thing for me.”

  “What’s that?” Thorn asked, rotating to look at his new boss, already bracing himself for what might be coming.

  “How did it feel to lay out that son of a bitch Birkwood this afternoon?”

  Chapter Nine