by Callie Hart
“Running home, hiding from my responsibilities? Oh sure. I can handle that just fine,” he said bitterly. “I can’t believe you’re doing this for me. I’m never going to be able to forgive myself for this.”
I shook my head, sighing. “There’s nothing to forgive. You’d do this for me if I needed it. I have your back. I always will. Now go, before you miss your damn flight out of this hellhole. And make sure you give my girl a kiss for me, brother.”
Behind me, a private I didn’t know hurried through the tent flap, saluting us both, eyes frantically flickering between the two of us before landing on me.
“Captain Fletcher, sir. You’re needed in Colonel Whitlock’s office immediately. He needs you out on night patrol with B company.” The private hadn’t batted an eyelid. He’d found the letter R on my breast pocket—Cptn. R. Fletcher—and he’d believed I was Ronan. I smiled at my brother, and then slapped him on the shoulder: see?
“Goodbye, Sully,” I said, hugging him hard one last time. It was weird calling him by my name, but it was a good show in front of the private. “Catch you on the flipside, huh?”
Ronan nodded, giving me a tight smile. “Sure thing, brother. Thank you.”
******
Three months passed. Six, and then eight. Whitlock used me for night patrols nearly every single shift, which was fine by me. The city lit up with gunfire after the sun went down. We played cat and mouse through burned-out buildings, hunting down insurgents, disarming bombs, providing backup to Seal teams and support to the marines, and through it all I was confident in the knowledge that Ronan was safe back in the States.
I spoke to him every few days at first, and then once a week. As our communication trailed off, I told myself it was because he felt guilty. We didn’t talk about the missions I was going out on, or the danger I faced every day. But I knew it was hard for him—seeing the uniform made him visibly pale and uncomfortable. When Magda started answering her phone less, I figured…I don’t know what I figured. We went from talking every day, her missing me, her loving me, her crying every time I said goodbye, to her screening my calls and rarely picking up at all.
I knew what was coming deep down in my bones, but I wasn’t prepared for it. Exactly nine months after I’d assumed Ronan’s identity and sent him back to the States to pretend to be me until my return, I got the call that changed everything. Not a call from Magda or from Ronan, but a call from both of them. I knew the moment I saw them on the laptop screen, sitting at the table together, chairs pushed too close, hands hidden under the table, that they were about to tell me something I didn’t want to hear.
“We didn’t mean for it to happen,” Magda said, tears welling in her eyes. “But living together, spending so much time together, pretending all the time... It was inevitable, Sully. We couldn’t help it.”
Ronan looked like his shame was eating him alive. “I don’t know what to say,” he whispered. “You gave me everything, and I took even more. It’s unforgiveable.”
I stared at the screen, trying to figure out if it was all a huge joke. God, it had to be, right? How could it possibly be true? And then Magda drove the final nail into the coffin. “I’m pregnant, Sully. I’m so, so sorry. We’re having a baby.”
Baby?
The word rattled around inside my brain, setting off explosions that clean took my breath away.
“I still love you,” she whispered. “I love both of you. How can I not?”
“So, what?” I choked on my laughter. “I get done out here in a couple of months, come back to New York and then we all live together? One big, happy family? Ronan gets you Monday through Wednesday, I get you Thursday through Saturday, and we take alternating Sundays? Jesus fucking Christ, Magda.”
She cried, unbearable, gut-wrenching sobs, hands covering her face, and it was Ronan to put his arm around her and comfort her, not me.
“How long?” I demanded. “How far along are you?”
They were both silent for a moment, and then Ronan gave me an answer that made me want to throw up: “Sixteen weeks.”
“Four months? Four fucking months?”
“I know, brother. I’m so, so sorry. I know there’s nothing I can say to make this right, but—”
“Don’t call me that. Don’t call me brother. We’re done here, Ronan. You’re right. This is unforgiveable.” I slammed the laptop shut, cutting off the connection. It wasn’t enough, though. I picked it up and threw it, sending it hurtling across the tent.
It was over. It was all over. The world as I knew it was gone. Magda was having Ronan’s baby, and I was still stuck in Afghanistan, pretending to be him. I rushed out of the tent and ran across the base, my head thumping, my heart galloping in my chest. It didn’t take me long to find the colonel. He was bending over some intel reports in the comms room, squinting through the wire framed glasses he’d taken to wearing. When he saw me, he drew himself up to his full height and cleared his throat.
“What can I do for you, Captain? Where’s the fire?”
“I want to extend again, Colonel.”
His frosty expression thawed a little. “That’s not possible, Fletcher. Much as I’d like to keep you on out here, you’ve been in-country too long. The higher-ups will demand you go back to active duty in the States for at least six months before we can have you—”
“With all due respect, Colonel Whitlock, do you think I am unfit for duty?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Do you think I’m mentally competent?”
“Normally, I’d say so, but right now you’re looking a little crazed, Ronan. Might I ask what’s brought this on?”
“Just the need to serve my country, sir. The need to protect those I love and keep them safe.” This was the perfect spiel to reel out to Whitlock. Blind patriotism got him in the feels every single time. He scratched his nose, looking at me, and then gave a perfunctory nod.
“All right, then. I’ll have the paperwork drawn up for you to sign in the morning. I’ll write a personal letter of recommendation requesting that your application for another extension is granted, but I can’t guarantee it’ll be accepted.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“No, thank you, Fletcher. Good men are hard to come by out here.” He paused for a second, glancing back down at his intel papers. “You know, out of the two of you, I was always sure your brother would be the one to build an exemplary military career for himself, Ronan. Don’t get me wrong. You were always an excellent soldier. You’d never have made it to captain otherwise. But when Sully left, you really began to shine. I suppose sometimes a man needs to step out of his brother’s shadow in order to show his true colors, hmm?”
Five months later, I was on my back in a desert just outside of Kabul. My body was burned, my lungs raw from smoke inhalation, and Colonel Whitlock was calling me a crazy bastard, ordering men to get me onto a chopper before I bled out and died.
On the other side of the world, Magda was giving birth to my nephew. His name was Connor. On his birth certificate, under the section titled “father,” a nurse in bright pink scrubs, exhausted from a fourteen hour shift, wrote the name Sully James Fletcher in neat blue ink.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Trigger
The funeral was gray and grim. The sun never seemed to stop shining in California, but somehow the world was a dark, black place, and the cheerful weather couldn’t do anything to change that.
Mom hadn’t stopped crying. I hadn’t stopped either. It was all too much. Dad was gone. Sully had been dragged off by the military police, and no matter how many times I’d called to find out what was happening with him, no one would tell me anything. Eventually I found out that he was being held at Camp Haan Army base in Riverside, and that he was awaiting a hearing. I still couldn’t believe any of it.
Impersonating a commissioned officer. That’s what the soldier had said when they arrested Sully at the airport. There was no way he had impersonated a commissioned officer. No fuck
ing way.
We held Dad’s wake at the restaurant. Half of the neighborhood turned up to bid my father farewell. We drank, we ate, and we told stories. The afternoon was bittersweet—a true homage to a wonderful, kind and generous man who had touched so many people’s lives. My aunt, Simone, organized absolutely everything. She was a godsend. She greeted everyone at the church. She coordinated everyone, making sure they knew where and when to show up for the wake. She arranged the flowers. She made sure everyone was comfortable and had enough to eat and drink. She corralled people away from Mom and me whenever it looked like we were on the brink of total breakdown (which was often). Without her we would have been lost.
As the day was winding down, I busied myself collecting plates and glasses from the restaurant, trying to keep my head—it was lovely that so many people had come to show us their love and support, but I really couldn’t take another person telling me how sorry they were for my loss. I was carrying a stack of plates through the back into the kitchen when I saw a tall, bird-like figure dressed in black, stood apart to one side.
Robert Linneman.
He gave me a small, sad wave when he saw me. What on earth was he doing here? I put down the load I was carrying and made my way over to him. “Mr. Linneman? You came here for my father’s funeral?” Even as I was saying it, I knew it made no sense.
Linneman shook his head slowly. “No, Miss Lang, though I was terribly sorry to hear of your loss. I also have to apologize for showing up here like this, but I came on Mr. Fletcher’s request.”
“Sully? You’ve seen him?”
“Yes. I’ve represented both Sully and Ronan for a very long time now. I represented their father before them, too. Anyway, I was called and informed of Sully’s situation. I’ve been out here trying to resolve the matter for a couple of days now. Sully asked me to bring this letter to you. Against my advice, I might add.” He held out a small envelope, which looked like it had once been sealed and then ripped open again.
Linneman sighed when he saw me brush my fingers against the torn edge of the envelope. “Yes, unfortunately the military police did read it before I could take it off the base. I’m afraid the contents of Sully’s letter probably haven’t done his case any good.”
I took out the letter and began to read. It explained everything. As I read, eyes scanning quickly over the pages Sully had written to me, things began to make a lot more sense. At the same time, they were far more confusing, too.
“So…Sully was the one who pulled those men out of the wreckage, not Ronan?”
Linneman nodded.
“I don’t understand. How did Magda and Ronan explain why they got married, and not Magda and Sully? When did they switch back their identities?” My head was hurting, to the point where every single last scrap of this new information I was being given simply wouldn’t make sense.
“Ronan found out when Sully finally came home from deployment. He came back to the island and found him. They agreed then to become themselves again. It was time for them to be who they were meant to be. I oversaw the meeting between them. Ronan was worried that Sully might not exactly be pleased to see him.”
“So you knew about this? All these years?”
“I did.”
“And you didn’t think to mention anything about it when Ronan died? You didn’t think to explain why it would be so damned hard to get Sully to take Connor and Amie?”
Linneman smoothed down his suit, politely declining a tray of hors d’oeuvres from Aunt Simone. “It wasn’t my place. I can only legally discuss the matter with you now because Sully has asked me to.”
God, what a mess. It was all such a mess. In times like these I would normally have turned to my father for guidance, but that wasn’t possible anymore. “How much trouble is he in?” I asked.
“A considerable amount,” Linneman said. “It seems he triggered some sort of red flag when his ID was entered into the airline’s systems back in Maine. The army has been trying to hunt him down for some time. It seems a number of sensitive files were leaked during the time that Sully was deployed under Colonel Whitlock. A specialist named Crowe was arrested for selling military secrets to outside parties. He’d somehow figured out Sully was pretending to be Ronan back then, and he told the police Sully was the one selling the information. That he had taken a number of files when he left the army, and since Crowe didn’t have any files on him when he was arrested, it looked like Sully was at least complicit in hiding evidence if not directly involved in the crimes that were committed.”
“Espionage? I’ve never heard anything so stupid in my whole life.”
“I know. Sully insists he doesn’t have any secret files, but the military aren’t likely to believe him since he lied about who he was for so long. Basically, it’s not looking good, Miss Lang. It’s not looking good at all.”
“Haven’t they searched his place back on the island?”
“They’ve torn the place apart. Not a thing was found, but now they’re saying he could easily have hidden the files somewhere else. Buried them. Secured them in a safe place. Given them to someone else, perhaps.”
This was outrageous. There was just no way Sully would be involved with selling top secret military information to anyone. No way whatsoever. And no way he was involved with this Crowe guy, either. The name was familiar to me, Sully had mentioned him once or twice, but if they were aligned with each other in any illegal activities, surely he wouldn’t have mentioned him at all?
Then…
My blood ran cold as I remembered something. Sully, sick with a fever after the Sea King went down, tossing and turning on his couch, yelling out a name. Yelling at a man to help him. He had been yelling at Crowe. When I’d asked him about Crowe later, I recalled the sour look on Sully’s face as he’d said he wasn’t a friend.
There was another time, too. Another time Sully had mentioned Crowe. I wracked my brain, trying to bring the memory to the surface of my mind, scouring every single moment Sully and I had spent together, trying to scan through conversations and interactions until I came across it.
“Miss Lang? Ophelia, are you quite all right?” Linneman touched my shoulder, a deep frown of concern on his face, but I held up one hand, burying myself deeper in my thoughts.
When? When had it been? God, I had to remember. I had to. And then, just as I was about to give up, it came to me in a sudden rush, a revelation that made my head spin. “Shit,” I hissed.
“What is it, Ophelia?”
“I know what the files are,” I told him, shaking my head. “I know exactly what they are, and I know where to find them, too.”
Linneman looked alarmed. “If they can help clear Sully’s name, then we need to get them to the police immediately,” he said.
“I know. You should call them and tell them they need to go back to the island. The files are a set of USB drives. They’re in my underwear drawer. And…well.” I cleared my throat. “They’re full of porn.”
******
The USB drives Sully gave me for Christmas were actually full of tactical operations intel and Taliban profiles. Each and every one of the files was apparently corrupt and the drives had been overwritten with porn, but the information was still there, lurking beneath the surface, waiting for someone to come and find it. Crowe’s digital military ID was stamped on the files, showing the times and dates when he had downloaded them from the army’s protected servers. Sully’s digital military ID was nowhere to be found. A week after the drives were handed over to the military police, Sully was unexpectedly released from Camp Haan. Linneman called me to relay the good news.
“I think you should be the one to go get him,” he told me. “He’s been pretty wild over the fact that they haven’t let him call you. I’m sure he’d appreciate a pick up from his girl over a dusty old man like me.”
I drove out to Camp Haan in Mom’s 4Runner, the whole way dreading having to face another arrogant man dressed in uniform, but when I got there, a tall, handsome gu
y dressed in civvies greeted me instead. He came to get me at the gate and walked me inside the building, introducing himself as Sam. He was pretty young, still in his mid twenties, but he walked with an air of importance, and when we passed other soldiers in the hallways of the administration building Sam took me through, they all stopped and saluted him without exception.
He led me to a small, windowless room and gestured for me to sit down at a low table—the only item of furniture inside the room. “Sully will be with you in a second, Miss Lang. If you’d please wait here, I’ll be back in a moment too with Sully’s release papers.” He left, and I sat down at the desk as he’d instructed, trying not to bite my fingernails.
Five minutes later, Sully was escorted into the room by two armed guards. He was dressed in military uniform, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in days. There were dark circles under his eyes, but his back was ramrod straight, his chin held high and proud. When he saw me, he rushed into the room and threw his arms around me, sweeping me up off the floor.
“Damn it, Lang,” he said through gritted teeth. “I thought you wouldn’t come.” He rained kissed down onto my face. Putting me down, he cupped my face in his hands, scanning me from head to toe, as if storing every last minute detail of me to memory in case he never saw me again.
“Of course I came,” I whispered. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“The U.S. Army doesn’t see it that way,” he said. “I still fucked up pretty bad. I should never have done what I did.”
I leaned my forehead against his chest, closing my eyes, breathing a sigh of relief. “You loved your brother. That’s all. And whatever you may have done, it seems like you’re in the clear. They told Linneman you were going to be released.”
Sully frowned. “They did?”
“Yeah. The officer who came and got me at the gate said he was getting your release paperwork.”
