Jacked

by Chance Carter

  “Coffee,” Commander Shepherd replied, “as hot and black as you can make it.”

  “Same for me,” I said, to Jameson.

  The Petty Officer pushed off from the wall and rushed to follow the instruction. And then we were alone, me and my future.

  I held the door open for the Commander, and he swept past me, owning the room and everything in it as well. He didn’t sit down in the chair in front of my desk, instead, he swept around to my leather backed seat and took his place in it, then gestured for me to sit down too.

  I did as he commanded, and Shepherd drew a Cuban out of his top pocket and a cigar cutter with it. He didn’t offer me anything, of course. “No ash tray?” he asked, and studied my clutter-free desk with disdain.

  “No, Sir. I don’t smoke.”

  “Pity,” Shepherd replied.

  Jameson chose that moment to return with an entire pot of freshly brewed coffee and two clean mugs. She brought cream and sugar too, bless her, since I hadn’t asked for it.

  “Got an ash tray on this base?” Shepherd asked her.

  “Yes, Sir. I’ll retrieve one for you.” Jameson hurried out again, leaving a wake of controlled panic behind her. Everyone at the base wanted to know what would become of them, and of me. I was pretty sure my Petty Officers didn’t want to see me in prison.

  We waited for Jameson’s return in silence, and I tracked the movement of clouds in the azure sky outside the window. It was a perfect day, for once. The gray bank had cleared to reveal the beauty of the mountain beneath it. Light glinted off the polished trucks, and the water had all but dried on the concrete, leaving only little puddles and wet tracks from soldiers boots to and from them.

  Shepherd didn’t admire the view. He tapped the end of his cigar on my desk and stared at me. I didn’t dare ask him what was on his mind. He’d tell me when he was good and ready.

  Finally, Jameson reappeared with an ash tray and placed it on the desk in front of the Commander. “Here you are, Sir.”

  “Thank you. Dismissed.”

  She saluted, then exited the office and closed the door behind herself.

  Plunged into silence again, but this time disturbed by Shepherd’s cigar cutter and the frantic thoughts that screamed through my mind. Questions that didn’t have answers yet. Fuck, I had to calm down.

  Shepherd finally lit up and puffed acrid cigar smoke into the space above his head. I longed to open my windows again and let it out, but that would only fast-track my demise.

  “Is everything on this base made out of metal?” he asked, and moved the tin ash tray closer.

  I gave a feeble smile. “As I said, we’re working on that, Sir.”

  “Let’s talk, Baker.”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ve got to tell you, I don’t appreciate having to come down here, having to cut short my plans to check on a base I thought I left in good hands.”

  “It is in good hands, Sir.”

  Shepherd let fly another cloud of smoke. “Yes, well, that was what I thought until this incident with the boy.”

  “He was a young man,” I replied.

  “Baker, I don’t care if he was a senior citizen in a tiara and ballerina’s tutu,” Shepherd snapped, “he’s in hospital thanks to your lack of control over the operations of this base.”

  I sagged under the weight of the accusation. I thought I had everything under control. “Sir, apart from this one small incident, nothing has gone wrong.”

  “Small incident? Why don’t you call this Meller’s parents and convince them that their son in a coma is a small incident. I’m sure that will go down well,” Shepherd replied, and balanced his cigar on the edge of the ash tray.

  “That wasn’t what I meant, Sir.”

  Shepherd waved that away. “I trusted you, Baker. No one else would touch you after Mission Hubert. They thought you were damaged goods, that the PTSD had addled your decision-making process.”

  My jaw dropped. “What?”

  “Of course, no one would say that out loud, but that’s the general attitude they had toward you,” Shepherd continued, “but not me. I gave you a shot. I wanted you to prove that you were more than a collection of bad memories. Apart from Hubert, your record is flawless. Stunning.”

  “I know,” I said, and balled my hands into fists in my lap. This was worse than I thought. “Sir, this wasn’t something I could control. Whitmore went missing while we were in Meek Springs to fetch supplies.”

  “Two questions,” Shepherd said, “where were you when he went missing? And why were you with him on a supply run?”

  “Sir, I – we were in the local bar. Trapped because of a storm. And I went with him because –”

  “You wanted to have a good time?”

  “No! I’m not like that, Sir. I’m dedicated to my men. I went to fetch a few items of a delicate nature with which I didn’t trust Whitmore.”

  “Then why was Whitmore in charge of a supply run?” Shepherd asked, and picked up the cigar again. He rolled it between his fingers. “If you didn’t trust him.”

  “He – I – Sir, it’s not that I didn’t trust him in general, it was just that these were specific items requested by the interior decorator on the base. Requested directly from me.”

  “So? You’re the commanding officer here. Why would you go yourself?” Shepherd asked, and narrowed his eyes at me.

  “Because I had my suspicions about Whitmore prior to this trip, but I didn’t have enough evidence to act on them. I believed that he was envious of my position at the base and wanted to discredit me. He also expressed ill will toward the operation to revamp the base’s interior and believed it to be a waste of time.” I took a deep breath. I couldn’t let on how I felt about Chanel. Whitmore would certainly blab that part to the Commander as soon as he got the opportunity. “I was concerned that he’d attempt to sabotage her work.”

  Shepherd puffed on the cigar and studied me through a curtain of smoke. “The situation would’ve been better controlled if you’d swapped him out on the roster for someone else.”

  “I understand, Sir. Hindsight is 20-20.”

  “I agree on that point,” Shepherd replied, and killed the cigar in the ash tray this time. “I believe this was a slip up. I believe that Whitmore is probably out of control and your suspicions were likely correct, but that you made a series of ill choices leading up to this point.”

  “Sir, you’re not suggesting that I could’ve stopped Whitmore from –”

  “This isn’t a debate, Baker.” Shepherd sniffed, then brushed his fingertips along the edges of the desk. Finally, he halted at the corners, then placed his elbows on the surface. “I’ve made my decision.”

  “Regarding what, Sir?”

  “Your position on this base. Your station as Lieutenant Commander.”

  I held my breath.

  “I don’t believe you were prepared for this responsibility. You’re more than capable physically, mentally, but emotionally? I believe this was too much for you and your judgment has been clouded. I’m well aware that Whitmore was your friend. I believe you went easier on him than you could have.”

  I listened intently, still unable to breathe or move. Christ, was this the end for me?

  “I’m going to have you reassigned to another base. Hawaii, most likely. You’ll be taken back down to the rank of Petty Officer until you’ve shown that you’re ready to progress.”

  The room swayed, the walls curved inward. This couldn’t be happening. I’d worked damn hard to keep this base running smoothly, to provide for everyone here.

  “It will do you good, and it will ensure that the people in town realize that action is being taken up here.”

  “Sir, if you want to take action throw Whitmore in prison. He’s the one who did this.”

  “As I said, this is not a debate, Baker.” Shepherd’s pitying gaze hardened up. “I want you to be evaluated again, as well. And after that, you’re going to see a psychologist weekly. Once you’re i
n Hawaii.”

  And that was that. I’d already been relocated.

  My thoughts darted in every direction, and came to rest on Chanel. I had to leave her. I’d fallen in love with her and I had to leave her here, with her overbearing mother and a town full of yokels who believed in super soldiers and– Jesus, no!

  I gripped the edge of the desk. “Please, Commander, give me another chance to prove myself.”

  “No,” Shepherd said. “The decision’s already been made. Now, please fetch this interior decorator so I can hear her presentation.”

  I forced myself to stand, to move my legs. One foot, then the other toward the door. I stopped and opened it, then looked back at Commander Shepherd. “Sir, the presentation will take place in the conference room. Jameson will escort you there.”

  “Very well,” he said.

  I left him there and strode down the hall, shaking on the inside, screaming. It wasn’t that I cared about the rank or the demotion. It wasn’t the base I’d worked to build up. It was leaving Chanel behind.

  Three minutes later I was in front of her office door. I knocked once and she opened up.

  “Hey,” she said, and smiled up at me, but it faltered. “What’s wrong? You’re pale.”

  “Commander Shepherd is waiting for you in the conference room.” The voice came from me, but it was detached. My mouth said the words, though I hadn’t thought them. “It’s time for your presentation.”

  “Okay, but you’re freaking me out, Ryan. You’re speaking like a robot. What’s going on?”

  “I’ve been reassigned. I’m leaving for Hawaii.”

  “W-what?” Her face fell. “No, that’s not right. You can’t leave.”

  I shrugged. I couldn’t say anything else. I wanted to hug her pain away, kiss her lips and dissolve into nothingness with her, but it would only make things worse when we had to leave. She wasn’t prepared for a life in the Navy.

  I wouldn’t have her moving around the countryside with me, and she probably wouldn’t want to. She might not like it in Meek Springs, but at least she had stability.

  “Ryan, you can’t go,” she whispered, and her bottom lip shook. The cards she was holding, the ones for her presentation, slipped from her grip and scattered across the floor. “Please, I can’t – don’t leave me. Please.” She reached for me.

  I backed up two measured steps. “Commander Shepherd is waiting for you,” I said, then I turned and walked off, back to my office to pack my things. I didn’t know how much longer I had, but if I spent it with Chanel, it would destroy me when I had to leave.

  A piteous sob echoed down the hall.

  Chapter 27

  Chanel

  The contract was mine if I wanted it. Commander Shepherd loved my presentation, though I’d given it teary-eyed. He probably thought I’d lost my fucking mind, and he was right about that.

  I’d lost not just my mind, but my heart and soul. I was in love with Ryan, and he said he had feelings for me too, but it couldn’t continue. Images of us streamed through my consciousness. Our bodies moving together, his smile, the sound of his voice and the taste of his skin.

  Gone, all gone. When did he have to leave? He hadn’t even told me.

  But I had the contract. I could stay on the base and fix it up. Avoid my mother and make things right here for people I barely knew. Stay after Ryan was gone, and Whitmore remained in his makeshift holding cell down the hall.

  “No, no, no,” I whimpered, and gripped my arms. I stood in the center of my office, staring into nothingness.

  Surely, he wouldn’t leave me here? God, it was such a desperate thing to think – that I needed him here with me, instead of letting go of what we’d developed. After all, my entire goal in coming here was to get away from my mother and to create an opportunity for myself.

  An out.

  My cellphone rang and I didn’t register it for a moment, continuing to stare instead. Ryan Baker would leave me behind. I’d lose him just as I’d lost my father. I’d return to Meek Springs and become the nobody my mother wanted me to be.

  Finally, I drew the phone out of my jacket pocket and answered. “Hello?” My voice was hoarse.

  “Chanel, I’ve tried calling you three times in the past half an hour,” my mother said, “where have you been?”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You promised you would call me.”

  “Sorry,” I said. I didn’t care, really. I didn’t care about much at all. I sank to the floor and laid my legs out in front of me, staring at the toes of my heels. “What’s up?”

  “What do you mean, what’s up? I gave you a week to come back to town and you’re still not here.”

  “I told you I couldn’t leave, mom. I had to do the presentation for the Commander of the base.” I clawed for sanity, and brought myself back from the brink of a mental breakdown. My father would’ve expected more of me than to fall at the first hurdle.

  I was Chanel Scott. I had to keep it together. I had to –

  “I’m disappointed in you, Chanel,” my mother said, softly. “I thought you understood what was required of you when I started the business.”

  “You required me to work and find clients, and keep food on the table.”

  My mother huffed. “You don’t have to put it like that. I carried my weight, girl. I made the initial investment, and, so far, you haven’t paid me back for that. I gave you the creative freedom to live and enjoy yourself in Meek Springs. What happened?”

  Creative freedom? She hadn’t given me anything but a gilded cage, and she held the key to it.

  “Well?”

  “I got the contract,” I said. It had to mean something to her. Or something to me? I hadn’t even decided whether I was staying here. If Ryan left and I returned to Meek Springs, I’d be in the exact same position I was at the start of all this, but staying? That felt worse somehow. “Mom?”

  “I’m here, Chanel.”

  “Did you hear what I said? I got the contract.”

  My mother sighed for the fiftieth time, at least. “What contract?”

  “Damn it, with the Navy, mother. With the fucking Navy! What are you stupid?!” I erupted. It was disrespectful and totally inappropriate, but I didn’t give a shit anymore. I was done.

  “What did you just say to me?”

  “I asked if you were stupid. Or maybe you’re deaf. Or maybe it’s that you never listen to a fucking word I say because you’re only concerned with your own life and your own agenda,” I yelled. “Well, I’m done with that. I’m done with you.”

  “Young lady, if you don’t moderate your tone I’m going to –”

  “You’re going to what? Shut down Scott’s Interiors? Go ahead. I don’t give a flying fuck anymore. I am so damn tired of being trapped in that house with you. I can’t breathe without you looking over my shoulder. I can’t even think without you checking in on me.”

  “Chanel!”

  “Do you know, I stopped keeping a diary because I was afraid you’d go through it?”

  Silence on the other end of the line.

  “I have to hide things from you, because if I don’t you’ll flip out and threaten to disown me. What kind of mother does that? Huh?”

  More quiet. And then a strange noise, one I hadn’t heard from my mother in years, not since my father died. A sob.

  “I thought you loved me.”

  “I do,” she hissed.

  “Bullshit. If you loved me you’d let me go. You’d give me the freedom to be who I want to be.”

  “I do love you, Chanel. But I can’t trust you,” mom said, “and I know if I do, I’ll end up losing you like…” She cut off, replacing the sentence with a strangled hiccup of sorrow.

  “What?”

  “I won’t lose another family member, understand?” Mother’s tone sharpened.

  “You’re pushing me away,” I said, “don’t you see
that? Every time you try to pull me closer it only ends up pushing me further away. I – I won’t come home.”

  “You won’t.”

  “No,” I said, “I’ve got this contract and if I have to fulfill it on my own, so be it. I don’t need your backing or your faith to do it.”

  “You can’t stay up there with them much longer,” mom replied.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The townsfolk have already started a petition to bring down that base. It’s only a matter of time before they close it. It’s not safe up there.” She didn’t sound excited about it, but it had to be a happy occasion for her. “Chanel, there are indecent rumors about you and one of those officers. The one who came to the house. The one who nearly killed Timothy.”

  “He didn’t do that,” I snapped. “It was Whitmore.”

  “I don’t know or care who that is. All I care about is that you stay safe and don’t get involved with a murderer.”

  “He’s not a murderer.” And I loved him. “He’s a wonderful person.” And he was leaving me anyway.

  “Stay away from him.”

  “You can’t tell me how to live my life anymore, Mother. I’m not a child.”

  “You’re not even old enough to drink! Your father wouldn’t approve of any of this,” she said.

  “And you think he would approve of you keeping me locked up for years? Acting like I’m some type of maniac for wanting to have a semblance of a life.”

  “Your father always did what was necessary. What was best for you and for me,” she said. “And I intend on holding to his memory.”

  “Dad wouldn’t approve of this,” I said.

  “You’re not listening, Chanel. I want what’s best for you as I always have, and you won’t be able to function in Meek Springs if you –”

  I hung up before she could get the rest of the sentence out. I didn’t want to hear her crazy opinion about Ryan or any of the other soldiers.

  My mother hadn’t given me much of a choice. If I left and returned to Meek Springs I’d have to live with her. Paula couldn’t put me up and I couldn’t afford to pay rent. Taking the contract would mean staying here, while Ryan left to God knew where, but it would also give me a chance at a future free of Henrietta Scott and her plans to keep me chained to her hip for the rest of my life.