by Sharon Sala
When the next nurse came in and found him in bed, she just assumed that the first nurse had put him there. Days passed, and as they did, Wes regained more and more cognizance, but with it came memories.
The fish on Wes’s hook suddenly flopped out of the water, but before he could land it, it came off the hook and dropped back in the creek.
His daddy laughed. He wanted to cry. It had been a really big fish. But his daddy’s laughter was contagious. Before he knew it, they were both in stitches. Besides, he was ten years old—far too old to cry over losing a fish.
Suddenly, there was a bright flash of light in Wes’s eyes, and that quickly, his daddy was gone.
Damn it.
The part of him that had learned how to live in the past had disappeared. It didn’t matter that his father had been dead for years, because when his mind would cooperate, he knew where to find him.
Trouble was, it was becoming more and more difficult to stay gone. Once in the night he’d awakened, and when he opened his eyes, he had known immediately who he was and that he was in a strange place. But the worst of it came after he remembered why he was here.
The pain that had come with the knowledge was engulfing, and he leaned over the side of the bed and threw up. A passing night nurse had heard the commotion and hurried to his aid. In the business of cleaning up both him and the floor, she had completely missed the fact that Wes had come to himself enough not to throw up in bed.
Thinking that he was coming down with some stomach bug, they had given him a shot to stifle the nausea. It had served the purpose, but had also given Wes the necessary path to find his way back to limbo.
The next time his eyes had opened, he was safe at home with his six-year-old brother, Billy, asleep beside him.
There was frost on the windows, and he could smell gingerbread. It was Christmas morning!
“Billy! Wake up. It’s Christmas!”
His younger brother rolled from his side of the bed while his eyes were still shut, stumbled, then fell. Wes threw back the covers and jumped down to help Billy up. Then they raced to the bathroom before heading down the stairs. They were halfway down when they heard their mother call up.
“You boys better not be coming down these stairs barefoot. You know how cold these floors are, and I don’t want both of you sick.”
They groaned in unison as they ran back for their robes and slippers. When they finally came down, they were wild.
“Oh, Mom! Dad! Bicycles! Santa left us bicycles!”
Patricia Holden threw up her hands in mock disbelief and then grabbed the camera, anxious to capture the expressions on their faces.
“Boys! Boys! Look this way!” Patricia called.
Seven-year-old Wesley was standing beside his bicycle. He turned toward the sound of his mother’s voice and then laughed from the pure joy of the moment.
Someone was laughing. There was a yearning within Wes that almost made him turn and look, but he didn’t. He was pretty sure there was a reason why he shouldn’t laugh, but for the moment, he couldn’t remember why. Within seconds, the notion passed and, with it, Wes’s sense.
Some time later two men entered his room and stood on either side of his chair as he sat by the window. He’d known the moment they’d entered the room because he’d smelled them coming. One needed to change his deodorant, because what he was wearing had quit working. The other smelled of smoke and peppermints. Wes’s heightened sensitivity to sounds and smells had come from Special Ops survival training—that same training that was urging him to drop, roll and shoot.
Only he didn’t move. He wasn’t armed, and he wasn’t sure where he was, and running would be futile unless he knew the way out, so he settled within the silence of his mind, waiting for them to finish their foray, then get out.
Dr. Avery Benedict finished his physical examination of Wesley Holden, slipped his penlight into his pocket, shifted his stance to an “at ease” position, then clasped his hands behind his back.
Wes’s psychiatrist, Dr. Marshall Milam, glanced down at Wes, then back to Benedict.
“Do you concur with my decision?” Milam asked.
Benedict hesitated. “I don’t know. Physically, he’s fine. In fact, damned fine.”
“It’s not the physical side of the man I’m concerned with. He’s been here for nearly a year. I’ve been unable to connect with him on any level, and while I’m not willing to say he’s incurable, I do think that another doctor, maybe one with a different approach, might be able to do what I can’t.”
Benedict glanced at Wes again. “Medical discharge?”
Milam sighed. “Other than the deceased wife and child, does he have any next of kin?”
Benedict flipped through Wes’s chart. “Parents deceased. One brother, also deceased. Oh, wait…says here there’s a stepbrother, Aaron Clancy, in Florida.”
Milam nodded. “Notify the stepbrother. I’ll start the paperwork.”
Having made their decision, they walked away from Wes as if he were nothing more than a potted plant they’d stopped to view. It wasn’t personal, it was just part of their process.
A part of Wes had heard, but none of it had soaked in. As soon as he’d heard the word stepbrother, he’d been gone.
Wes was sitting on the stoop at the back of his house. He hadn’t felt this out of control since the day his father had died. Today it had been self-preservation that had sent him to the back porch in a sullen fit.
Mom was getting married again. He couldn’t believe it. It was a betrayal of everything their family, or what was left of it, stood for. He swallowed back tears and swiped his hand beneath his nose. He would be damned before he would let anyone see him cry.
This wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. Billy was dead. He’d died the spring after they’d gotten their first bicycles. Mom had warned them time and time again not to ride the bikes into the street, and the one time Billy broke the rule, he died for it.
After that, Wes had figured nothing bad could ever happen to their family again, because they’d already had their share of sadness. Then, a few years later, his father went to work one day and never came home. He died of a heart attack just after Wes’s sixteenth birthday. The first time Wes used his new driver’s license was to take his mother to the funeral home to make arrangements for his father’s burial. That was the day he’d realized that nothing about life was fair, and that some people had more than their share of bad luck.
He’d thought nothing could ever top that until today. Hearing his mother say that she was marrying Aiden Clancy had been like being run over by a bus. Aiden Clancy was a bully, and his son, Aaron, was no different. On top of that, his father had disliked Aiden with a passion. He couldn’t believe that his mom was unable to see through the man’s smiles and lies.
Then he heard the hinges squeak on the screen door behind him and braced himself for the sound of his mother’s voice. He knew he’d hurt her feelings. But she’d wiped out what was left of his world, and he didn’t know if he would ever be able to forgive her for that.
“Wesley, would you please come inside? Aiden and Aaron will be here soon. I would like our first family dinner together to be one of congeniality.”
Wes stood abruptly, and with all the displaced anger and pain a seventeen-year-old male could possess, he stared her down.
“I’ll come in, and I’ll sit down at our table with those people, but I will never consider them family. Dad didn’t like Aiden Clancy, I don’t like Aaron, and you’ve known that my entire life. Still, you’ve chosen to ignore Dad’s intuition and my feelings.”
Patricia Holden stifled hot tears, channeling them instead into what she felt was justified betrayal.
“Your father is dead! I’m not. I am forty-two years old. I do not wish to live the rest of my life alone.”
“You have me!” Wes shouted.
Patricia sighed. “But for how long, Wesley? You’re growing up. One day you’ll move away and start a family of your own. Am I
destined to be the old woman who gets a happy-birthday phone call once a year and a visit at Christmas?”
Wes knew she was right, but he wasn’t quite man enough yet to admit it.
“You’re right about one thing,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“I turn eighteen two weeks after graduation. Rest assured that I will be moving my ass out of this house and as far away as I can get.”
It was then that Patricia Holden knew she’d made a terrible mistake. Her promise to marry was causing her to lose the person she loved most on this earth.
“Wait! Wesley…Wes…no, please. Don’t do this to me,” she begged.
Wes looked at her as if he’d never seen her before. Then his chin quivered, and it was all he could do to speak.
“I didn’t do anything, Mom. It was you who decided.”
As promised, Wes had signed on with the United States army with a delayed induction to begin right after his high school graduation. He’d spent exactly three months and fourteen days under the same roof with Aiden and Aaron Clancy, and it had been three months and fourteen days too long.
Now the shock of hearing Aaron’s name again had given him a mental shake he couldn’t ignore. The last thing that flitted through his mind before letting go of reality was that he wasn’t going anywhere with that man.
Aaron Clancy didn’t know what to think about the phone call he’d received yesterday from Martin Army Hospital at Fort Benning. He’d hadn’t seen or heard from Wes in years and, truthfully, had all but forgotten they’d ever had a fleeting familial connection. He’d been ready to tell that army doctor to kiss his ass, until he’d heard the word benefits. After that, he changed his attitude, as well as the tone of his voice. He didn’t really give a damn whether Wes ever pulled out of the funk he was in, but he was willing to put him somewhere if he had power of attorney over Wes’s finances. Mustering out of the army as a full-bird colonel, with all the perks that came with it, was bound to bring in more money than Aaron’s job as shop foreman at a car dealership.
Having made his decision, he’d packed a bag and headed for Georgia. He’d landed an hour ago, caught a cab to the base, and had been waiting at the front gate for forty-five minutes for an okay to pass. Had it not been for the monthly tax-free money that came with Wes Holden, he would have turned around and headed straight back to Miami.
Wes had yet to comment to anyone on the state of the nation, but over the past few days, he’d become aware of the state of his condition. There was a part of him that was ashamed he’d done such a cowardly thing as retreat and hide. But then there was the pain that would come with reality. If he started talking to anyone, then they were going to ask questions, which meant they would also expect answers, and he didn’t have any. He’d come to the conclusion that his entire existence on this earth had been one big joke. Every time he let himself love someone, that someone died. There had been so many deaths now, and each time it had happened, he’d tried as hard as he knew to die with them, but it hadn’t worked. Now he was faced with more than a virtual awakening. Either he got back into the human race, or—
“Good morning, Wesley.”
It was the busybody nurse. He almost answered her, then caught himself. He wasn’t ready to admit he was present.
“I’m going to miss you,” she said, as she began packing his things into a duffel bag she pulled out of the closet.
Miss me? Where the hell am I going?
“I just know that this move is going to be what you need,” she rattled on. “I just met your stepbrother. He seems like such a nice man…and so concerned about you. He’s already seen to a power of an attorney and everything to make sure you don’t want for a thing.”
It was to Wes’s credit that he didn’t move or speak, but if anything might have caused him to, that would have been it. Aaron Clancy didn’t give a rat’s ass for Wes’s welfare, but if he had already gotten power of attorney, then he was after money. It felt strange to feel anger. In fact, it felt strange to feel anything. He’d allowed himself to disintegrate for so long that the resurrection of emotions was almost frightening. If he got up from the chair and did what he felt like doing to Aaron Clancy, they would lock him up for sure. And there was the fact that if he left this place with Aaron, he could disappear again any time he wanted to—only this time for real.
The little nurse knelt down at his feet and began putting on his shoes and socks. He felt somewhat guilty for letting her do it, but he had a facade to maintain.
“I hear he lives in Florida,” she said. “You’ll love it down there…all that sun and water. If he lives near the ocean, of course. Anyway, you’ll be with family, which is just what you need.”
Sorrow filled Wesley so suddenly that he had to blink away tears, which, fortunately, she didn’t see. It was the word family that had done it.
Dear sweet Lord…Margie…Michael. I hid like a coward and left someone else to bury them.
It hurt so much, it was all he could do to draw breath, yet the busybody of a nurse was wasting hers.
“There now,” she said, and patted his knee as she stood. “Your brother will be here soon.” Then she surprised Wes by looking straight in his face. “I’m so sorry,” she said softly, then leaned over and gently hugged his neck. “I’m so very, very sorry for your loss.”
She fussed with his hair a bit and then hurried out of the room before she broke down.
As soon as Wes heard the door swing shut, he started to shake. Tears burned the backs of his eyes as bile rose from his belly. He couldn’t cry. It wasn’t safe. If he started, he might never be able to stop, and then they might never let him leave. And he had to leave. He wanted as far away from the world of a soldier as he could get, and Aaron Clancy was going to be his ticket out.
Five
Aaron Clancy was finally in the waiting room, but more than a little uncomfortable. Too many uniforms, too many rules to suit him. He couldn’t imagine military life, especially now. Having to go to some god-awful foreign country and get shot at on a daily basis was bogus. The only thing he’d been able to think as he was being driven to the hospital was, thank God the draft was no longer in effect.
He heard someone coming and looked up, expecting the officer from personnel whom he’d been told would take him to Wes’s room. At first he was pleased by the appearance of a woman in uniform, but the look on her face wasn’t friendly. She was long-legged and good-looking, but a little too stern for his liking. He immediately categorized her as Officer Tight-Ass. Still, if she’d given him any kind of a hint that she would be interested, he would have given flirting a shot. But the only hint she gave him was that she was busy and unwilling to waste time with chitchat.
“This way, Mr. Clancy.”
Aaron followed Officer Tight-Ass onto the elevator, then onto the psych ward, where she turned him over to Wes’s doctor.
“Mr. Clancy?”
Aaron found himself face-to-face with a man who looked like he could bench-press three hundred pounds with one hand.
“Yes?”
“I’m Dr. Milam, your brother’s doctor.”
“You mean shrink, don’t you? They told me when they called that he’d flipped out.”
Milam frowned. The man’s flippant attitude left him with an uneasy feeling.
“‘Flipped out’ is hardly the term for a soldier like Wes Holden. I’m sure you were informed of the incident that led up to his current condition?”
Aaron knew immediately that he’d stepped off on the wrong foot, and that wasn’t good. If he was going to get his hands on big brother’s tax-free benefits, he was going to have to play nice. He swiped a hand across his face and then turned on “nice.”
“Look…Dr. Milam…I didn’t mean to sound so callous, it’s just that the fear we all had when he was captured has weighed on our minds, then having Martha and Markie killed in that bombing here on base was just the last straw.”
Dr. Milam’s frown deepened.
; “If you’re referring to Colonel Holden’s wife and son, their names were Margie and Michael.”
Aaron shut his mouth and didn’t open it again until a nurse appeared, pushing Wes in a wheelchair. At that point, Aaron turned it on again, pretending to appear emotionally wrought about Wes’s gaunt appearance.
“Oh, my God,” he said softly, then walked past the doctor and dropped to his knees beside Wes’s chair.
“Wes? Brother? It’s me, Aaron. I’ve come to take you home.”
It was all Wes could do to stay still. He closed his mind’s eye to everything except the scent of antiseptic permeating the hallway. He hadn’t seen Aaron Clancy since his mother’s funeral, but the smarmy little bastard didn’t appear to have changed all that much. From the brief look Wes managed when no one was paying attention, Aaron appeared to have less hair and more gut than he remembered, but then, it had been years. He took a slow breath, then shifted mental gears, forcing all thought out of his mind for fear that his emotional disgust might be evident.
Aaron shuddered, then stood, for the first time realizing what he was taking on.
“Say…Dr. Milam, is he safe? I mean…he won’t…uh, go psycho and hurt anyone if I put him on a plane?”
Marshall Milam felt sick. He didn’t trust this man to see to Colonel Holden’s best interests, and wished with everything he was that he could stop this from happening, but orders had been given and paperwork had been processed.
“He has given us no indication of any kind of violent behavior,” Milam said. “In fact, it’s been just the contrary. He does not communicate at all. However, I trust you will see to his continuing treatment as soon as possible.”
Aaron looked nervously at Wes and then nodded.
“Absolutely,” he said.
Milam sighed. There was little else he could do.
“I’ve taken the liberty of arranging a car to drive you and your brother directly to the airport.”
