Insanity

by Xavier Neal

  On a sigh of annoyance I hit my head against the back of the arm of the couch it was resting on. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

  “You're not gonna kill me,” she says sure of herself. “Not with my knee wedged between your legs.”

  “You don't think I can take a shot to the nuts and keep going? I thought you knew me.”

  She makes a half pleased grunt and goes to lift herself off of me when I grip her tighter for punishment. It's not polite to do what she did. And how the fuck did she get into my house?

  “You can get let go now,” Jazz insists struggling to free herself.

  “Not until you tell me what the fuck you're doing in my house.” The comment is followed by a sound of footsteps. Our heads both turn at the sound of a sharp gasp to see Haven at the bottom of the stairs, in one of my longer t-shirts, her dog tags, and nothing else. My dick stiffens at the sight. Immediately I let Jazz go.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Haven mutters. “I just came down to grab my laundry.” She shuffles off quickly and I pop myself up, reaching for my shirt. Did that really just fucking happen? How. The. Fuck. Did. That. Just. Happen. Before I have a chance to say anything to her she scurries back up the stairs, arms full of a laundry basket, head down making sure not to accidentally witness anything else. Great. Just what I fucking needed. The blood that was rushing to my dick makes a bee line for my fists. I squeeze them. Tight.

  I turn my head to Jazz who is leaned back, skirt covered legs crossed. With a shrug she declares, “You should've let me go.”

  My eyes lower to a glare. Not in the mood. “Besides ruining my relationship--”

  “You got back together?”

  “No.”

  “Then I haven't ruined anything.”

  “What the hell are you doing here Jazz?” I lose my tongue. I know I should show her more respect. In a way she's like a commanding officer and I should never speak to her this way. Fuck. See what happens with Haven on the brain.

  “I'm here to pick you up,” her tone changes. A hint of apology in it. “Training.”

  “And I can't drive myself?”

  “Do you know where it is?” She mockingly counters. My face tightens to match my clenched fist. Think Marine. Fucking think! “Exactly. Besides, I told you there would be random home visits. Remember?”

  I nod in understanding but ask, “And what if I would've been naked in bed?”

  “You don't sleep naked,” she informs me. The way she says it so factually causes me to tilt my head perplexed. Is that information in my file? “The idea of an intruder sneaking into your home, with you being naked and unarmed doesn't sit well with you.” Good point. “And if you'd been in bed or in the shower, I would've knocked. But this felt like a good training chance and well, you performed as one might have expected.” I acknowledge her sentence with a nod, which is when she adds, “Except for that whole hard on thing.”

  Noticing her sassy smirk back I stand to my feet and assure her, “That wasn't for you ma'am.”

  “I know,” she whispers back as Haven appears at the bottom of the stairs.

  With a clearly uncomfortable look on her face and a heartbroken one in her eyes, she wraps her arms around her stomach, the wounded girl who fell in my front yard more alive than ever. Fuck. I never wanted to see that look return. I swore to myself it wouldn't. Breaking my own fucking word? My muscles strain again at the thought. The veins in my neck stiffening. The jealousy look felt good. Once. But this. This look? This is the start of something I know that's not going to end well. For anyone.

  “I'm heading to the hospital to see Whiskey,” Haven says in a shaky voice. “Wanna come?”

  “I can't,” I inform her. Her eyes dart to Jazz's then back to mine. “I'll see him when I get home.”

  “Yeah,” she nods and drops her eyes. The low sound and distance twisting at me like a screwdriver between the ribs. Hard. Brutal. I want to explain and know I can't. On any of it really. At least not now. If ever.

  Haven dismisses herself from us with a soft goodbye leaving so much lingering animosity in the air that if we don't exit soon it'll swallow us both whole. I glance at Jazz as she stands, “Can I shower?”

  “Nope.” She slides past me and heads for the front door, me on her tail still wearing the jeans and t-shirt I flew home in. Last night I was too exhausted to go upstairs and change. Too frustrated. Too stubborn.

  Once I have my shoes on, I climb into the front seat of Jazz's black SUV. Neither of us says another word on the ride over to pick up Glove and Lordy. Last night was the first night since the days spent in solitary I let my mind wander about Haven. Her smile. Her laugh. The way she used to fall asleep on my chest. The way her breathing would match my own. It all came rushing back to me like a tidal wave drowning me in the fucking nightmare called hope all over again. Hope that we would have it again. Hope that we would return to that soon. It didn't take long for pain to come back along with those thoughts. The way she looked at Michele. The way she smelled like him. Her lips on his. Needless to say I barely slept. If those haunting memories of a time that once passed weren't enough now her sullen brown eyes when she saw Jazz on top of me this morning have been added to the rotation. Fuck. I miss being empty. Emotionless. Cold. Life was simpler.

  “Could you stop death gripping my door handle please?” Jazz breaks through my thoughts as she parks in front of Lordy and Glove's apartment. “I'm gonna go grab them. Try to stop your self-loathing in the meantime.” I don't respond. How the fuck does she know that? Before she gets out she leans over, “Because while the rest of the world sees the grim state you've mastered, I know the difference between when you're focused on a mission and when you're hating whatever insanity is trying to rip you apart on the inside.”

  She leaves me alone again to retrieve my stability. I have to get a fucking grip. There's more to my life than Haven. More than the anger that eats at me over what happened. Over what has been lost between us. I need to focus, I have an unknown mission waiting for me. My attention needs to be there. I need to be Grim.

  A few minutes later I look up to see two girls exiting from the direction of Glove and Lordy's apartment. From the way their tight glittery dresses look, it's my guess they were guests from last night. Shortly after Jazz comes back towards the SUV looking as indifferent as she left. Impressive. And pathetic. Pathetic she hides her feelings better than I can at this point.

  She slips in and buckles her seat belt without a word. I watch and wait for Glove and Lordy to come out. When they do they both have on jeans and wrinkled t-shirts. Good. Equality for time to get dressed.

  The second the two of them are in the vehicle Glove grumps, “She got you first? I guess I shouldn't bitch that she didn't let me sleep in huh?” I toss him a look over my shoulder. “Though it's not that she didn't let me sleep in so much that bothered me as opposed to what she made me stop sleeping in.”

  Disgusting. However part of me envies he had that to get lost in. Shit. I need to get to training and pound something. I should never be jealous of Glove.

  “Beautiful imagery,” Jazz hums backing out of the parking space. “Love the play on words.”

  “Yeah?” He leans around her seat. She gives him a sarcastic look and he sits back in his seat. “Whatever. No one told you not to call.”

  “The point is for you to always be prepared,” I stand up for Jazz.

  “That's where my nickname comes from.” My head shakes but I don't entertain him further. Not in the mood. Nor do I have the fucking patience. Another flash of Haven's heartbroken eyes flickers in my mind. My lungs constrict. My heart beat quickens. Fuck. I need to get a grip.

  We drive in silence towards the other side of the city where buildings are still clearly developing. She parks us in front of a clean cut white brick building. The building has a manicured path leading to the front door and branches off left and right to several more strip center buildings.

  Confused but unwilling to show it I merely wait for he
r command to leave the vehicle. When she says the words, “Follow me.” I do and make sure to observe the surroundings. The parking garage across the street on the corner. The empty building to the left of the one we're about to enter. It looks like it's just waiting to be leased. The building to the right full of people in suits and ties. My eyes follow down to the corner noticing a restaurant on the end. Everything feels too perfect. Staged. Fake.

  Jazz opens the glass door entitled Jack's Insurance with us behind her. Glove's mouth slightly drops to talk when I cut him a clear look not to. He doesn't need to say shit. I continue to observe as we enter the building with an insanely white floor. Stale white walls. A front desk with a high counter and only one door to the right that keeps the visibility to the rest of the building blocked. Wise. Interesting. Secure.

  “Thirteen,” the male behind the front desk says, standing. He's around 6'4. Buzz cut. Scar on the neck. The way he carries his body, ex-military. I stand a little taller. Respect needing to be shown.

  “Morning,” Jazz greets in return.

  He looks at the three of us and down at his desk past the counter where we can't see. When he looks back up he nods, “14. 15. 16. Welcome.”

  “Which one of us is which?” Glove whispers in my ear.

  Jazz hushes him with a look before stating, “Hand him your phones.”

  “But we just got them,” Glove pouts.

  The moment he receives a harsh look from me, he clamps his mouth tightly and removes the device from his pants pocket. Each of us, Jazz included, hands him our cell phones.

  “Are there any more devices on you which can record information?” the male questions as he places the phones in a drawer.

  After we all respectfully answer no, I notice the single door in the room is slowly creaking up.

  Jazz kindly says, “Thank you four.” She turns and walks towards the door with us still on her heels. Once we're on the other side of the steel door there's a long hall with an elevator at the end.

  “Which number am I?” Glove whines again.

  “16,” she answers the sound of her pointy heels echoing off the empty walls. “Clearly.”

  The joke makes Lordy chortle and I shoot him a look to stop. Now's not the time for their quips and uncomfortable laughter. We just stepped past heavy security and are entering what I am beginning to believe is one of the most secure facilities we ever have and ever will.

  Jazz steps to the elevator door and pushes the button. The panel slides down, scans her hand print and then her right retina. It clears her and opens the doors for us to enter. Inside I glance at Lordy and Glove who have returned to uncomfortable or borderline terrified looks on their face. War we've done. Covert missions we've completed. But this is nothing we could've imagined. Not even me.

  The elevator takes us under instead of above and Jazz begins talking, “This facility is highly secure. As I give you a tour you'll discover that there are many exit strategies but entrance is not so easy. You will be scanned and put into the system today.”

  “So upstairs was what?” Lordy interrupts.

  Without making eye contact with him she answers, “A brief security clearance. He had your photos on his computer along with your numbers attached to mine. Through security you are nothing more than a number. Get used to it.”

  The doors open to a wide space that doesn't seem occupied by much. There are a couple of leather couches spread around a coffee table and a TV screen the size of the wall broken into different sections by different cameras.

  “Monitors the outside of the facility. You can see any threat on the outside,” Jazz gestures towards the impressive view.

  “Do we get cable?” Glove's joke causes a hard elbow from me. Speaking through the pain he tosses his head towards them, “And the couches?”

  “Sleep deprivation is a real thing. Don't forget that,” she informs him and takes a left. “Down the hall to the right is where you'll find the physical training center, which we will peak in on from the second floor. There's also a set of bathrooms with showers and a small sleeping section with beds. We also have a side entrance that direction that leads to the employee parking section only. That's where you will park your cars, however there is a separate parking facility for the company vehicles we use.”

  The two of them glance backwards at the area she was referring to while my eyes stay ahead. Observing the gray colored walls, the stained cement floor, the obvious security cameras and wondering where the non-obvious ones are.

  “As we travel down this hall you should be aware, some of these walls are faulty and when pushed in the right place are actually a door leading to sets of stairs. Exit strategies.”

  “Seems like a lot of places to cover for security,” I argue as we reach the end of the hall and take a right to head up a flight of stairs.

  “Almost every inch of this place is monitored. The exception being where you shower. And by that I mean the stall where the water is actually coming out. Bathroom is still monitored. Aside from that, your exits are permanent. You may not enter back through one of the exits. Automatically locks behind you. Designated areas for entrance require the eye and hand.”

  “You seem snippy,” Glove mentions as she gets her eye scanned and her hand to open the door to the next level.

  Jazz has her hand tightly wrapped around the door handle, “Do not confuse snippy with professional Glove. This is your first time being here. This is my first chance at introducing you as the men fit for this unit. Do not embarrass me. And more importantly do not embarrass yourselves.”

  I will be the first to admit she is a strange combination for a team leader. She's playful and easily fits in. It's like having a fellow Marine. We work well together. We think well as one. When she's stressed however she seems to take back her position of power above us. Treats us more like the pawns she wants to move on the chess board than the teammates playing with her. It's those times that I worry there is more to this unit, to our unknown missions, to her, then we think. That doesn't sit well with me. But that's what Black Ops divisions are. Blind trust and dedication. Classified information that is a crossbreed of truth and the manipulation of it.

  Jazz leads us up the stairs onto the next level, taking a right to a door that's cracked open. Inside is an enormous open space with the same set up as downstairs except it's the inside of the building we see being monitored. My eyes assess the movement on a few cameras to the left, assuming it's the training center. Above it appears to be some sort of weapons center where a male is firing a weapon.

  “Merlin...” she hums out sweetly. The change in tone is back.

  Suddenly from under the desk that takes up most of the middle of the room, pops a pale face, his round eyes that are covered by his round glasses just barely peeking over the edge of it. Large nose. Pale skin. Slight freckles.

  “He looks like whack-a-mole,” Glove mumbles.

  Jazz gives him a scolding look and I continue staring at him. He doesn't look a day over 18. Turning her attention back on him she sighs, “Will you come out already?”

  The young man slides out and stands up to be no more than five feet tall. I hear Glove begin to chuckle, which is when I turn around to snap, “One more thing out of line and I put you in your place myself.”

  Instead of being a smartass he nods, folds his arms tightly across his chest, and straightens his shoulders. Good. We only have one chance to get this right. To prove we were the right choice. We are the right fit. I turn my attention to Lordy who nods that he agrees and mimics Glove's motions.

  When I turn back around Merlin is in front of me. Taken slightly off guard I raise my eyebrows. So he's sneaky. With this many cameras on you at all times it's a good skill to have. In a somewhat nasal voice he declares, “You must be Grim.”

  “Yes sir.”

  The corner of his mouth flinches, “I like you.” Before I have a chance to respond he tilts his head to the table. “You first.” I glance at Jazz for clarification that I should f
ollow and she nods. My body moves to the table where he was just hiding under and I obey his instructions precisely. I place my hands on the desk. Immediately they are scanned. Merlin orbits the table observing me while I observe him. Strange. Small. Yet not weak. Good. No one in this unit whether they sit behind a desk or not should be weak. The scan beeps and he instructs, “Look at the center of the desk.” My eyes look up and a retina scan machine appears from some hidden pocket in the center. Immediately it slides towards me and I widen my eyes to let it scan me.

  “I feel like I'm in something from Star Trek,” Glove says.

  “We're getting there,” Jazz answers.

  Once I'm done Glove and Lordy proceed through the same process, however this time, Merlin begins to explain parts of his job, which consist of research, watching feeds, editing them, GPS tracking and monitoring. He hacks, he snacks, and tinkers with various electronic devices. Apparently anything in that department is his.

  On our way out I can't stop myself from declaring to Jazz, “He can't be much older than us.”

  “He's not,” she says her stride slowing to walk beside me rather than in front. “He's 20.”

  “And he ended up here? How?” I question.

  “Merlin hacked into the security feed at The White House and replaced it with 80s porn one Sunday afternoon.” she replies grinning.

  “Oh I like him now,” Glove says over my shoulder. Idiot.

  “Impressive. How old was he? 19?” Lordy seems baffled leaning forward over hers.

  “12,” Jazz's answer explains it all. He definitely belongs in an elite unit. We continue down the hall until she opens a door on the left. Inside there is a track that outlines the physical training area that allows you to be monitored from up above.

  Looking over the edge, I catch eyes with a face that looks familiar even though I know it's not him. His height. The cocky smile. Even his goddamn hair. The second my fists clench in response Jazz wraps an arm around my bicep, “Easy there Grim. That's Tyger. Not Michele.”

  I do my best to blink away my mistake. To bring myself back to the truth. “Sorry ma'am.”