I Remember You
Mairsile
I Remember You
© 2014 by Mairsile. All Rights Reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form, without written permission.
Credits
Editor: Joyce M.
Cover Design: Mairsile
www.Mairsile.com
Acknowledgements
What can I say, but thank you, to the reader, for buying my book. I hope you enjoy it, as much as I did writing it. This is the first in the Aidan and Vicky series. There will be plenty more adventures for the two lovers. Visit me on Facebook for the latest, or you can find me on www.Mairsile.com.
A million thank you’s to my best friend and editor, Joyce, who not only helps me with those darn comma’s, but gets as excited about these characters, as I do. Thank you Joyce, for always being there for me.
And a big thank you to my best friend, Leonard, who put the writing bug in me, all those years ago. He is a much better writer than I will ever be, and a much better friend.
A special thank you to my friend Peg, who lost her battle, just on the cusp of being discovered. You still inspire me, even from heaven.
A great, big thank you to all the men and women severing in the American military. You are my hero’s.
And last but never least, may the glory go to God.
Mairsile
Chapter 1
Eighteen Months Ago, Somewhere Near Fort Hood, Texas
The late evening humidity sagged down onto the hot Texas asphalt. Its minuscule droplets evaporated instantly, into the obscuring mist of ground fog rolling in. Drawn through the saloon doors by a rush of warm air, it quickly dispersed into the hazy smoke that filled the barroom, and hung over the poker table.
“I’ll raise you ten.” Jerry stated, and threw ten, one dollar bills, into the pile already on the table.
“The dyke is pretty sure of himself.”
“Fuck you, jarhead.” Aidan, the only female player at the table, was losing patience with the insufferable Marine.
“Don’t be such a prick, grunt. It was just a joke.” Jocko tossed his money into the pot and threw away two cards. He looked at the new ones, then raised the bet.
Taking a draw on her cigar, Aidan leaned back, observing the other players sitting around the table. The mixed bag of soldiers had been playing for over an hour, and she had learned most of their tells. Poker was as much a game of emotion, as it was chance. The inexperienced player gave away little signs that told her if he was bluffing. Jerry, sitting two chairs down from her, was too green, unsure of himself. His tells were obvious. Jocko, sitting to her immediate right, was too much of a bully for his own good, but he was harder to read. And the other two players, whose names she didn’t bother to remember, one a Marine, and one a sailor, were too intimidated by Jocko to play well.
Tapping the ashtray to dislodge the inch of ash from her cigar, Aidan discarded two cards. Her face revealed nothing, her green eyes, purposely dark and impenetrable. She picked up their replacements without looking at them.
“I’ll see your bet,” she tossed the bills into the pot, then scooped up the rest of her money, and threw it in as well, “and raise you two hundred.”
Picking up her cigar again, she rotated it around before taking another draw, savoring its smooth flavor in her mouth. Leaning back again, she fiddle with the dog tags around her neck, making sure the diamond engagement ring was still attached to it.
The sailor folded immediately, leaving the last player, another Marine, still to bet. He discarded three cards, and after looking at the replacements, folded in disgust. Jerry Williams, the young Army specialist, also folded, leaving only Army Sergeant First Class Aidan Cassidy, against Marine Gunnery Sergeant Jocko Shanks.
The pot had accumulated close to five hundred dollars, and the Gunny was down to his last hundred. He looked at the cards in his hand, and considered borrowing from his buddies, until he looked at her. She coolly expelled her smoke his way.
He threw his cards down in defeat, “Fuck it.”
“You pussy.” His Marine buddy jabbed at him.
As Aidan raked in the money, Jocko asked to see her cards. She quickly pocketed her winnings, and turned the cards over, revealing the worst hand a poker player could ever have.
Jocko’s face flushed a bright red, embarrassed that he was bluffed so easily. He jumped up, knocking his chair over. Aidan jumped up, standing shoulder to shoulder with the man, crowding his space. “What’s your fucking problem, soldier?” She knew there was going to be a fight, but she didn’t care. It fact, she sought it out.
She had just returned from a visit to her hometown, where she had tried, for the final time, to reconnect with the love of her life. When she saw her lover with another woman, she knew it was hopeless. It left her with no option, save for one. Move on herself, with Sam. Feeling trapped by circumstances that left her no choice in the matter, provoked her to seek out danger. The kind of danger that was standing in front of her, right now.
“You are, you fucking cunt! Get out of my face.” To emphasize his next point, he poked her in the shoulder, “And I’m not a shit soldier, I’m a Marine.”
She shoved him back, “I don’t give a shit if you’re the general’s fucking boy toy! Touch me again, and I’ll drop you like the little girl you are.”
He sneered at her presumed abilities. She was tall, and athletically fit, but he had over a hundred pounds on her. Besides, she was just a woman, albeit a beautiful one. “You and what army, dyke?”
The rest of the players stood up, chairs scraping against the floor, bottles breaking against the table’s edge. Jerry moved beside Aidan, while the other two moved behind Jocko.
But Aidan didn’t need, nor want anyone’s help. She’d been in this situation before, against more than one opponent. Just as in the game of poker, emotions dictated actions. Though her emotions were just this side of suicidal, she used them to armor herself. She reared back her fist, watching Jocko’s reaction to her hand, and kneed him in his junk. He went down like a rock.
“Son of a bitch!”
“No, actually..,” she picked up her cigar again, and clinched it between her teeth, “I’m the daughter of a bastard.”
***
Today in Little Rock, Arkansas
“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you, Joyce?” Vicky held the phone against her ear with one hand, and inhaled her coffee with the other.
“Nope. Ellen and I will be there next week. Ellen has a wedding she’s been hired to design, and I thought I’d tag along, maybe check out that new hybrid cath lab of yours.”
“That is wonderful. I can’t wait to show you all the new toys we have here at the hospital.”
“Now remember, Vicky, we’ll only be there for a couple of hours, so there won’t be much time for anything else.”
“You’re a cardiovascular surgeon, Joyce. Surely you can walk and talk, at the same time, can’t you?”
“Yes, and chew gum too.”
The name on the door read, Victoria Montgomery, President & CEO, St. Frances Health System. This time each morning, she could be found at her desk, checking emails, reading reports, and preparing for meetings. Her first meeting of this day was not one of the typical, bromidic meetings she was accustomed to heading. The Army had requested a private consultation with her, on behalf of a wounded soldier they hoped she would employ. Raised as a Marine’s daughter, by her father, Vicky was very partial to helping soldiers. So, even though she had
an entire department to do this sort of thing for her, she agreed to meet with them.
It was more of a curiosity meeting, because the Army’s collaboration with St. Frances Hospital’s Chief Psychiatrist, Dr. Richard Kline, all but assured that the soldier would be hired. Not only was Kline a close friend of Vicky’s, but he was also a nationally recognized psychiatrist, with special emphasis on post-traumatic stress disorder. A retired Army Lieutenant Colonel, he was very passionate about his work and his patients, and wasn’t shy about asking for favors on their behalf.
Second Lieutenant James Stafford, US Army, sat erect in a chair across from Vicky, surreptitiously admiring her long, silky blond hair and sparkling blue eyes. He watched as she poured him a cup of coffee, with the epitome of southern hospitality. As a misplaced New Yorker, he had come to appreciate the way southerners took deliberate pleasure in the simple things, like pouring a cup of coffee. The way her perfectly polished pinky, was daintily upraised. Her glossy red lips were subdued, with just the hint of a pout on them, and her glistening blue eyes, mesmerizing. The intoxicating fact that she ran a multi‒million dollar health system, pushed her charm level over the top. If only he weren’t there on Army business.
Putting his thoughts in order, he made his sales pitch. “She was assigned to the 31st Battalion, and on her way to meet up with them, when she was injured in an insurgent attack. She suffers from traumatic amnesia. The doctors can’t tell us when, or if, her memory will return. She’s highly intelligent, very personable, and has accepted her affliction. She’s been in our care, and under observation, for a year now, and has been the perfect patient. But she’s eager to get on with her life.”
“Why can’t she just stay in the Army, Lieutenant?”
“Regulations, ma’am. Though she’s in perfect health, she is classified as wounded, and unable to fulfill her duties as required by the United States Army. We have retrained her on the basics, like driving a car, and current events, that sort of thing.”
“What did she do in the Army?”
“She was a photographer, ma’am.”
Now the pieces to the puzzle came together. Vicky knew there was an opening for a photographer in the marketing department, and apparently, so did Dr. Kline. She smiled at the Lieutenant, “Okay, you’ve sold me. Give me her name, and I’ll make arrangements with Human Resources to push the paperwork through.”
“Thank you, Ms. Montgomery. Her name is Sergeant First Class Aidan Cassidy.”
Vicky clapped a hand over her mouth, Could it be? Oh God, could it be?
“Ma’am? Are you all right?” The stiffness in his back melted away, caught off guard by her reaction.
“Is she…, is she from Beebe, Arkansas?”
He shuffled through his papers, and answered, “Yes, ma’am. Do you know her, Ms. Montgomery?” But when he looked up again, Vicky was already walking out the door.
*
These infidels. So obsessed with trivial things. “Hey Skip, sorry your team lost last night.” Their egos, so easily inflated. “Morning John. How’s it hanging?” Their attention, so easily distracted. “Tom, I need to borrow your tools this morning, to fix some medicine cabinets.” Their trust, so easily given. “Good morning, Ms. Montgomery. In a rush this morning?” Infidels. Tomorrow, their petty little worlds will cease to exist, and they will know the truth. Our truth.
*
The hallway was full of people moving to and fro, and Vicky had to slow her pace, to keep from bumping into them. “Good morning.” She said to the maintenance man. Thinking the stairs would be quicker, she entered the stairwell and ran up them, two steps at a time. By the time she exited onto the eighth floor, her constricted chest was screaming for air. Damn, I need to work out more. Pausing to catch her breath, she turned toward the office of Dr. Kline, just feet from where she stood. Still breathless, but undaunted, she barged through the door, without waiting to be announced.
He took one look at her, and hastily excused himself from his phone call. “Victoria, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
The concern in his chocolate brown eyes was accentuated by the creases in his brow. He had known Vicky for a number of years, and knew her to be a very personable, but tough business woman. He had never known her to be this distraught, and on the verge of tears before.
“We were lovers, Richard. Or at least, I felt we were. I wanted to marry her.”
“I’m sorry, Victoria, I’m not following you. Who are you talking about?”
“Sergeant Cassidy. Aidan Cassidy. The soldier you want me to hire.”
“My God…” Kline stood up, and walked around his desk, “Here, sit down, and let me get you a glass of water.” Walking over to the counter, he pulled a bottle of water from the miniature refrigerator. Then he turned back to her, and asked, “Have you known her long? How did you two meet?”
“She moved in next door to me. But we actually met in elementary school. I was in the first grade, she was in the second. I remember there was this third grade kid, bullying me for my lunch box. He grabbed it away from me, and that’s when I saw her, for the first time.”
***
Twenty‒two years ago on a playground in Beebe, Arkansas
It was her first day at the new school, and she didn’t know anybody. Not that she cared, she was an only child, and a loner by choice. She knew, even at seven and a half years old, that she didn’t like frilly dresses and jelly shoes, or the giggling girls who wore them. At her last school, she was something of a bully around the playground, and had in mind to do more of the same, at this school. Until she met the little girl with the pink boots and curly pigtails.
One day during recess, she noticed Billy Schmigameir teasing a little blonde haired girl, wearing a pink floral twirl dress, and a pair of pink boots. She liked the look of those boots, not for herself, of course. No, they were far too girlie-girl for her. But she was partial to boots, any boots, and these boots were particularly cute, on the freckled face girl. Or was it vice‒versa? Whatever the reason, she decided to help out this girl. Besides, it was fun to bully the bully.
She grabbed him up by the scruff of his collar, and cussed at him, just as she had heard her father cuss at her, a million times before. Billy tried to hit her, but she easily wrestled him to the ground, bending his arm behind his back.
“Say uncle!” She demanded, over his screams.
“No, don’t hurt him!” The little girl didn’t care if he was her tormentor, she didn’t want to see anyone hurt.
“Uncle!” He screeched. “Uncle!”
She let him up, and watched him scurry away. “He won’t be bothering you again, kid.”
“But he took my princess lunch box. What am I going to do?”
She shrugged her shoulders, and said, “Get a new lunch box, I guess.”
“No! It’s my favorite lunch box. Please, make him give it back to me.” The girl whimpered, nearly in tears.
That scared the gamine girl. She didn’t know what to do with blubbering little girls, especially one with a face full of freckles, wearing pink boots. That was one of the reasons she usually avoided them.
“Okay, okay, stop bawling. I’ll get it back for you, jeez.”
“Thank you. My name is Vicky Montgomery, what’s yours?”
“Aidan Cassidy.”
***
“So you practically grew up with this soldier then? That could be very helpful indeed.” Kline looked down at his watch, “Victoria, I have to see a patient in a few minutes, would you like to meet this evening, for drinks, and discuss this further? I can fill you in on what I know of Aidan’s plight.”
“Oh, of course Richard. That would be fine.”
As Vicky turned to leave, he assured her everything was going to be all right. She wished she could believe him. To her, the world was exploding and imploding all at the same time, and she was trapped in the middle. Is this a sign? Will we be able to pick up where we left off, or is this some sort of horrible cosmic tes
t, that’s going to blow up in my face… again?
Chapter 2
Surrounded by perpetual blackness, she surmounted her fears, and reached out, feeling cold steel against her hand. Carefully, she felt her way along the wall, until her hand touched the switch she was looking for. Hitting it with her fist, the hatch released, and light flooded the compartment, and just as quickly, was gone again. Her senses were assaulted by the smell of blood, and loud popping noises. Ignoring the smell, she moved toward the sound. Her foot hit something solid, and she stumbled. At first, she couldn’t see anything, until a flash of light lit up the area. Then she realized, the popping sound was gunfire, and the smell was from the body she had just tripped over. The ghoulish scene of death and dying, filled her with trepidation. She stopped, frozen in place, as mortar rounds came dangerously close to where she stood. Through the smoke, bursts of gunfire, and cries of pain, walked a little girl wearing pink boots. “Aidan, where are you?” But before Aidan could answer, the pink boots morphed into combat boots, the little girl into a woman. “Aidan, where are you?” Somewhere in the distance, she heard a hissing, spitting sound. Growing louder by the second, the sound surrounded her. It was the last thing she heard, before she was blown off her feet.
“Fuck me!”
Jolted upright by her nightmare, Aidan wiped the sweat from her brow, and swung her long legs over the side of the bed. She knew it was just a dream, but it felt so real. Frustrated, she grabbed her clothes, and went into the bathroom. Turning on the hot spigot, the water torrent sprayed her head, soaking her short auburn hair, instantly. She stood there for a moment, letting the warm spray hit her face, washing away her nightmarish dreams. The water streamed down her neck, across the silver chain that held her dog tags, pooling at the hollow of her collarbone, before dripping onto her round, chilled breasts. The rivulet continued down her ribbed abdomen, filling her navel, before being soaked up by the thick, ginger hair of her pubis. Shifting her weight to direct the spray toward the phantom soreness in her shoulder, the deluge of water cascaded over, and down between her shoulder blades, creating a watercourse that followed the path of her spine. The warm liquid collected in the dimples at the small of her back, before disappearing into the dark crevices between her thighs, only to resurface again on the taut, muscled calves of her long legs. By the time she was finished with her shower, she had already forgotten about the nightmare, and was focused more on the day’s activities.
I Remember You Page 1
