by Becky Durfee
“I’m sure.”
“Zack is normally the one to research those things, but he’s….sick today.”
“Oh, no. I hope you and the baby don’t catch it.”
“I have faith that we won’t,” she replied dryly. “Anyway, if I send you the picture, would you be able to poke around and try to put a name to her face?”
“Sure thing. Meanwhile, I’ll start cross-listing men who died in the area within the past couple of years with the DMV records of people who owned dark pick-ups. It’s going to be a slow process, but it might help narrow down the list of suspects.”
“I hope it works,” Jenny said. “I’m not sure how long I can go on living with these horrible visions.”
At that moment, Zack walked clumsily into the living room, looking like death warmed over, immediately plopping down on the couch.
Shaking her head to ward off her disgust, Jenny continued to speak to Kyle. “Have you had any luck trying to figure out exactly who Rodriguez and McDonald are?”
“I think so.” Papers shuffled in the background. “But you do realize you couldn’t have given me more generic names if you tried.”
Jenny giggled. “Hey, I didn’t name them.”
“Well, the extra information you gave me was helpful. You said that they were stationed together at Pennington before being deployed to Iraq, Rodriguez died during the war, and McDonald has been living off the grid for a while. It looks like Rodriguez was really Elyon Rodriguez, and he was killed in combat three years ago.”
“Sounds right.”
“And Jeffrey McDonald received an honorable discharge a few months later. His employment and residency has been spotty after that, though. It seems he may not be doing too well since his return.”
“No, unfortunately, he’s not.”
“That’s a shame,” Kyle said sincerely. “But there’s one other thing you may want to know.”
“What’s that?”
“Elyon Rodriguez earned a posthumous Medal of Honor.”
“He did?” Jenny asked.
“That’s the highest honor a serviceman can receive; it’s reserved for a select few,” Kyle explained before adding, “I assume he died rather heroically—like, the-stuff-of-legend.”
Jenny’s eyes shifted to her husband, whose hands covered his face as he lay motionlessly on the couch, breathing heavily and deliberately in order to ease his hangover symptoms.
At the moment, Elyon Rodriguez and Zack Larrabee seemed to be on the opposite ends of the valor spectrum.
“Wow,” she said, “I wonder what he did to earn that.”
“I didn’t get that far,” Kyle replied. “I was just about to look that up when you called.”
“No worries; I can probably find that out. It would be great, though, if you could work on that cross list. I can’t wait to figure out who we’re dealing with so I can be just run-of-the-mill-new-mom tired, instead of new-mom-with-haunting-visions-that-also-prevent-her-from-sleeping tired.”
“That has to be tough.”
“Yes,” she replied, glancing over at Zack again, “it’s awful.”
Jenny and Kyle said their goodbyes, and she hung up the phone. Almost as soon as the call ended, Zack muttered, “Can you get me that water now? I’m dying.”
Multiple responses ran through Jenny’s head. Serves you right. Get it yourself, you irresponsible bastard. Are you kidding me? The reply she ended up using, however, was, “I can’t right now; I’m nursing the baby.”
Zack answered with a feeble mumble. “If you knew how I felt, you would get it for me.”
Jenny closed her eyes as a volcano erupted inside her body; a million hateful comments spewed in every direction. She knew if she opened her mouth, a long line of potentially regrettable sentiments would pour out, so for a moment she remained quiet. After gathering her thoughts, she replied, “Okay, if you knew how I have felt for the past week, you would be doing things to help me…but you’re not. You’re lying on the couch with a hangover. I’m not exactly sure why I should go out of my way to help you because of something you brought on yourself when you haven’t been doing the same for me with our baby.”
“Seriously, don’t do this to me right now.” His voice had urgency in it, which Jenny didn’t immediately understand. Shortly after that statement, however, he got up and walked with purpose to the bathroom. The unmistakable sound of vomiting soon permeated the whole house.
Jenny stifled a gag. He could have at least closed the door.
Soon, he returned with a distinctly green tint to his face. He lay back down on the couch, placed his hands back over his face, and moaned.
Disgusted. There was no other word for the way Jenny felt toward him, and it wasn’t just a result of this very moment. It had been a permanent feeling ever since she got home from the hospital a week and a half before.
Perhaps disgust was a mask, though. Maybe that was just an easier emotion to feel than the others, which had more devastating implications. Disappointment. Despair.
Regret.
She thought about the way her life had unfolded in the past eighteen months. She had felt undeniably attracted to Zack from the moment she met him, but why had that been the case? Was it just because he had been the opposite of Greg? Yes, Zack was charming in the beginning, but it was his irresponsibility and silliness that made him that way. Were irresponsible and silly really two qualities she should have been looking for in a man?
He had been attentive in the beginning, too, telling her how pretty she was on an alarmingly regular basis, but that had since stopped. He had also been accepting of her psychic ability—even wowed by it—but it turns out a lot of people were. She had also loved his ability to make her laugh at times she felt like crying, but humor only went so far.
Funny didn’t change diapers.
Jenny couldn’t help but feel that she had raised her standards from one husband to the next, but only minimally. She had gone from unacceptable to bare minimum. Should she have shopped around more? Did she marry the first guy who came along that didn’t mistreat her? She had only been single for one day between marriages—one day.
One day.
That should have been a huge red flag right there. If she had heard of anyone else doing that, she would have thought to herself, what is wrong with that woman? A one-day turnaround is clearly evidence of a rebound. Yet, she did it. Granted, there was a baby involved, so she couldn’t fault herself completely, but she still should have been smarter than that. She was a highly intelligent woman—she could factor quadratics and quote sonnets from Shakespeare—so how was it she kept finding herself in situations that made her want to run away from home?
The baby was losing interest in his meal, so she reassembled herself and put him on her shoulder to burp him. Zack let out another moan and mumbled something about death being merciful.
Returning to her train of thought, she recognized that the baby had been conceived by accident, a result of birth control pills being negated by antibiotics. If only the prescribing doctor had told her she could have gotten pregnant while on the drugs. Damn old man. Of course he didn’t think about that—he just sent her away with a prescription in hand, heading off into a future that was about to take a sharp right turn.
She let out a sigh; she could blame the doctor all day, but the reality was that she was thrilled when she found out she had conceived this baby. She had wanted a baby her whole life. But if that was the case, why hadn’t she been on the lookout for someone who would make a good father? Why had she let her emotions take over, allowing her to conceive a child with a man who obviously felt like parenting was optional?
She had been warned about this. Elanor, the woman who had left her the sizable estate, had earned that fortune by founding Choices magazine—a publication dedicated entirely to ensuring women make educated decisions in their lives. All too often, Elanor claimed, people’s choices were driven by baggage, knee-jerk reactions, and the expectations of others. While Jenny
was able to recognize how those things had landed her in her first bad marriage, she was beginning to think she had actually done it again. She had allowed emotion to take over what should have been one of the most calculated decisions of her life. She had apparently married Zack as a knee-jerk reaction since he was simply the opposite of her first husband.
For a brief moment, Jenny considered that she may have been better off having children with Greg. While he may have been an asshole, he would have at least helped with the baby’s care.
She allowed her head to fall back against the couch, her eyes fixated on the ceiling, shocked that such a thought had just crossed her mind. Little Steve’s posture then became rigid, which was generally a precursor to a screaming fit, as Zack muttered, “Seriously, I need you to get me water before I die.”
Her eyes closed.
She looked at the finished product—a portrait of a promising young woman whose horrifying last moments of life were permanently etched into Jenny’s memory. The screaming, the fighting, the kicking, the scratching—none of it mattered. This woman didn’t win her battle to survive.
Evil won.
She raised her phone and snapped a picture, sending it with a brief message to Kyle. Hopefully, he would be able to figure out who this woman was. For some reason, despite her searching, Jenny was coming up empty.
Opening her laptop to do more research, she immediately became sidetracked. She found herself looking up Medal of Honor recipients instead, quickly finding a website that had a list of everyone who had earned the honor, broken down by war. She clicked on Iraq, discovering a very short list of recipients. Each serviceman had a detailed description of his heroism, accompanied by a photograph. They were all young, handsome men who clearly had an immeasurable sense of valor. The irony of it all was almost overwhelming. These men that were lost—they were the most needed here on earth to make it a better place. These were the men who should have gone on to have valiant children of their own, following in their footsteps. These men deserved to come home.
They all deserved to come home.
She let out a deep, purposeful breath to keep the tears at bay.
Looking at the names was unnecessary; a wave of familiarity came over her when she saw one particular Marine, sporting a serious look in his dress blues and white hat, an American flag waving in the background of his staged photo. His eyes looked back at her, just like they had done a million times in the mirror. A half-hearted smile graced her lips; Elyon had always liked that picture. He was glad that was the image featured in his bio.
Bracing herself, she began to read:
Citation: For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty. Elyon Rodriguez distinguished himself by his exceptional bravery in the face of danger during a reconnaissance mission northeast of Baghdad, Iraq. Small arms fire was heard roughly one kilometer to the west of Rodriguez’s squad, who advanced toward the gunfire to lend support. As the soldiers approached, a grenade was thrown into their midst. Spotting the threat, Rodriguez ordered his fellow Marines to run as he, without hesitation, threw himself on the grenade to protect his comrades from harm. In a selfless act of bravery in which he was mortally wounded, Elyon Rodriguez saved the lives of at least seven fellow Marines. By his undaunted courage, intrepid fighting spirit, and unwavering devotion to duty, Rodriguez gallantly gave his life for his country, thereby reflecting great credit upon himself and upholding the highest traditions of the Marine Corps and the United States Naval Service.
She sat back in her chair, momentarily numb, managing to only whisper a shaky, “My God.”
Had Mick been one of those seven men? Did he watch his best friend die like that—so that he could live? What a positively horrific image to have to live with. And the guilt—the guilt must have been paralyzing. No wonder he had to drown himself with alcohol to sleep at night.
She heard the deep voice that had previously been reserved for humorous comments. Help him live.
Elyon Rodriguez didn’t die so that Mick could spend the rest of his days consumed with guilt, sleeping outside in the cold under a bridge. Elyon wanted Mick to live—really live. Otherwise, his sacrifice had been a waste.
With trembling hands and closed eyes, she made a silent promise. It would happen. She didn’t know how, but it would happen. Mick would stop dwelling in that one hellish moment and once again start experiencing the joys of life.
She just needed to figure out how to get that done.
Chapter 8
“I’ve narrowed our suspect list down to seven,” Kyle said through the phone as Jenny poked at her eggs.
“Seven is better than a million.”
“It is better than a million. I’ll send you an email with the names; it’ll be easier than telling you over the phone.”
“I can’t write right now anyway,” Jenny said. “I have a baby in one hand, a fork in the other and a phone pinned between my ear and my shoulder.”
“Moms make the best multitaskers.”
“Moms have no choice, as it turns out. But let me ask you…does anyone on the list seem more promising than the others?”
“Not at this point; I only have names. The next job will be to see if I can find out where that other victim is from. I did some research about murders in the Oakton area, but no one seems to match her description. She must be from somewhere else. If I can figure out who she is, where she was killed and when she died, that will put our killer at a certain location at a particular time period. Hopefully, that will be the last piece of information that we need to narrow the list down to one.”
“That would be great. In the meantime, I still plan to go back and visit my insider today. I’m hoping he’ll have something for me.”
“Your insider…Who is it that can possibly give you information about a homeless man?” His voice sounded disapproving.
“That would be the Jeffrey McDonald you researched earlier. He lives under a bridge right now, in the same area where Timothy Reynolds was killed.”
“Are you sure it’s safe to go there?”
“In fact, I am. Rodriguez is letting me know that it is.”
“Okay, just promise me you’ll be careful.”
“Of course I will; I have a lot to live for these days.”
Zack walked slowly into the kitchen. Having not showered since two days earlier, he was looking a little haggard, although it was admittedly an improvement over the day before. She was still irritated by his presence, though—resentful of his existence.
Jenny finished her phone conversation, and a tension-filled hush took over the room. On her part, the silence was deliberate; she wasn’t sure if that was true for her husband. Either way, she didn’t feel inclined to speak to him, having nothing particularly pleasant to say.
Zack poured himself a bowl of cereal and sat down across from Jenny at the table. The sound of the spoon scooping the bowl was all that could be heard. Eventually, Zack said, “You know, I don’t think you have the right to be pissed at me.”
She didn’t look up. Nothing good would have come of her looking up.
He continued, “This was the first time I’ve gone out since we moved here. You can’t possibly expect me to stay home every night and have no life at all.”
Jenny spoke in a low mumble, “That’s not what I’m mad about.”
“What?”
She straightened her posture and raised her voice. “That is not what I’m mad about.”
“Then what is it? I’d really like to know what it is that you think I’ve done wrong.”
She felt as if he was poking her. Poke. Poke. Poke. Perhaps he didn’t realize exactly how furious she could become in her sleep-deprived state. “What you may not understand is that if you decide to go out drinking and make yourself completely useless the next day, then you have made plans for me, too. You have made it so I have to do everything for the baby—although, I’m not sure how that’s any different than any other day. You don’
t exactly help anyway.”
“So then you are mad that I went out.”
“I. Am. Mad. That. You. Aren’t. Helping. Me.”
“I don’t know what you want from me. Every time you hand him to me, he does nothing but cry. And it’s not like I can feed him.”
That excuse was growing incredibly thin.
He continued, “Besides, your mother is right downstairs. I don’t see why you can’t ask her to help you.”
“It’s not her baby. It’s our baby. Yours and mine. And it’s not up to my mother to do your half of the parenting.”
“See,” he said with a shake of his head, “this is why.” He then seemed to swallow his sentiment.
“This is why what?”
He paused, as if deliberating whether or not he should actually say it. “This is why I needed a drink.”
Jenny remained silent while she digested this latest comment. “I’m the reason you needed a drink?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“Oh my God, you have got to be kidding me.”
“You haven’t exactly been a pleasure to live with lately. I have been trying not to say anything because I know you’re hormonal and all, so I’ve been having a few drinks to calm my nerves instead.”
She was still dumbfounded.
“You don’t know how good it felt the other night to be out, knowing I wouldn’t have to hear anything about how I’m not taking care of the baby.”
“Well, you’re not.”
“See what I mean? And while I’m at it…”
Jenny braced herself; he couldn’t possibly have had other complaints.
Zack continued, “It would be nice if we could have sex from time to time.”
“Sex,” she repeated with disbelief.
“Yes…ever heard of it? It’s been a while.”
“Okay, forgive me if I can’t put out because I have goo pouring out of my crotch.”
“That’s disgusting.”
