by Laura Acton
Eyes flying open gasping for air. Brody’s eyes still stared at him. Jade green eyes once alight with a burning passion for life, now only dully reflected the desert sky. Dan’s heart raced, pounding so hard the ribs holding the organ inside his chest felt bruised.
Drenched in sweat, with tears welling in his blue eyes for the third time tonight, he rolled on his side forgetting about his injured shoulder. Dan hissed in pain and rotated to the other side. His watery gaze landed on the makeshift nightstand and locked on to his great-grandfather’s Enfield No. 2 Mk I.
Always within reach. At the edge of a precipice, the temptation to pick up the ivory gripped pistol, to feel the cold barrel against his temple or directed at his fragmented heart, brought him close to breaking an oath.
Lost and forsaken by those who used to be family, his constant companions were guilt, anguish, and thoughts of suicide. Years ago, when he didn’t think he could go on, he promised his brothers to combat the darkness and seek the beauty of life. A vow he struggled to keep ever since killing Brody.
Brody wouldn’t release him from his pledge and whispered to him in the endless, dark nights. Somehow Brody managed to get him to renew his vow to continue to fight to live, and search for his ever-elusive beauty. He earnestly battled, but some days he wanted to surrender.
Yesterday had been one of those days. When he got home last night, he fought the urge to eternally join Brody and Sara. He allowed his fingers to brush over the smooth ivory grip, but he stopped himself from picking up the pistol. The revolver lay untouched for three and a half weeks, since the night of his migraine when the weight was too much for him to lift. The sirens still called to him promising him quiet rest, but he gave his word to Brody, both in life and in death, to try to find beauty.
Dan closed his eyes to block the sight of his weapon. One bullet is all it would take to end his private war. He hoped TRF would be a path to his redemption, but his appointment to the team set the stage for more conflict. He was the unwanted and despised seventh wheel on a six-wheel vehicle.
Not being wanted was not new to him. Although, in the military, his skill set fit. He understood how to operate, and he belonged with Blaze’s unit. No matter how often he the general sent him off with other units, his unit—his brothers—waited for his return. But no longer. He severed the brotherhood bonds when he blew a hole in Brody’s chest.
Drawing in an aching breath, he exhaled gradually as his heart slowed to its regular cadence. Reaching out, Dan lifted the picture of him and Brody laying on the nightstand and rolled to his back. “I’m trying, Brody. Truly, I am. But I don’t fit here. They operate differently. Too many years in the field as a killing machine for me to be a police officer now. Every day is a struggle.”
In his head, Dan heard Brody whisper, “Time, Danny. Give them more time. Being a constable is your dream. Do whatever it takes to make it a reality.”
“I’m too much a soldier now, Brody. For years my life’s work required hard tactical solutions and killing the bad guy. How do I shut off the part of me which I had to hone just to stay alive? Always on alert and never knowing if my next mission would grant the general’s death wish for me. Death, death, and more death. God, I’m so weary of killing.
“Everything used to be black and white. Whoever occupied my scope had to be killed. No talking to understand and resolve the situation peacefully. I had a mission, a target, and I didn’t hesitate. I did my job.”
“Shit, Brody. Why did I have to be such a damned skilled sniper? I took the lives of so many. Their eyes still haunt me. Though not as much as our dead brothers. I failed them all. They died because I’m not good enough. Aw fuck, I’m so screwed up. Too fast or too slow death is my frequent companion. Brody, taking a life is never easy. Not even taking out the scumbags.”
Blowing out a ragged breath, Dan pushed those thoughts away. Today he needed to remember something for which he was thankful. This tradition started as one of Brody’s weird quirks. Every Thanksgiving, Brody would badger him, insisting he find at least one thing, even something as simple as having clean socks.
Dan zeroed in on Brody’s face. “I miss you, brother. You and the guys were the only ones who ever gave a rat’s ass if I lived or died. Now you’re all gone. I killed you and they all deserted me. Blaze, Winds, Patch, Mason, and Baboon can’t forgive me—not that I don’t agree with them. I’ll never forgive myself either. However, I’m still thankful I had you all for a brief time. Thank you for caring for me.”
After sitting up, Dan lay the picture down, then rose and made the bed—a habit so ingrained the behavior became automatic.
Dan’s Apartment – Kitchen and Main Room
As he sauntered into the kitchen, Dan resumed his one-sided conversation with Brody. “Let’s see what’s on tap for Thanksgiving Day, shall we?” Dan opened the fridge and inventoried the contents … one beer and two slices of three-day-old pizza. “Probably too early to drink a beer, huh, Brody.” He shut the door and skirted the small island counter which served as the only separation between rooms.
After plopping down on the beige carpeted floor in the middle of the empty room, Dan said, “I thought about buying some furniture, but I don’t know how long I’m gonna be here. The team doesn’t want me, and the tactical lead hates my guts. Hardy rides my ass for every small infraction. I’m sick and tired of defending my actions. He never sees my side. None of them do. So, I quit trying. I don’t belong here, but I promised Gambrill to give TRF a month, and I won’t break my word.”
Flopping onto his back, Dan stared at the ceiling. “I must still be so naïve. I thought TRF might be different. I like the police motto, to Serve and Protect and the TRF motto of Talk Before Tactics. Sucks that Alpha Team won’t follow their own motto with me. The talk part, I mean.
“Ah hell, I really miss talking with you about nothing at all, Brody. I could use some of your dumbass jokes or one of your pranks right about now. Preferably pulled on one of the guys. Life sucks. I wish you were here to help me put the pieces of my life back together.”
Dan shut his eyes, needing to stop his train of thought. Opening them again, he sighed. “Where the hell is the beauty of life?” He scanned his sterile, empty apartment. “It sure as hell isn’t here.”
Rising in a fluid motion, using only his legs, he shuffled to the bedroom. He wanted to go for a run to clear his head, but his shoulder hurt too much. Once he showered, shaved, and dressed, he returned to the kitchen. Pulling out one pizza slice, Dan leaned against the counter to eat. A bit more stable after his shower, he put his dark thoughts and agony back into the strongbox in his mind and locked the lid.
“Hey, Brody, Happy Thanksgiving. Cold pizza’s a hell of a lot better than what we ate last year. You remember? We laid in wait for almost a week. All of us nearly out of supplies. We finally got our targets and high-tailed it outta there. We still had a two-day hike to the extraction point, but that night we all combined our rations to make a feast of sorts. Back then our meager meal didn’t seem like much, but I guess it is more than some people have now.”
Needing hydration, Dan retrieved his sole tumbler from the cupboard filling it with water from the tap. After downing the contents, he washed and put away the glass. Unable to run he decided to go for a walk at least. He grabbed his wallet and jacket before exiting his lonely apartment.
Park
Without a destination, Dan meandered ending up in a park. As he strolled, he noted many happy families. He witnessed couples, young and old, holding hands. Little kids ran around playfully tossing handfuls of orange, red, and yellow leaves in the air with not a care in the world. Carefree as they should be.
Halting at a bench, Dan sat and slouched down tilting his chin up to gaze at the cloudy sky. Alone in the vast park, melancholy and a sense of isolation settled heavily on him like a soaking wool cloak. He didn’t dare speak out loud to Brody in public, people would think him insane, so he carried on a silent monologue. Brody, why am I always alone? Am I
so heinous that no one gives a damn about me? I know I’ve killed so many just doing my job. I dispatched those who sought to hurt innocents, but their blood still coats my hands. Am I condemned to Tartarus … Hell, and loneliness is the torture I must endure?
Dan laid down on the bench, staring up at the sky again. Attempting to raise his thought from a deep abyss, he began searching for shapes in the clouds. He and Sara enjoyed spending hours together doing this on lazy summer afternoons. Miss ya, Sara. I’m so sorry. I should’ve protected you better. As heavy gray clouds shifted, he thought only about his little sister. She had been so full of life while they played in the park. In one horrible second the light in his world flickered and burned out. He failed Sara, and she died.
His life drastically changed—disowned by his formerly loving parents. They blamed him for Sara’s death, and the general wished Dan died instead of Sara. His father endeavored to kill him for the last six years, continually ordering him on missions with no downtime in between. Well, except for when he was held captive or injured—if those could be considered breaks.
He released a dispirited sigh. My life fucking sucks. In my twenty-seven years, there are only two and a half years when the general couldn’t order me. My time with Bella and Wilson was the only time I was free of the cold-hearted man. Wait! I’m no longer under his command. Perhaps this is what I should be thankful for today.
A minuscule smile appeared on Dan’s face as one puffy white cloud mixed in with gray haze forming a pleasing shape. Hey Sara, see that one? Looks like your yellow rabbit. Don’t you think? He held his gaze until the billowing vapors morphed and the rabbit existed no more. Happy Thanksgiving, Sara.
As he continued to stare at the wafting gray and white clouds, Dan drifted off into a light sleep as exhaustion from lack of sleep caught up with him. He never slept more than a few hours before nightmares woke him. He survived by taking short cat naps when he could.
In slumberland for almost an hour, Dan woke in a panic as raindrops splashed on his face. Recalling he was in a park, not there, he realized the water hitting his face was rain, and he was not being tortured.
Sitting up, needing to calm his erratic heart and even out his breathing, Dan used another ingrained military behavior, deliberately slowing his inhales and exhales and holding his breath for a four count. Memories of being held captive for three months ebbed away as he regained control.
As the rain persisted and the sprinkle became a downpour, Dan supposed he should return to his apartment. He stood and started walking at a brisk pace. When he came to one of the park exits, he noted a sign across the street which read Mayfield Soup Kitchen.
Hesitating at the exit, Dan sensed a presence nudging him towards Mayfield. Compelled by instincts crafted by years of watching his own back, he glanced over his shoulder, not expecting to see anyone, but still relieved as no one was there. He turned back to the building, and an old memory seeped in. He smiled and strode with purpose, crossing the empty street.
Mayfield Soup Kitchen
Dan scanned the interior finding the room bustling with people … children, teens, and adults, some clearly homeless, others likely working poor. Their commonality … trying to survive misfortunes in their lives. His gaze landed on two teen boys. For a split second the brown-haired boy made him think of Brody, but the teen turned, and his eyes were brown, not green. He stepped to the front of the line and asked the first person serving, “Who’s in charge?”
The young woman didn’t bother to look up as she asked, “Why?”
“I want to volunteer.”
Lifting her gaze, she smiled at the handsome blond man with caring blue eyes. He graced her with a magnificent smile—it brought a ray of sunshine to the overcast day. “Cool, we can always use extra hands. We serve so many more people on Thanksgiving. We like to make it special for everyone needing a little help today. Ask for Ms. Caroline Bennett. You can find her in the back.” She pointed to the kitchen door.
Dan thanked her and headed in the direction indicated. Ms. Bennett was ecstatic with his offer and put him to work immediately. He spent the entire day working without a break, happy for the diversion. Though busy, he enjoyed conversing with the volunteers and many of those who came for a meal.
At ten p.m., after the last pots and pans were washed and dried, Dan took a seat on one of the stackable plastic chairs in the dining area and massaged his sore shoulder. Staying focused on the tasks, he had been able to ignore his injury, but now his muscles ached to a point he considered pain meds.
Caroline strolled over to the kind, young man who tirelessly assisted them all day. Amazed at his stamina, she didn’t recall him stopping once but now spotted him kneading his right shoulder. Pulling up a chair, she sat next to him. “Dan, does your shoulder hurt?”
“It’s nothing. Just a bit sore.”
“Did you injure yourself here?” Caroline asked with genuine concern.
Dan shook his head. “Nah, at work.”
A young woman hurried over to them carrying a sleeping child in her arms. She came in late and only just now finished her meal. “I recognize you. Thank you so much. You have no idea how thankful I am you were there to help me yesterday.”
Dan shifted his gaze to his left seeking the face attached to the voice. He smiled, still absent-mindedly rubbing his shoulder.
Brandi noted his action. “Does it hurt a lot? You hit the ground so hard.”
Caroline recognized Brandi. The young mother, still essentially a baby herself, had been kicked out of her parent’s home after the birth of her child. Still desperately trying to make a life for herself and her little boy, she sacrificed to make sure Dillion had what he needed before she did. Not liking to accept charity, Brandi rarely came for a meal. The teen was so thin Caroline was pleased she came tonight. “What did Dan do yesterday, Brandi?”
Brandi explained how Dan tackled the man who stole her purse and because of him, Dillon didn’t go without his formula. Her face became flushed and her voice held a note of displeasure when she said, “Why was your boss so mean yelling at you? I mean you’re a police officer. As far as I saw, you did your job quite successfully. He was so awful to you for no reason.”
Dan deflected and didn’t answer her question. He asked about her son, and she happily discussed her pride and joy as he slept in her arms. After a bit more conversation and several thanks from Brandi, she left for home.
Standing and stretching, Dan said, “I should be heading out too.”
Caroline gazed at the thin man. “Did you eat today?”
Dan gave her a broad grin. “Yes. I had a delicious meal before I came. Leftovers are waiting for me.” Technically he didn’t lie. The pizza was tasty, and he did have one more slice, so in fact, leftovers.
“Thank you for all your assistance. If you don’t mind me asking, what is your full name? I’d like to put you on our list of volunteers to send notifications to when we have special events and need extra hands,” Caroline said.
“Dan Broderick. Happy to lend a hand if I’m available.” Dan supplied her his phone number so she could text him. He stood, shook her hand, and headed for the door wearing a grin.
Caroline watched him go and wondered why such a kind young officer spent the day all alone. She sighed. So many people are lonely in this world. Why doesn’t he have family or friends to spend the holiday with? She glanced down at the slip of paper with his name. Dan Broderick, you remind me of another decent, hardworking, warmhearted young man I once knew. Wonder whatever happened to Brody Hunter. She tucked the paper into her pocket, rose, and returned to the kitchen to begin closing up for the night.
As Dan strode out the door, his steps lighter than they had been in months, he peered up at the sky. “Thanks for the push, Brody. You always know how to show me the beauty of life. I might not belong at TRF or on Alpha Team, but I promised you to keep searching and I will. Thanks to you, I had a Happy Thanksgiving.”
Dan’s Fan Club
29
October 12
TRF HQ – Briefing Room
Dan sipped his iced capp as the team took a late afternoon break. Letting his mind wander, he reviewed his day up to this point. Things seemed peculiar. He chalked up the idiosyncrasy to the two days he spent lending a hand at Mayfield Soup Kitchen. After the positive experience volunteering on Thanksgiving, he decided to go back yesterday too. Serving others helped his frame of mind immensely. As a result, he came into work more relaxed.
He glanced at Loki and Ray who were currently discussing the technical briefing Loki would give to the other teams later this week. Today, for the first time, those two asked if they could bring him his favorite drink when they did the regular run to Timmy’s about half a block away. An iced coffee which didn’t taste like boiled boots sounded refreshing. When he held out money to pay for his beverage, Ray waved it off saying the coffee was their treat. Their unexpected inclusion of him in the errand and to buy coffee for him utterly surprised him—none of them had offered before.
His eyes landed on the tactical lead next, and he breathed a sigh of relief. So far, he had done nothing to incite his ire. Hardy had not yelled at him once, which was shocking and quite frankly a little disconcerting. In fact, Hardy’s behavior was also atypical today. Another first, the man called him Dan, and he responded by calling him Jon. Dan stifled the chuckle recalling the stunned expression on Hardy’s face when he said ‘Morning, Jon.’ Though in all likelihood his features were a mirror image.
Shifting his gaze to the window, Dan thought about their only critical call today. One involving an armed abduction of two children by the non-custodial parent. The situation ended well with no one hurt when Lexa talked the mother into releasing her sons.
