About Face

by Christian, Claudia Hall

  Alex glanced at Colin. As if he knew what she was thinking, he nodded. She looked at Samantha. Her elder sister gave her a slight “I know where you are” look. Alex put her arm around Samantha.

  “Well,” Patrick broke in to Rebecca’s flow of words. “Shall we grab some lunch while we can?”

  They nodded, and Rebecca began talking about Eunice again. As they walked, Patrick put his arm around Alex’s shoulders. He kissed the top of her head. She looked at him.

  “All that matters is that you make your own choice,” Patrick said. “You’ll be fine.”

  She looked up at her father, and, for a brief moment, he looked down at her. She felt his love for her flow out of his eyes and match the well of love she held for him. He squeezed her shoulder and then, like so many things, the moment passed. When he went to open the door for her mother, Alex wondered about the moments lost and the friends irrevocably gone. She looked around for Jesse, but he was nowhere to be found.

  She sighed and followed her family into the hospital cafeteria.

  F

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Saturday afternoon

  November 5 — 2:35 a.m. PDT

  Oceanside, California

  Drifting between sleep and awake, the dream pinned Alex to the bed. By some turn of events, Alex was the one who had died, and her Fey Special Forces teammates had survived. She felt sheer joy at seeing them — healthy and alive. Her teammates had gathered in a small room, possibly a converted garage. She was so compelled by the sight of them that she ignored her own body lying in a simple pine coffin near the edge of the room. More than a little drunk, her teammates milled around in the middle of the room.

  While the men spoke to each other in hushed tones, Captain Charlie O’Brien’s voice croaked and sang his way through “99 bottles of beer on the wall.” He was sloppy drunk, tired, and angry. His dirty green tank top was streaked with dirt and had circular sweat stains under the armpits. His fatigues were filthy. Tears streaked through the dirt on his face. He held an open bottle of Jack Daniel’s Whiskey and was sitting in a folding chair leaned up against a corner of the room.

  “We need to move the Sergeant for burial in five minutes,” a man’s voice came over the speaker in the ceiling. “You may say your good-byes at this time.”

  Alex hovered just behind her body. Feeling someone close to her, she turned to see Jesse. He seemed to be a ghost as well.

  “Jesse?” Alex asked.

  Jesse’s mouth opened and closed as if he were talking but no sound came out.

  “What?” Alex asked. She pointed to her ears.

  Jesse’s mouth moved again, and then he shook his head. He reached his hand out. She put her hand in his and felt the instant relief brought by the warm buzz of their friendship.

  Clearly, she and Jesse had died, but only her body had been recovered.

  “Oh, Alex, I can’t believe you’re gone.” Her medic Jax knelt down to her body. He held her hand and stared at her body for a long time, before saying. “Would you keep this for me?”

  In her death-stilled hand, he set the wedding band he’d created to match the ring he’d had made to ask his beloved, Roger, to marry him.

  He leaned his head closer to her body.

  “There’s also a stack of Somoza’s gold in the vault across from ours,” Jax said. “You won’t need it now, of course. I wondered if you could keep an eye on for me, you know, from the other side.”

  He kissed her lifeless cheek.

  “I love you, Alex,” Jax said.

  He wiped a tear and moved away from her body. Michael Scully, MJ’s father, came to her next. His eyes were red, and his face was a mess of snot and tears. His bright-red hair was oily, dirty, and stuck straight up. He wiped his face with a dirt covered hand and kissed her lips.

  “I’m so sorry,” Mike said. “So, so sorry. I . . .”

  Rather than complete his statement, he dropped the gold sunflower card case in her coffin along with his small journal. He turned away from her and stalked away.

  “I know you’d hate this, Alex,” Paul said. “You’d just hate it.”

  Unlike his teammates, Paul had taken the time to wipe off the dirt with a towel or rag. His dirty fingernails were apparent when he started stacking the end of her coffin with row after row of journals.

  “All of these words,” Paul said. “All of this bull shit. We have to weigh down your coffin, or it will float.”

  When he was done stacking the team’s journals, he added the small journal she’d tucked into Jesse’s pocket just after he’d died and the larger journal she’d protected. Paul stood up and went to her head.

  “I’m going to miss you so, so much,” Paul said. “So much. You were my friend, my sister, the very best of me.”

  He grabbed Alex’s dead hand and kissed it.

  “Be at peace,” Paul said. Then he repeated something he’d said to her at least a hundred times before, “Everything happens for a reason. We may never know the reason.”

  Scott hugged Paul and went to her side. Without saying a word, Scott tucked her old Magic 8 ball under her right hand. He let out a breath, and dust fell from the ends of his hair. With a nod, he turned and walked away.

  Nathan came up to her side. Reeking of body odor and filth, he leaned down until he was an inch over her.

  “You were the best of us,” Nathan said. He set a roll of maps into the sides of her coffin. “You find yourself with the devil. Don’t let him get you down. He’s only drawn to your light. Love you, girl. See you very soon.”

  Dean was next. His face was tan and the rims around his eyes were pale and clean. The rest of his face and clothing were streaked with grime. He kissed the micro SD card and tucked it into the pocket of her pants.

  “For safekeeping,” he whispered.

  He kissed her cheek and walked away.

  Joseph Walter went to the head of her coffin. He wiped his forehead, and fresh dirt fell onto her face. With a sigh, he set the broken security token in the top of the casket as well as the video from the gold vault.

  “I don’t know why you need these, Alex,” Joseph said. “But somehow, someway, they will help you solve riddles in your next life.”

  He gave a deep, woeful sigh and practically ran from her side. Dwight and Tommy gave each other questioning looks. Tommy gestured for Dwight to go first.

  “I wanted you to have this, Alex,” Dwight said. He pinned the diamond-encrusted ugly bee on the jacket of her Sergeant dress uniform. “It reminded me of you, so I got it. Now, I hope it brings you luck.”

  Dwight stroked Alex’s cheek.

  “I love you,” Dwight said. “I’ll pray for you for the rest of my days.”

  He hugged Tommy and walked away.

  “Who would have thought that I would be the one to say the last words?” Tommy asked. Chucking, he added, “Oh yeah — probably everybody.”

  His mood shifted. His dirt-stained face dropped with sorrow.

  “I knew that I was going to like you the first day when you asked me if I ever stopped talking. I don’t know if you remember, but I said, ‘Probably not.’ And you said . . .”

  “Now there’s a good thing.” As a ghost, Alex responded with Tommy.

  She and he sighed in unison.

  “There’s no way to describe how much you mean to me,” Tommy said. “Good-bye, my beloved Alex.”

  He set the travel guide of old churches that had been Jesse’s near her left hand and the old book of beekeeping next to her right hand.

  “Just in case you miss my talking,” Tommy said.

  He kissed her cheek and walked away. By now, the men stood like solitary islands — stationary and alone — around the room as they wept. The room echoed with the soft sound of their sobs.

  Charlie got up from his seat. He shuffled across the room to Alex’s coffin. In one fluid motion, he poured his bottle of Jack Daniel’s over her body. With his other hand, he flicked open her Fey Special Forces Team lighter, lit the
coffin on fire, and tossed the lighter onto the pyre. The men in the room turned to watch. Charlie tossed the key she’d hidden in her journal into the coffin. He pulled out of his back pocket Cooper’s father’s copy of The Gadfly. He held the book to the flames until it caught on fire and then tossed the book into the fire.

  “Now you are free,” Charlie said with a sob.

  The team stood back and watched the pyre. Engulfed in flame, Alex’s body, their possessions, and the coffin burned. When Alex’s flesh was gone, her skeleton burned red hot. The middle of the coffin collapsed and fell to the ground causing the ends of the coffin to tip up. All of the carefully packed journals fell on top of Alex’s skeleton. Her skeleton shattered in pieces. The plastic bits of the security token and the SD drive bounced on heat currents until they shriveled and caught flames.

  The Fey Special Forces Team stood back and watched until all that was left was a pile of ashes. A faceless man in a black suit came out and began to sweep away the ashes with a lobby broom and a dust pan. When he was finished, another man vacuumed up the dust. Within minutes, there was no evidence of Alex’s body, her coffin, or all of their possessions.

  Alex had been so focused on the fire and clean up that she hadn’t noticed that everyone but Charlie had left the room. She looked to her right and was grateful that Jesse was still there.

  “They must have already done this with you,” Alex said.

  Jesse’s mouth moved, but she couldn’t hear him. He gave her a sad look and gave her a piece of paper. She looked down at the paper and read a phone number. She nodded. He gestured forward. She turned to look where he’d pointed, and her hand felt immediately ice cold.

  Jesse was gone. Blistering loss shot through her. She tucked her frozen hand, now empty under her elbow and crossed her arms.

  Charlie was standing right in front of her. He looked exactly like he’d looked when she’d first met him at SF training. He was young. His hair was rakishly long, and he was wearing a long, thick beard. He wore the dress uniform of a Captain with the same starched motion that indicated to Alex that it was new to him. She gave him a fond smile.

  “Ever wonder why you wanted to be a Green Beret?” Charlie asked the same question he’d asked her when they met.

  “I . . .” Alex’s heart swelled with loss and love for her Charlie. Tears filled her eyes.

  “Sergeant?” Charlie asked in a low warning tone for her emotions.

  Alex instinctively stood at attention.

  “Sorry, sir,” Alex said. “I’m not sure, sir. I’ve just always wanted to be a Green Beret.”

  “Exactly,” Charlie said.

  He saluted her, turned in place, and walked away. The scene changed, and she was standing in the middle of the street at Fort Logan cemetery. Charlie marched at a military clip toward the Fey Special Forces memorial obelisk. As she watched, his dress uniform evaporated until he was wearing the torn jeans and old, soft T-shirt that was his personal uniform. He turned to where Alex had been standing. Raising a hand, he lay down in his grave and was gone.

  Alex woke up in a sweat. She was lying under John’s right arm in their bed in Oceanside. John instinctively rolled onto his back. She rolled onto her side to see if he was awaked.

  He was sound asleep.

  Alex slipped out of bed and put on her pajamas. In the last year, she’d become adept at walking and putting on her pajamas. Using skills she’d learned from Ji Pershing, she silently moved along the hall and down the stairs. On the ground floor, she wandered to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. She stood there for a moment before realizing that what she wanted wasn’t in there. She closed the door and turned on the tea kettle. She padded over to the electronic gadget charging station next to the round kitchen table, and removed her cell phone.

  The dream lingered in her mind like a drug. She shook her head in an attempt to clear it. Setting the phone on the table, she went to the bread box and took out a loaf of sourdough bread. Her toddlers had become so obsessed with peanut butter toast with bananas that she never had a piece to herself. She stuck the bread into the toaster oven and went back to the kitchen table.

  Sitting down, she remembered the phone number Jesse had given her in the dream. She bit her lip and wondered what to do. Glancing at the clock, she calculated that three in the morning in California would be six in New York, and it was a New York phone number.

  Or gibberish.

  Alex picked up the phone and dialed.

  “Hello?” a familiar male voice asked.

  “Maxi?” Alex whispered.

  She sucked in a breath against the disappointment that the voice wasn’t her precious twin brother. Tears of relief in simply hearing his voice rolled down her face.

  “Alex?” Max asked. “Is that you? Finally!”

  “What do you mean, ‘finally’?” Alex asked.

  “I gave John the number two days ago,” Max said. “I was sure you’d call right away, but . . .”

  “Oh Maxi,” Alex said through her tears.

  “I’m on lock down here,” Max said. “I can take calls from approved numbers, but I can’t call you. I . . . Your phone’s on the list, of course. Did you drown again?”

  “Almost,” Alex said. “In the ocean.”

  “What?” Max asked. “I woke up . . . Anyway, doesn’t matter. I can’t tell you anything, and my conversations are taped. But . . . will you, I mean, it’s a lot to ask, but . . .”

  “I don’t care about that anymore,” Alex said. “I’ll tell you everything.”

  She opened her mouth and everything came out. Max gasped at her imitation of Admiral Ingram’s voice telling her to quit the military or lose her pension. He gave an indignant snort when Vice-Admiral Henderson arrived to ask for her help. By the time she got to the F-15s with orders to shoot down the Fey helicopter, he was just plain mad. She told him about the ocean and her hip and Leah Zutterberg and General Fonti and Erin’s new baby named “Eunice.”

  “Wow,” Max said.

  “Mm-hm,” Alex said.

  Alex longed to tell him about the dream, but her desperate longing for him made her hesitant to share it. Max was silent for a moment.

  “Are you still there?” Alex asked.

  “Oh,” Max said. “I’ve been waiting for you to tell me why you’re calling. If John didn’t give you the number, then who?”

  Alex blinked. Max always knew why she was calling. In fact, if he wasn’t doing this confidential case, he’d have called her long before she’d called him. Alex looked at the phone. The phone application was open but there was no time on the call timer. In fact, the number flashed as if it hadn’t actually gone through.

  “Hello?” Alex asked into the phone.

  She was met with . . . something. Breathing? Voices? Flutter of wings?

  “Are you there?”

  Something dark, something horrible, something terrifying, something . . .

  “Hello?”

  It attacked.

  She woke up screaming. Hearing the horror in their mother’s voice, Máire and Joey screeched in terror. She and John jumped at the same time. By the time the twins were settled down again, Alex was too tired to talk about her dream, and John was too exhausted to press her.

  F

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Saturday afternoon

  November 5 — 3:12 p.m. PDT

  Oceanside, California

  John left for a long run with Troy when Joey and Máire went down for a nap. Since Claire and Helene were shopping, Alex clipped the baby monitor to her jeans and went to the basement office. While it wasn’t her familiar, secure office, it was a quiet place where no one would disturb her.

  Alex hadn’t been down here since she’d returned from Washington, DC. The screaming in her head had been so loud that she didn’t want to know what she was thinking — about anything. In fact, she hadn’t bothered to turn on her computer since then. She pushed the button to turn on her computer but didn’t turn on the screen. Maggie cur
led up onto her dog bed in the corner of the room.

  She opened her journal and stared at the blank pages. For the last month, she’d taken copious photos all of the adventures she’d been on — shopping, eating, walking on the beach, hanging out with Joey and Máire, cleaning the house, cooking meals. They were all things that she’d never been able to do while she was on the frontline. She simply hadn’t written a single word in at least a month.

  She turned on her computer screen to the more than 7,000 emails waiting for her. Groaning to herself, she decided to check the spreadsheet that tracks the words Joey and Máire could say in Arabic and English. Máire was more chatty than Joey, but they were both making good progress. She did a few Internet searches in an attempt to figure out how many words toddlers of their age group should have acquired only to learn that on no uncertain terms, she was parenting the wrong way. Irritated, she closed the browser only to see her email. She reached to turn off the screen.

  She turned back to her journal. She got out a yellow pencil, sharpened it, and wrote out everything she remembered about the dream. She made a list of which team member gave her what trinket. She tried to remember every word they’d said and what exactly they were wearing.

  One of the oddest things about the dream was that everyone was so dirty. While Alex had seen them dirtier and certainly smellier, Charlie insisted that assignments were only completed when they’d cleaned up. They would never have come to see her body, or anyone else’s, without showering and changing first.

  And then it hit her.

  They were dead and buried. They would have to literally have to claw through dirt to participate in this dream. Alex nodded with certainty at this answer.

  If that was true, why was Joseph covered in dirt?

  Alex jumped from her seat. Grabbing her cell phone, she ran to her weapons safe. She hit speed dial and grabbed her holster, with her Glock 9MM tucked inside.