Beyond the Past (A Paranormal Military Romance)

by Fall, Carly

  Lucas sighed and looked out the window. The temperature would rise into the forties today, and dip down into the teens again tonight. Maybe he should jump on a train to California. A beach sounded really good right about now.

  “So, answer my question, Lucas. What do you want? You better figure that out because right now, you look like your option of choosing life over death isn’t going to be much of an option in the near future.”

  What he wanted ... hell, he didn’t know what he wanted. Peace? To stop having visions of people being killed? That would be a fantastic start.

  Maybe he wanted death. Would it be so terrible? Maybe not, as he didn’t have a whole lot to live for. Gabby was better off away from him and his crazy visions, not to mention the government who hunted him.

  “Well?” Garrett asked.

  “I don’t know what I want,” he admitted.

  The other man sighed. “Well, will you come with me until you figure it out? I can’t stand to see you like this, my brother.”

  Lucas glanced around the restaurant. If Garrett could admit he turned into a bear, then Lucas could certainly come clean about his supernatural ability. The need to talk about it with another overcame him, and he blurted, “You turn into a bear; Brody controls the ocean. I see things, Garrett. Crazy shit. It scares the hell out of me.”

  “And what do you see?”

  “I see people dying. It’s like . . . it’s like a waking dream or something. I just get these images every now and then.”

  “Have you seen any of these . . . visions about yourself?”

  He shook his head.

  “Well, that’s good,” Garrett murmured as the waitress approached the table.

  “Can I get you guys anything else?” she asked.

  Lucas couldn’t help but notice her too tight white blouse, the gap at her bust garnering him a slight glimpse at her white, lacy bra. He closed his eyes as images of Gabby in her blue lingerie haunted him. What he would give to skim his tongue over the silk of her ample breasts and feel her nipple harden. A sigh escaped him—he missed his wife and the life they’d had together.

  “No, I think we’re good,” Garrett said.

  Lucas opened his eyes and kept his gaze trained on Garrett, and off the waitress and her chest as Garrett handed her some money.

  “Keep the change,” he added, flashing her his mega-watt smile.

  She grinned and winked. “Thanks. Hope to see you boys in here again soon.” She then moved to the next table to refill the coffee.

  “Thanks for breakfast,” Lucas said.

  Garrett nodded. “I hope it sits okay in your stomach.”

  As if on cue, his gut clenched. He hadn’t eaten like this in six months, and a system-wide revolt threatened to come on.

  “You need to come with me,” Garrett murmured again. “What happened to us wasn’t an accident, Lucas. My employer says it was intentional, our government running an experiment on us.”

  Lucas stood and shook his head. “I’m not interested in a job, Garrett. I don’t know what I want, but I know I don’t want to be tied down right now, and I don’t care who did it or why.”

  “Just come and hear what he has to say.” Garrett pulled out a cell phone. He quickly tapped the screen, stuffed it back in his pocket, and got up from the table.

  Lucas shook his head, surprised by how little he missed modern-day technology. “I’m not in any condition to talk about jobs, man. My head’s all fucked up. I’m fucked up.”

  “Which is exactly why you need to talk to him,” Garrett said as they walked out the front door.

  Turning to his friend, Lucas stuck out his hand. “Thanks for everything, man.”

  “What’s the deal, Lucas? You got places to go and people to see?” Garrett took his hand and draped his huge arm over his shoulder.

  “Something like that.” He grinned, feeling small and weak next to Garrett, as they used to be fairly equal in stature.

  A van pulled up to the curb, and the door opened. Before Lucas knew what had happened, Garrett had maneuvered them both toward the vehicle, his arms wrapped around him.

  “What the hell, Garrett?” he yelled, trying to squirm away from his grasp, his head buried in the barrel chest.

  “If you aren’t willing to save yourself, then I’m going to do it for you,” Garrett growled, picking him up and carrying him into the van. A second later, the door slammed, Garrett forced him to sit down, and Lucas’s body rattled as he hit the seat. The van lurched, throwing them both momentarily off balance. The big man let go and Lucas pushed him away.

  He found himself on a bench facing the back doors. A man in a wheelchair sat in front of him, smiling.

  “Mr. Tate,” he said. “My name is Joe Smith. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  Chapter 6

  “What the hell is this, Garrett? You just fucking kidnapped me!” Lucas yelled, ignoring Joe Smith and studying the interior.

  No windows in the gutted-out empty space. He turned his head toward the front, only to see a metal wall. He was literally trapped by in an iron box. What the hell?

  “Relax, man,” Garrett said. “You needed to be kidnapped.”

  Lucas shot him a glare and sat back, gazing at the door. What would his injuries be if he threw himself out of a van rumbling along at forty-five miles per hour?

  “You stink, and you need to sober up and get healthy again,” Garrett said. “You look bad, man—turkey vulture bad. I’m going to make sure you get back on the right side of things.”

  “There is no right side, you moron,” he grumbled as he studied Joe Smith. “Not anymore.”

  Joe Smith’s intelligent gaze never left Lucas while a small smile played on his lips. His light brown hair was the same shade as the suit he wore, and intelligent, blue eyes stared Lucas down. An air of confidence shrouded him as he sat with his fingers laced together, and Lucas could think of only a few words to describe him—ordinary, yet, extraordinary. The man appeared completely and utterly average, and Lucas doubted he would ever notice him in a crowd. However, the aura or energy around him surprised Lucas. He’d never felt anything like it before. Hell, he’d never even contemplated anyone’s aura or energy in fifteen years. Jesus, look at him getting all ‘new age.’ Apparently, his upbringing in the hippie commune still seemed to be alive and well within him.

  “Like I said, I’m very happy to meet you, Mr. Tate, and I can assure you, you haven’t been kidnapped. Garrett suggested this would be the best way for you to hear my proposal, and I agreed.”

  Just to show what a mess he’d become, Lucas reached into his coat and pulled out his flask. He didn’t want to hear any proposals. He wanted to go back to his life on the streets where he was no one and nothing and people ignored him, and in some cases, vilified him.

  “Do take care to pace yourself, Mr. Tate,” Joe said. “We will be going up some windy roads, and I would hate to have our driver, Thomas, needing to clean vomit out the back of the van.”

  Lucas narrowed his gaze on the man, and just for good measure, took another sip. He glanced over at the door again, wondering about his chances for escape.

  “That’s the second time you’ve studied the door, Mr. Tate, and I can assure you, even if you could get it to open, which you can’t, your chances of survival hover right around zero. We’re at a place in the highway where if you were to throw yourself out, you would either be crushed by traffic, or tossed up against the cement divider, which would certainly leave a nasty mess.”

  With no windows in the back of the van, he could only take Joe’s word. He didn’t know what his next step in life would be, but faced with the option of tossing himself out the door to the death Joe promised, he found himself choosing life.

  They rode in silence for about a half-hour and the van veered to the right. Lucas knew they had left the freeway when they came to a stop, but had no idea where they could be headed.

  After a few more miles, the van turned right again. A couple o
f clicks later, it steered left, and the pavement turned into a dirt road.

  “This is where it gets a little dicey,” Garrett said.

  For a good half hour, they bounced around as the van climbed the gutted road. Joe studied Lucas while holding on to a strap from the ceiling, his wheelchair obviously locked. A couple of times, Lucas had to catch himself from being bounced off the bench and landing at Joe’s feet.

  Finally, the van stopped.

  “We just have a little bit further to travel, Mr. Tate.”

  Lucas swallowed the bile in his throat, determined not to get sick in front of these men and wishing he hadn’t taken that last swig of rum.

  A few moments later, the vehicle came to a halt, and the engine died.

  “We’re at our final destination, Mr. Tate. Before we get out of the van, I would like your word that you will stay with me for twenty-four hours to hear what I have to say. That’s all I ask, twenty-four hours of your time.”

  Lucas glared at him, but held his tongue.

  “When we open these doors, we will be in approximately two feet of snow. To escape, you will have to travel around three miles before you reach a paved road. After that, you will need to trek across four miles before you reach the main highway.”

  Damn, that amounted to a lot of travel to get to some sort of civilization. He glanced down at his worn tennis shoes; his feet would freeze within the first mile.

  “However, if you stay with me for the allotted twenty-four hours and listen to what I have to say, I promise to feed you, give you new clothes, a little pocket money, and we can drop you off back at the Denny’s, if you don’t like what you hear.”

  The sliding door to the van opened and Lucas gazed out. Virgin snow gleamed for miles, surrounding a small pond covered in a thin sheet of ice. Thick forest stood beyond the pond and the road.

  He stepped out, the snow coming up to his knees. Towering juniper and spruce trees littered the valley, the silence almost deafening. As he walked around the van, a true-to-God log cabin with a full wrap-around porch and green, metal roof greeted him. The warm, brown logs invited him in, the puffs of smoke coming from the chimney reminding him of how cold he’d been in the past couple of months. As far as timing and location went, he’d definitely picked the wrong place to be homeless for the winter.

  “Twenty-four hours is all I ask, Mr. Tate,” Joe Smith added again from the interior.

  As the snow seeped into his shoes and pants, a shiver tore through his body. He longed to sit in front of the fireplace and feel the warmth on his skin and penetrate into his bones.

  Twenty-four hours. What did have to lose? Nothing. He had nowhere to be, no one to answer to. What did he have to gain? A warm bed, a few hot meals, and a shower. He did have to admit, his curiosity had been piqued as he wondered about this so-called job. Joe had spent the last forty-five minutes in the van with him, had had plenty of time to look at him and his condition, but yet, he still wanted Lucas to hear him out.

  In a nutshell, for the next twenty-four hours, he was golden.

  Lucas looked over at Garrett who stood next to him, and then at Joe. “Okay. I’m yours for twenty-four hours.”

  Chapter 7

  Soft rivulets of hot water cascaded down his skin as he ran his hands through his hair and tried to remember the last time he’d had a hot shower. Maybe two weeks ago at the truck stop? He’d found ten bucks on the street and decided instead of booze, he’d get a shower. But really, who knew how long ago it had been? The days all ran into each other. He didn’t know for sure—being homeless made time continuous, and he lacked the ability to backtrack from one day to the last.

  Pouring shampoo into his hand, he took a deep inhale. The smell struck him as clean and fresh, like an early spring morning in the forests of Oregon. As he rubbed it into his scalp, it tingled his nose, as well as his skin.

  The bubbles slid down his torso to his legs, leaving a trail of light fire down his skin, cleansing him.

  He rinsed, and shampooed again, adding a little conditioner this round. Who knew the next time he would be able to do so? Maybe he could talk Garrett into cutting a little bit off the length of his hair, but he didn’t want to be shaved. He needed his hair to help keep him warm. In another few months, it would warm up, and then, he’d go for the military look.

  As he ran a razor down his face, tears stung his eyes at how good it felt to rid himself of the dirty beard. He scrubbed under his fingernails until they were once again white, and ran the bar of soap over his body multiple times. When he emerged from the shower stall, he literally felt like a new man.

  He walked into the bedroom as he towel-dried off and noticed a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt folded at the end of the bed, resting on the black and red patchwork quilt. A bottle of lotion had been placed on the dark, wooden nightstand. Once completely dry, he slathered lotion over his feet, face, hands, and elbows, his skin burning at first at the contact, then relief set in.

  After slipping on the sweatpants and sweatshirt, he ran his fingers through his hair, feeling human for the first time in months. The clothing hung on his frame, but he took a moment to lie down on the quilt and appreciate the softness around him.

  “Lucas?” Garrett called while knocking on the door. “You okay in there?”

  Sighing, he sat up. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “Whenever you’re ready, we’ve got food out here for you.”

  His stomach still rolled from breakfast, but he’d trained himself to eat whenever he could during the past few months, so instinct took over. He stood and went to the door. When he opened it, Garrett leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his massive chest.

  As Lucas swam in the clothing that should have fit him, shame assailed him while he stared at Garrett’s huge frame. How could the man deal with the aftermath of the accident, but he couldn’t? Why did he want to literally disappear from life?

  “You look good all cleaned up,” Garrett said.

  “No more turkey vulture?”

  “Nope. Not quite as cute as a fuzzy bunny, but you never have been. Are you ready?”

  He nodded. “Just let me put some socks on.”

  Garrett watched him as he sat down on the bed and donned the wool socks.

  “I have to admit, I’m not feeling all that hungry.”

  “Too bad. You’re going to want to fuel up.”

  “For what?” Joe Smith had said he wanted to talk to him, and listening didn’t require all that much energy.

  “You’ll see. C’mon.”

  He followed Garrett down the short hallway, marveling at the craftsmanship of the building. The logs lay stacked perfectly on top of each other, and the hardwood floors gleamed. When they entered the living room, flames danced in a large stone fireplace, and a huge picture window garnered views outside to the pond and the forest beyond. It reminded him of the commune where he grew up, and for a moment, he had a twinge of homesickness, but it quickly passed.

  Whoever had built this had put in a lot of time and thought into the construction and how the house must be situated on the property to showcase the natural beauty.

  “Mr. Tate!” Joe said, turning his wheelchair around and facing them. “You look like a new man after a shower!”

  Lucas smiled. “I feel like one. Thank you for your hospitality.”

  “Of course.” Joe wheeled himself toward the kitchen. “Please, come eat. Thomas has prepared steak, mashed potatoes, and vegetables for us.”

  Lucas followed and Garrett brought up the rear, and he couldn’t help but notice they’d be having the exact meal their platoon always ate the night before they were deployed.

  “Sit, please,” Joe said, rolling himself up to the long oak table.

  By habit, Lucas sat on the bench. He always liked to see everything and everyone in the room, and he also liked his back up against the wall. Garrett slid in next to him.

  “Would you care for a roll?” Joe asked, passing a basket to him. “Thomas
made them this morning and just reheated them.”

  The smell of fresh bread wafted from the napkin covering the basket, and his mouth watered. He took one and lathered it with butter, his mouth exploding with home-cooked goodness.

  He closed his eyes a moment, savoring the taste. He had always loved to cook, which was good as Gabby lacked skills in the kitchen. The rolls reminded him of Thanksgiving and Christmas meals when at home with Gabby and they’d invite the men from his unit and their families over to celebrate. He’d spent days in the kitchen preparing food as he’d loved cooking for others. The day was always great as they ate too much food, drank too much beer and hurled insults and good-natured barbs at each other about everyone’s favorite teams as they watched football. However, he always sighed with relief when everyone left so he could change into his sweats and lounge on the couch with Gabby in his arms.

  “I see you appreciate Thomas’s efforts,” Joe said, breaking Lucas’s reverie.

  He opened his eyes and nodded. “I do.”

  “Good. Please, eat more.”

  “And drink some Gatorade,” Garrett mumbled from beside him. “I’m sure you’re dehydrated.”

  Lucas did as told and gulped down the cherry-flavored liquid in the crystal wine glass.

  He helped himself to another piece of bread just as Thomas came in from the back deck.

  “I don’t believe you two have been formally introduced,” Joe said. “Thomas, please meet Lucas Tate. Mr. Tate, this is the man responsible for the fine meal you’re eating.”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” Lucas said, and Thomas gave him a nod before carrying over a platter of sizzling steaks. “Thank you for this meal.”

  “If my research is correct, you like yours medium well, Mr. Tate. Is that right?” Joe asked.

  “Yes.” He glanced over at Garrett. They’d been together in a platoon for three years, so Garrett knew everything from how he liked his steak done to what underwear he preferred.

  “Looks fantastic, Thomas,” Garrett said as the other man set down the platter of meat.