BoneMan's Daughters

by Ted Dekker

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

  “Doctor, please.”

  The two words from Julie swept over him like a balm. She was trying to get him to stop this. The subject was failing miserably. He’d exposed himself and made an utter fool of himself.

  “Doctor?”

  Ryan sucked deep, stilled the sobs with a hard sniff, and spoke. “No.” He was still shaking but the pain in his throat has lessened and he could speak.

  “No, it’s okay. Let me finish. I have to finish.”

  “I don’t think he’s in any condition—”

  “Seven,” he said.

  They stared at him.

  “Seven. They killed seven.”

  “I think we should take a break, Captain,” Newman said. “You’ve been through a very difficult time and you need some rest.”

  “No, no I don’t!” He was still shaking but the worst of it had passed. “They killed seven innocent bystanders!” he cried. “I can’t do this. I can’t pretend any longer. I… I was in the room with them, you see? I can’t do this!”

  “Easy, Captain. You’ve been through—”

  “No. No, you weren’t there! He was right, we have no right to kill innocent women and children! I can’t do this!”

  “Captain…”

  “I tried to kill myself! I tried to swallow my tongue, I tried to choke myself by twisting my head, I tried, but…” Ryan knew now that something profound had changed in him. It had taken days to break through, but sitting here telling them all that had happened, he couldn’t deny the shift in him any longer.

  If Kahlid hadn’t accomplished his objective of changing America’s mind by personalizing the collateral damage, he had succeeded in altering Ryan’s mind.

  “Try to stay calm, Captain,” the psychiatrist was saying. “We can stop at any time if—”

  “I kept passing out until I finally managed to rub the skin on my wrists raw on the towel.”

  Newman’s eyes dropped to the bandages around his wrists. He nodded, understanding that Ryan wanted to get all of this out. To purge himself of the horror through confession.

  “When he came in and saw the blood soaking through the towel and me slumped in the chair he thought I might have succeeded. I hadn’t, but he had to stop the bleeding.”

  “He was alone?”

  “One other guard was with him, and when he undid the towels to stop the bleeding, that’s when I attacked. He thought I was unconscious and Kahlid was screaming at the guard, telling him that if I died it would all be wasted.”

  Ryan sat there in the chair still trembling, letting it all out in a long rush.

  “I grabbed Kahlid by his hair and I bit him on his face, his nose. My ankles were still taped to the legs, but they’d removed the chains when they’d strapped my arms to the chair. He was screaming and I lunged forward with his face between my teeth. The chair broke. I don’t know what all happened, because I only wanted to hurt them as much as I could before they killed me. But they didn’t want me dead, that was the thing… that was why the guard didn’t shoot me when I was over Kahlid. He tried to pull me off but he didn’t try to kill me and he couldn’t use his gun because Kahlid was right there under me. Hollering.”

  The tremors in his legs had passed. His hands were calming and had stilled almost completely when he folded them on the table.

  “You killed Kahlid?”

  “I think so. He went totally limp. But I wasn’t really thinking. I managed to knock the guard out with my elbow when he grabbed my shoulder. It was a mess, I was screaming, hitting, biting… I think my elbow slammed him back into the concrete wall, where he collapsed. I realized I could escape. So I grabbed a knife from the guard’s belt, cut the boy’s rope—”

  “They had another victim alive in the room?”

  “Yes, they’d come in to break his bones. But I set him free.”

  “And?”

  “And then I took Kahlid’s radio and ran. There were no other guards that I saw, I don’t know why… maybe they were in another part of the bunker or had gone for gas, I don’t know.”

  “None of the doors were locked?”

  “Yes, they were bolted. But I was on the inside and I opened them.”

  Doctor Newman settled in his chair. “How long did you run before you called in on the radio?”

  “I don’t remember. I had to get far enough away so that if they intercepted my transmission, they wouldn’t have the time to track me down before the helicopter came for me.”

  They sat in a protracted silence. His breakdown here in front of them could only lead to one conclusion, and thinking of it now, Ryan was filled with the same terrible urge that had haunted him as he’d sat in the dungeon and had also followed him to the hospital.

  He was a father. He’d convinced himself that he could continue his duties because it was what he did. But he couldn’t do them without being a father.

  And now he wasn’t sure he wanted to do his duties. Setting duty aside, he was left with only one desire. To be a father.

  To rush home and hold Bethany tight. To sweep Celine off her feet and kiss her and beg her forgiveness. They hadn’t let him call home yet, not before a full debriefing, but now… now…

  “I want to go home,” he said, and a fresh flood of tears silently filled his eyes.

  “You’ll need more rest.”

  “I really want to go home. I can rest at home.”

  “I think we both know that you’re suffering from post- traumatic stress disorder. These things don’t pass overnight. You’ve expressed some emotion here today, but you’re going to feel survivor guilt, guilt over feeling relieved that you escaped, and anger as well. Maybe a lot of anger.”

  “I’m begging you. Please, I need to go home. I just need to… I have a daughter and a wife.” The tears snaked down his cheeks. “Please.”

  After a moment of thought, Newman nodded. He scrawled something on the sheet in front of him.

  “I think you’re right, Captain. Command will want to review your statement. They may have more questions, but I’m going to recommend that you be put on an extended leave with on-going psychiatric treatment and evaluation CONUS.”

  “When will I be able to go home?”

  “If all goes well, you’ll be home with your wife and daughter in a week, Captain. Fair enough?”

  Ryan wiped the tears off his cheek. “I want to call my wife.”

  “I think that can be arranged. Let’s give command one day to look this over and we’ll arrange a call.”

  “Thank you. Thank you, I would like that very much.”

  10

  THE SEED THAT had taken root in Ryan’s mind after he’d lowered his guard in the psychiatrist’s debriefing had grown throughout the day and as he slept that night, until only one thought filled his mind when he awoke the next morning.

  Bethany. Celine. He had to call Celine and tell her everything. Then he had to get out. Out of the desert. Out of the war.

  He was no longer fit to serve in this war.

  The shakes had all but vanished upon his return to the hospital—he felt as stable as he had since his return. Not a thing wrong with his mind that he could discern. He’d gone into the debriefing thinking of it as yet one more game to beat so that he could get back to being who he was, and he’d come out realizing that he was no longer who he was.

  Ryan sprinkled sugar on a slice of grapefruit and placed it into his mouth. Normally he would have avoided the pink fruit because of the harsh taste the skin left in his mouth. But today he sucked the sweet nectar alongside the bitter white flesh and found the contrast refreshing.

  He took a bite of toast, looked up, and stared at the empty bed beside him. They’d removed the soldier who’d died there last night. Corporal Bill Townley from Utah who had been in-country only six days when an antipersonnel mine had removed both of his legs. Bill had told Ryan his story, explaining that he was going home to his wife and two children as soon as they could move him.
>
  The white bedsheets had been changed and folded back with perfect lines, waiting for the next patient.

  Perfect lines, like Ryan. For most of his life he’d been the stoic computer in the corner, accepting input, then calculating, parsing, breaking down data before spitting it back out in the form of a report to be acted upon by others. A fine machine, highly praised for its efficiency. He had saved lives and won freedom and been a model to follow.

  But that was the old him. In some ways he was a new man. The old version of himself had died in Kahlid’s basement along with seven children. The new version of himself had been resurrected yesterday as he endured the psychiatric evaluation.

  He couldn’t possibly thank Doctor Newman enough.

  Now realizing that he wasn’t who he thought he was, he was left with the mind-boggling task of figuring out who he really was, only a part of which he truly understood.

  The part about his role as a father.

  For the first time in many years Ryan thought he might actually be feeling love again. Real love, based on a feeling of great adoration, not simply the dull demands of duty.

  He loved Bethany, the kind of love that made men do irrational things. In all honesty, he didn’t love Celine, but he was eager to learn how. Neither knew what he’d been through this past week, naturally. It was information of a sensitive nature that he would be allowed to speak about only when they’d finished their preliminary investigation and then only if they deemed it appropriate, which they would.

  The outer door squealed and swung open. Julie walked in, smiling, black shoes clacking on the polished linoleum floor with each step. She’d said ten; it was only nine.

  Ryan pushed his tray aside, swung his legs to the floor, and stood. She ignored the other patients who watched her walk. Most had physical wounds far worse than Ryan’s superficial cuts, and he felt guilty for having taken up one of the forty-eight beds in this ward. But he supposed their decision to keep him under observation as he rested his damaged mind had been justified at the debriefing. Either way, he couldn’t wait to leave the room for good.

  “Good morning, Ryan,” Julie said, stepping up to him. “I see you’re ready.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “That’s good, because we’re early. We called your wife earlier to locate her and were informed that she has a pressing engagement this evening at eight PM central time, one she seemed unwilling to break. Texas is ten hours behind us—that would be ten in the morning, an hour from now. So we made arrangements for her to be home now.”

  “You… but you didn’t tell her anything?”

  “No. Just that it was important that you speak with her. As you requested we’ll let you break the news. Your wife hasn’t heard a word.”

  He’d rehearsed his words a dozen times through the night and had decided that he would start with an explanation of his ordeal before expressing his new outlook on both her and Bethany. She would dismiss any words of graciousness and love as so much more surface talk, the kind he offered her when the occasion fit. In order for her to understand that Ryan had changed, really changed, he would have to give her a glimpse into the pain he’d felt first.

  And Bethany… angel…

  He hoped she would embrace him the way he wanted her to. The way he needed her to.

  “Okay,” he said, stepping past her.

  He held back to let her pass and followed her from the ward to the phone room set up outside the hospital command center. “So command’s okay with it, then?”

  “The phone call? Yes.”

  “My going home.”

  “Oh, right. Based on Dr. Newman’s recommendation, yes. He wants to see you for a follow-up at ten, after your call.”

  “When? When can I go home?”

  “If he clears you, three days.”

  The ball of relief that rolled down his spine should have hardly surprised him, but he wasn’t acclimated to this new version of himself just yet. His gratitude must have been obvious, because Julie smiled.

  “It must be nice.”

  “What must be nice?”

  “Being so loved. I’m jealous.”

  “Really?”

  She cocked her eyebrow. “Not of your wife specifically, I didn’t mean it like that. But yes, really. I can tell you love your wife and daughter very much. It must be nice.”

  “It hasn’t always been like this,” was all he could think to say.

  “War changes us all, Captain. Just be thankful you’re going home in one piece.”

  How perfectly true.

  They entered a room with cubicles set up along both walls, roughly half of which were occupied by soldiers, sailors, marines, and airmen calling home for one reason or another. Julie led him to one of several at the far end, where he would have at least a modicum of privacy.

  “You have half an hour, Captain.” She smiled and turned to leave him.

  “Were you the one who spoke to my wife?”

  “I was,” she said, turning. “Don’t worry, she’s waiting by the phone.”

  “Thank you, Julie.”

  She seemed slightly amused. “You’re welcome, Ryan.”

  He eased into the metal chair, picked up the black phone receiver, and dialed the country code, the area code, and then the Austin number. The phone rang six times before going to voice mail. Celine’s chirpy prerecorded voice greeted him.

  You’ve reached the home of Celine and Bethany Evans. Call our cells or leave a message. Beeeeeep.

  “Hello?” She wasn’t picking up. “Celine?” When no once answered, he told the machine he’d try again and hung up.

  Ryan jerked his head around to see Julie glance back as she exited out the far side. She had said home, not cell. To be sure, he quickly dialed Celine’s cell phone.

  Her buoyant message—call me back if you insist—reminded him of just how independent Celine had become over the years. Which was fine, except that she’d become so because she wasn’t able to depend on him.

  Frantic now, Ryan stabbed in the home number again. Transposed the last two numbers. Swore and started over.

  The day was hot and he was sweating, but neither accounted for the faint ring in his ears.

  “Hello, Celine.”

  She answered. For a moment Ryan was too overcome by thankfulness to respond.

  “Hello?”

  “Celine?”

  “Is this Ryan?”

  “Yes… yes, hello, Celine.” The phone trembled in his hand but it quickly stilled when he placed his elbow on the desk. “It’s Ryan, honey.”

  “I was on the other line when you called, sorry about that. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? What, a month now since your last call?”

  “A month?” Had it been so long? “Yes, well… that’s not good. I—”

  “A lot’s happened in this last month,” she said. “Bethany got a cover from Youth Nation.”

  “She did? A cover?”

  “Please tell me you know what a cover is, Ryan.”

  He shifted his back toward the rest of the room. He had no idea what she was talking about. An organization called Youth Nation had offered Bethany a position, perhaps, he really couldn’t guess.

  “Celine—”

  “She’s modeling, you remember that much?”

  “Modeling? She… she’s going to be on the cover of a magazine?”

  “Youth Nation, a clothing catalog for teenagers.”

  “Wow. Wow.” He couldn’t think of what else to say to this news, so he said it again. “Wow.”

  “You might want to call and tell her yourself.”

  “I’ll call her right away. Maybe I can tell her. I mean, tell her…” Emotion flooded his chest, cutting him off. He leaned his forehead on one hand and gripped the phone with the other, choked by his own remorse.

  “On second thought, maybe it would be best if you didn’t.”

  What? What was she saying? He refused to reason through any answers to the question.

  “Cel
ine.” Where did he begin? “Celine, honey, there’s something I have to tell you. Something happened to me this week.”

  “Hold on.” The line clicked off for a few moments before she was back. “Sorry. Just Janie and her stupid cats’ shedding. Never mind.”

  “Who’s Janie?”

  Celine didn’t respond right away.

  There was something in that silence that spoke with greater volume than anything she’d yet said. You don’t even know my friends. But that’s why he was calling. He was going to make all of that good.

  “Celine… I was taken by—”

  “Why are we doing this, Ryan?” she asked in a lower voice.

  “That’s what I’m trying to say. They… I was on a mission—”

  “Please, Ryan. Be quiet for just a second. You’re rambling.”

  What was she doing? Ryan’s face flushed with heat. What was she doing? He had to get to the point.

  “I’m coming home, Celine.”

  “I can’t do this any”—she stopped and then pushed for clarification—“what do you mean, ‘coming home’?”

  “I mean I’m coming home. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. The convoy I was in was hit, and I was taken by some insurgents. It wasn’t very … it was hard.”

  “When?”

  “A week ago.”

  She hesitated.

  “Sorry. You okay?”

  “Yes. I am now.”

  “They hurt you?”

  “No.” He decided then that he would hold back any details that might make this rough on her. They needed a clean slate, not emotional turmoil over the past.

  “I’m fine. Scary there for a bit but it all panned out. It made me remember, you know.” When she didn’t respond, he added, “Remember who I am.”

  “Tough to be an American these days.”

  “No, I mean who I am there. A husband. A father.”

  She went silent.

  “I know we haven’t been on the best terms, Celine, but I would like to change that.”

  Still nothing from her. She wasn’t buying it.

  “Celine, I’m coming home.”

  “It’s too late,” she said.

  “What do you mean, too late? It’s never too late.”