by Carly Fall
The explosion, or accident, as the Marines officially called it, and its aftermath, were what kept him up at night, only allowing him to sleep a few hours at a time. His unit had been doing what they were sent to do: gather intelligence on a drug Cartel.
After the accident, he’d woken up thirty days later in Corpus Christi Hospital feeling fine, like he’d just risen from a long nap. A fellow Marine sat his bedside with a stack of papers for him to sign. He tried to understand the reason for his honorable discharge, but none of it made any sense. He’d done nothing wrong, so why was he being let go?
No one seemed willing or able to answer the question. Brody had climbed the chain of command to try to find some answers, but he was stonewalled and finally told to back off.
When released from the hospital, a man in a simple black suit escorted him out. The man did not speak to him, but Brody could see his eyes roaming the hospital parking lot behind his dark glasses, as if he were looking for someone or something.
They got into his sedan, and sped out.
“Where are you taking me?” Brody asked.
“To your new home,” the man answered.
“I want to go back to North Carolina,” Brody stated, figuring he could meet up with some of his unit and they could figure out exactly what was going on, and really, he had no where else to go as both his parents had died.
His father had a heart attack out at sea, and his mother passed on a few months later. Brody had always believed she died of a broken heart, as she was never the same after she lost her husband.
The man shook his head, turning left. “No. You now live in Corpus Christi as the captain of a fishing boat.”
Brody argued with the man, at the end of his patience with the non-answers and being ordered what to do. Sure, the military was nothing but a string of orders, but at least there he had understood the purpose most of the time. Now, he felt as if he resided in a different dimension of life where nothing was as it should be. Nothing made sense.
They pulled up to the Mexican restaurant, and the man got out of the sedan. Brody followed, staring at the old brick building, the smell of fajitas making his stomach rumble.
“Come on,” the man called over his shoulder as he moved toward the building. Brody looked around and backed away. Where he would go, he didn’t know, but he needed some answers, and if he had to strike out on his own to find them, so be it.
The man turned as if he read Brody’s thoughts, and leveled a gun at him. Brody stood in the parking lot, shocked. Who was this guy?
The man approached him and pressed the gun into Brody’s forehead.
“Listen to me,” he hissed. “This is your life now, so forget about how it used to be. Forget the people you knew. Dismiss it all. You have no past. This shitty apartment on the beach is the best it’s going to get, so deal with it and follow me.”
Brody shivered at the man’s tone, and he knew deep down that the man wouldn’t think twice about putting a bullet in his head. At this point, it was probably best to do what he had been told.
Brody came back to the present and glanced around his one bedroom palace. His new “life” had begun six months ago, and he hated what it had become, but he didn’t see a way to make any of it different.
The accident had dramatically altered his existence, and he now lived solitarily. For the past six months, someone stopped by to check on him, to make sure he wasn’t railing against the government, that he wasn’t telling anyone about the ability he sprouted after the explosion. Oftentimes he wondered what his keepers would do to Charlie if they knew he was aware of Brody’s secret, and he cringed.
He never should have told the boy, and he prayed every night the kid had the wherewithal to keep his trap shut. The only reason Brody had told him was because he felt sorry for Charlie. The kid tended to be a bit of a loner and had very few friends, reminding Brody of himself as a child. Although Charlie hated school, he had street smarts, and he knew a man who could harness the power of the ocean wasn’t normal, and people didn’t like things they couldn’t understand. So, yeah, it had been irresponsible for Brody to tell Charlie about his secret, but even though his mom did the best she could, the kid had a rough life. Brody wanted him to feel special; to let him know that he had information no one else did, so he’d told him.
Brody sighed. He had to stop thinking about the explosion, his past, and focus on what he needed to do to make sure the bank didn’t repossessed his damn boat.
Chapter 4
Rayna had left work early to prepare for her flight in the morning. She sipped a glass of wine while reading the file of Brody Teller, former Marine, on her computer. A lot of it was redacted, and it irritated her to no end. If they wanted her to check in on him, she felt she should at least be given all the details.
As she studied the picture of the man in his mid-twenties with sharp features, a full mouth, dark eyes, and a buzz cut, she had to smile. “You’re a good looking one, aren’t you,” she murmured, “but I can’t sit here staring at you all evening. Sorry.”
He’d served three tours, two in Iraq and one in Afghanistan. The report stated the accident happened deep in the jungles of Guatemala while nine members of the Platoon were on a recon mission approximately seven months ago.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she mumbled as she read that the warehouse the Platoon had been investigating belonged to the Gomez Cartel, namely, her father.
She clicked through the pictures of the aftermath of the explosion. The warehouse was leveled, the trees and foliage around it black from fire, and she wondered what her father thought about it. She would never ask, but did the government use his warehouse with his permission or did they decide to overtake it?
She’d never know the answer, and anxiety coiled in her gut. This assignment hit a little too close to home.
Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself there was really no way for the CIA to identify her father. He wasn’t even listed on her birth certificate, and she had her mother’s last name. Even though the facts should settle her mind, she still worried.
“You’ve got your panties in a knot about nothing,” she said. “You also need to get a cat, or at least a fish, so you don’t seem so bat-shit crazy when you’re talking to yourself.”
Going back to the report, the explosion was described as “brutal” by some of the marines affected. All nine of them lived, and all described the same experience during the blast: they were blinded and lost their hearing; they suffered excruciating headaches, were overcome by noxious fumes, and then passed out. Some woke earlier than others, but Brody had been unconscious for thirty days.
The names of the other Platoon members were inked out, as was the name of the scientist who ran the experiment.
The purpose of the test was to see if soldiers could be given supernatural abilities. The test had been successful on all nine marines.
“Like what abilities?” Rayna asked, clicking the mouse to the next page, only to find it completely redacted.
She went to the next page, which was also blacked out, and also the end of the file.
Sitting back in her chair, she clicked back to Brody’s picture. Supernatural abilities? She sipped her wine and thought about it. Did they turn into something like a Marvel comic hero? Like Wolverine or Spiderman? Or was it something less noticeable, like psychic abilities?
Finishing her wine, she printed out his picture and then went to pack. Tomorrow she’d see what a guinea pig soldier looked like. Would she be able to detect his talents? Would he show her what he was capable of?
Chapter 5
Brody and Charlie walked up the dock just as the sun was setting. They tried a bit of fishing, but didn’t catch anything but a trout too small to keep. They were happy to sit on the boat and talk while sipping sodas.
“Thanks for taking me out, Brody,” Charlie said, smiling up at him.
“Of course. Anytime, little man, anytime,” Brody said ruffling Charlie’s hair.
; As they reached the parking lot, they heard, “Mr. Teller?”
Brody turned around at the sound of his name. Two men stared at them, one in a wheelchair, and the other standing directly behind him. The man in the wheelchair was dressed in a black suit with a white shirt, while the guy standing behind him wore a blue tracksuit. The hairs on Brody’s neck tingled and danced, and his anger rose. He glanced over at the ocean and noticed the water swelling.
“May we have a word with you?” the man in the wheelchair said, and he wheeled himself toward Brody and Charlie.
The man in the chair reminded Brody of the people who had taken away his past life, and given him this one. Visions of the man in the black suit who had broke into his apartment and held a gun to his head in the middle of the night just last month played through his mind. That had been his monthly monitoring call, and it still pissed him off when he thought about it. Those who supervised him showed up at any time, morning, noon or dead of the night. He never knew what day or what time of day he would be visited, keeping predictability at bay.
Brody stalked over to them, and the sweat suit guy stepped in between Brody and the man in the wheelchair.
“What do you want?” Brody growled.
“We simply want to talk to you,” wheelchair man said. “My name is Joe Smith.”
Brody rolled his eyes. “You’re joking right?”
He shrugged. “Does it matter?”
“What do you want?” Brody asked again. “You want to put another gun to my head? Maybe have your boy here rough me up a little?”
Joe smiled and laced his fingers together. “I have no idea what events you are referring to, but I can assure you that I was not responsible for them. I tend to be much more civilized, Mr. Teller.”
“Then who are you?” Brody asked. “What do you want with me?”
“I’ve told you my name. That’s who I am. And what I want is to give you your life back.”
A flicker of optimism flamed within Brody, but he quickly extinguished it. It was easier to be angry than to have hope.
“Whatever, man,” Brody mumbled and turned away. The waves crashed at the shore as if a large storm loomed at sea. The only storm brewing was the one in his gut. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself.
“Don’t walk away, Mr. Teller,” Joe called. “At least hear what I have to say to you.”
Brody turned as Joe wheeled toward him.
“What’s going on? Who are they?” Charlie asked.
“Just keep walking,” Brody muttered. He’d probably take on Sweatpants and Joe if Charlie weren’t around. God knew he was pissed off enough to do so, but the kid didn’t need to bare witness to a violent confrontation.
“Mr. Teller, I know what you’re feeling,” Joe continued. “I know the pain of loss, the hurt of deception. Please. I’m just trying to make it right.”
Brody glanced back at the man. His shoulders were broad, his brown hair trimmed close to his skull. Wire-rimmed glasses framed blue eyes, and as he smiled at Brody, small lines appeared around them.
Placing his hand on Charlie’s shoulder, he realized the less Charlie was aware of the situation, the better off he’d be. The boy already knew too much with the simple knowledge of Brody’s ability.
“Wait down by the water,” Brody mumbled, tousling his hair again. “Stay where I can see you, but be careful not to get too close to the shoreline.”
Charlie nodded, gazing out at the blue waves.
“You’re angry,” he whispered, reading Brody’s mood in the crashing sea.
“Yep. Be careful, and stay on the beach.”
Without another word, Charlie walked down to the waterline and sat in the sand, his back to them.
“What’s this about?” Brody demanded.
Joe smiled. “It’s about you getting your life back.”
“And how exactly is that going to happen?”
Joe looked around. A few people walked through the marina, an odd car drove by, but they were alone. “I’d prefer to talk to you somewhere else, Mr. Teller. Somewhere that we aren’t so exposed.”
“We can talk right fucking here,” Brody growled, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ve been screwed around enough by people like you.”
Sweatpants took a step toward him again.
“And I’m advising you to tell your dog to back off,” Brody said.
“Thomas, it’s okay,” Joe murmured, wheeling himself closer to Brody. Thomas took a step back.
“Mr. Teller, I can see you’re angry. I can see it in your face and in the sea. I hope the boy will be careful on the shore.”
Brody felt as if he’d just been punched in the gut. How did the man know that Brody was intricately attached to the ocean? “Excuse me?” Brody whispered.
“Yes, I know everything about you, Brody,” Joe said. “I know that you were in Guatemala. I know about the so-called accident. I know you were discharged, with honors, I believe, and that they set you up here in this lovely little town where you were told about this strange gift of being able to harness the powers of the sea. Somehow, you and the ocean seem to be connected.”
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Brody stammered, fear for himself and Charlie now curling his gut.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Mr. Teller. I simply want to talk to you, and possibly give you some of the answers you’ve been wanting. I have an offer for you where you can use your abilities for good use.”
“I’m fine right where I’m at, and I have no idea what the fuck you’re referring to,” Brody said.
Joe nodded and sighed. “Very well, Mr. Teller. I’m not going to sit here and try to convince you to hear me out. However, if you do decide to at least listen to what I have to say, I would greatly appreciate just a few minutes of your time.”
He pulled out a white card and stretched it toward Brody. Hesitantly, Brody took it, curiosity eating at him.
“Have a good day, Mr. Teller,” Joe said, wheeling his chair around toward the parking lot, Thomas following.
Brody watched as they approached a black van. Thomas pulled a key fob out of his pocket, and the side door slid open. A ramp descended, and Joe wheeled himself up and into the van while Thomas went to the driver’s side. The door slid shut, and the van pulled away.
“Who was that?” Charlie asked from his side. “What did they want?”
“I don’t know,” Brody mumbled. Yes, he was curious, but the fact that Joe and Thomas knew of his friendship with Charlie left a cold stone in his stomach. What if they were part of the organization that had stripped him of his life? “Let’s get you home, okay?”
As they walked in silence, Brody had the feeling he needed to get Charlie and Lara out of Corpus Christi sooner than later.
Chapter 6
Rayna checked the photo she’d printed and compared it to the very agitated guy talking to the man in the wheelchair.
Without a doubt, it was Brody Teller. His hair was longer, but he still had the hard, Marine physique and despite his sunglasses, she recognized his sharp features.
With the information John had given her, tracking him down had been easy. When he wasn’t at his apartment, she went to the marina and noticed his boat was gone. She waited for it to return and observed all the subsequent events.
She wasn’t sure what to expect from a man who had been a military experiment. Perhaps a disfigurement of some kind? She certainly didn’t see anything wrong with him—all appendages seemed to be in place. Maybe he had been affected mentally. She’d have to assess his mental state when she talked to him.
His black as night shaggy hair fell just below his ears, his chiseled body moved with grace. No, there definitely wasn’t any disfigurement.
As he pushed the sunglasses up his nose and turned to the boy, she noted the soft smile, indicating he cared about the kid.
She watched the three men talk as the boy walked down to the shoreline, and wished she could be a fly on the wheelchair, so to speak
.
Based on Brody’s body language, his anger continued to grow, but yet, the waves beating against the sand was soothing. It was a contradiction for her senses.
When he snatched the card from the man in the wheelchair and watched him leave in the van, she noticed his body relaxed. When the boy approached him and they walked down the beach, she followed and noted that Brody seemed to be at peace as his shoulders loosened and he placed his hand protectively over the boy’s neck.
Rayna had no idea who the man in the wheelchair was, but she did know Brody lived a simple life and did nothing to draw attention to himself. His resided above a Mexican restaurant in a shithole apartment, and from what little she’d witnessed, his only friend was a kid.
As she followed them home, she made a mental note of where he dropped the boy, and then trailed him to his own apartment.
When Brody was tucked away inside, she climbed the steps and knocked on the door.
He opened a moment later, glaring at her. “What?”
“Brody Teller?”
Narrowing his gaze on her, he asked, “Who wants to know?”
She would have said the exact same thing to her inquiry, and she admired a man who valued his privacy. “I do. I’ve been sent to check up on you.”
His eyes raked her from head to toe as he scratched the stubble on his face. “They don’t usually send a woman, and you sure as shit don’t look like military.”
“Well, this time they did,” she said, standing at her full height, her hands on the waist of her gray slacks. “And I’m not military.”
“Then what are you?” Brody asked.
“Can I come in?”
“No.”
Rayna sighed. “Look, it’s apparent you don’t want me here, and frankly, I don’t want to be here. How about you let me in, we chat for a few moments, and then I leave?”
“I don’t even know your name,” Brody said. “Why would I let you in?”
