Fade to Black - Proof

by Jeffrey Wilson

  Jack proceeded to ask a few innocuous questions about training and assignments. He asked about the relationship to the Navy and how the Marines got around. He even made a show of borrowing a piece of paper and jotting down a few notes, for his lecture on current events. After a few minutes he rose and stuck out his hand. He tried to conceal his deep disappointment. This had been a waste of time, other than showing him and Staff Sergeant Perry that a biology teacher from the high school had an unusually detailed understanding of how the Marine Corps was set up. What the hell did that prove?

  “Thanks a lot, Staff Sar’n,” he said. “This is a real help. I’m sure the kids will find this stuff interesting, especially with all they see on the news these days.”

  Perry rose from his chair and shook his hand firmly. “No problem, sir. Happy to help. If any of the kids want more information, especially the seniors, have them give me a call.” He handed Jack a stack of business cards.

  “You bet, Staff Sar’n,” Jack replied, slipping the business cards into his pocket. Then he turned to leave, but turned back as Perry spoke again.

  “By the way, sir,” he said from his chair. “You were right. General Thomas is still the CG at One MEF.”

  Jack stopped. He felt the blood drain from his face. How in the fuck could he possibly know that? How could he know any of this shit? The walls seemed to be closing in on him and he felt his throat tighten. For a moment he thought he smelled the all too familiar stench of the dusty Iraqi desert.

  “Thanks again,” he said over his shoulder as he headed out of the office.

  As Jack walked to the front door, with a courteous wave and thank you to the smiling receptionist, he stopped, his eye caught by the little newspaper stand by the old couch where nervous applicants waited to talk to their recruiters. On one stack was a newspaper called Marine Corps Times. On a whim Jack grabbed the top copy and folded it under his arm as he left the office.

  A few minutes later, Jack sat in the growing warmth of his Volvo and listened to Julie Roberts singing softly on the radio, apparently hoping she wouldn’t run out of gas.

  I sure would hate to break down here.

  Jack wiped the frustrated tears from his cheeks and shifted the car into gear. He maneuvered the Volvo out of his spot by the curb and carefully into traffic. Then he headed home to his girls, his Marine Corps Times unopened on the seat beside him and his head full of more questions than answers.

  * * *

  Jack’s dark mood and deep confusion lifted instantly when he walked through the door of his home. The smell of the house, the scattered toys, the sight of his wife, all combined to melt away the pain of the last few hours. He felt his shoulders drop as his tension evaporated.

  Pam sat on the couch, legs tucked up underneath her. As he came through the door, her face lit up and her eyes pulled away from the TV and whatever the gang was making on HGTV. Jack felt a surge of guilt as he saw that she was eating peanut butter toast off a paper napkin.

  “Hey, baby,” she said, reaching a hand out to him without getting up. Her face looked so beautiful, smiling as she was. Jack took her hand, then leaned over and kissed her. Peanut butter. He felt bad again. “I tried to wait for you, sweetheart, but I got too hungry.”

  “That’s ok, Pam,” Jack said, plopping onto the couch next to her. “I’m sorry I took so long. I had to sort out some of the things we talked about in the session. I grabbed a bite downtown.” He looked at his wife, who still looked happy to see him. “Sorry I didn’t call you,” he added.

  “Don’t be silly,” Pam said, shaking her head. “Claire Bear is napping.” She slid up closer to him, wrapping her arms tightly around his and leaning against his shoulder. “How did it go, Jack? How do you feel?”

  Jack considered a moment. How much should he tell her about the restaurant? What would she think about the recruiter visit? It didn’t matter, Jack realized. He would tell her everything. Telling her all the missing details the other morning had set him free somehow, or given him strength. She was there for him, as he would be for her whenever she might need him, and he wasn’t going to lose that. Jack squeezed her arm and kissed her cheek.

  “Well, it’s been an interesting day,” he began.

  He told her every detail of his morning and early afternoon, and felt the bond he shared with his wife as he spoke. His worries that she would judge him or be frightened drained away, and he wanted her to be with him for wherever this was taking them. He started with his session with Lewellyn, and shared with her his surprise and fear over the idea of confronting his “images.”

  Pam held him tightly during this, her arms wrapped around him.

  “Do you think it would help you, Jack? Do you think you could do it?” she asked. “You have to admit, it kind of makes a lot of sense.”

  “I don’t know,” Jack answered honestly, his head leaning against hers. “It seems kind of flaky, talking to a hallucination.”

  “But wouldn’t you really be just listening to yourself?” she asked, turning to look him in the eyes. “I mean, isn’t that sort of what Dr. Lewellyn is saying?”

  “Yes,” he replied, feeling himself tense up a bit. Pam had an uncanny way of seeing right to the heart of the matter. “But it’s still scary. I mean there is a part of me that still feels it’s all so real. And these images,” Jack shuddered unconsciously, but his wife felt it and hugged him tighter. “Well, they can be pretty horrifying.”

  Pam leaned against his arm again and said nothing. Jack continued, talking briefly about the review of his childhood and then told her of their conversation about her. How they had fallen in love in college, and most importantly, how she and Claire meant everything to him. She sighed at that part; a content and happy sigh. Then he talked about their conversation about the Marine Corps at the deli one Saturday during college.

  “Do you remember that?” he asked, his voice hesitant.

  Pam thought a minute. “Sort of,” she answered. “You talked about it a lot during college.”

  “I did?” Jack asked, surprised. Pam seemed confused by his reaction.

  “Sure, Jack,” she said. “You talked a lot about serving your country and giving something back, that sort of thing. You still talk about it sometimes.” She had laid her head back on his shoulder. “What else did you guys talk about?”

  Jack hesitated. Why could he not remember that he had talked often about the military? In his mind he remembered mostly that it was an opportunity to help earn money for college. His memories of them when they were dating revolved mostly around his burning desire to be with her always, to have a family and grow old together. Well, and to get in her pants—they had been nineteen at the time, after all.

  “Well, the thing that bothered me the most was how, I don’t know, sort of fragmented my memories are after that. It’s like I only remember big picture stuff.” Jack closed his eyes, picturing some of those images that he treasured. “You holding Claire, her birthday, how beautiful you were at our wedding, that sort of thing. But it’s sort of disjointed or something.” Jack sighed heavily. “I don’t know, baby. It’s like somewhere in there is the answer and I can’t get to it.”

  “Or you’re afraid of it,” Pam finished for him without looking up.

  “Yeah,” Jack said then paused. What on earth was in there that scared him so? How could he lose such blocks of their life? And why did Pam seem so okay with that?

  Jack shook the weird, ominous feeling off and continued. He told her of his lunch and the mistake with the waiter. By now he felt relaxed and comfortable, and when he told her of the “image” of Commander Hoag in the booth, he wasn’t even aware that he no longer hesitated or thought at all that the story would make Pam pull away from him. He told her of yelling at the empty booth on his way out the door.

  “That must have been a sight,” she said with a smile and hugged him again. He heard no worry or fear in her voice. If she was concerned about her husband’s sanity, she was doing a helluva job concealing it,
Jack thought.

  “Then I did something that may have been stupid,” he said, and pulled back from her so he could see her face and gauge her reaction. “Or at least I think it would make Lewellyn mad,” he said, but of course he was really only worried that it would upset her.

  “What’s that, baby?” Jack thought he saw a glimmer of concern in her eyes.

  “Well,” he began. “It was kind of impulsive. There was a recruiting station on the corner downtown, and I guess I kind of went there.” He paused again and studied her face.

  “You went to a recruiter, Jack?” There was a mix of confusion and worry in her face now. “What on earth would you do that for?” Pam still held his arm, but she pulled back to see him more clearly.

  “I don’t know,” Jack said, embarrassed now. What the hell had he hoped he would get from Staff Sergeant Perry? “I think I just needed to see if the details that my mind keeps telling me about the Marines were just made up, or if I really do know this shit. I mean why would I know these things, Pam?” Jack realized the question was in no way rhetorical. He really needed to hear her thoughts on this.

  “Jack,” Pam said softly, holding his hand now, a patient parent with a slow child. “You read dozens of brochures about the Marine Corps a few years ago. You devoured information about the military when you thought it might be a career choice for you. You know how you are, baby. You learn everything about things that interest you. You haven’t thought about these things in years, but those things are still rattling around up there.” She tapped his temple gently. “Then, when whatever it is about this goddamn war grabbed you like it has, it came back to you.”

  It seemed so simple the way she said it, so obvious. Jack looked at the floor and thought hard for a moment. That wouldn’t really explain knowing who the commanding general of First MEF was, though. But, Jack supposed, he could have just picked that up from the news, maybe, and tucked it into his memory without knowing it. Pam could be right. He wanted to believe that, wanted desperately to believe anything that meant he wasn’t crazy. Or worse, trapped in a very real but horrifying world, where dead buddies visited you in a dreamed reality you created for yourself. Yes, Pam had to be right, but of course, none of it explained why he was having nightmares and hallucinations in the first place.

  “So what did you find out, Jack? What did Sergeant Perry tell you?”

  Jack snapped out of his thoughts. What had she said? Sergeant Perry? Jack was sure he hadn’t told Pam his name. He didn’t think he had told her any detail of the visit yet, in fact he knew he hadn’t. What the fuck? Jack felt his anxiety grow, and a fear he couldn’t understand. Something was very wrong here. Very fucking wrong! Pam’s reactions were too perfect, too controlled. How could she not be upset by the things he was telling her? He had talked to a fucking ghost in a crowded fucking restaurant for Christ’s sake! If she had told him that, he would have been mad with worry. And fear, too, probably. Not for himself, but for the woman he loved, and maybe for their child. Jack was gripped even tighter now by fear and the feeling that this, all of this, was somehow very wrong.

  “Jack?”

  Jack looked up, almost sure he would find himself holding hands with Simmons, his faceless grin and bloody gums staring back at him.

  Come back Sar’n!

  But it was Pam, her face full of worry now, her eyes clouded.

  “Jack, what is it? What’s wrong, baby?” She was holding both of his hands now and her voice trembled.

  “I…I…uh…” Jack stammered. This was insane! He was paranoid as hell and now he was letting it hurt Pam. He gripped her hands tightly and closed his eyes, squeezing them until there were white flashes in his vision.

  Stop it, goddamnit! Stop this shit right now!

  He opened his eyes and looked at his wife, the most real thing he had ever had in his life. Then he smiled at her tightly.

  “I’m sorry, baby,” and he kissed her cheek. “Just another flash of something. I’m so sorry.” Jack leaned over and took his wife in his arms, her head on his shoulder, and rocked her gently. Pam clung to him.

  “Everything is ok, Jack,” she said, the tremor gone from her voice. “I love you so much, baby. I am so proud of you and I love you so much.”

  He held her like that for a long time, neither saying a word, their eyes closed. Jack had no idea where to go from here. God, please let Lewellyn have some ideas tomorrow. Then Pam broke the embrace and stood up.

  She still held his hand, but stood beside him now. The light from the kitchen silhouetted her from behind, and Jack had the distinct feeling again that he was looking at an angel. His angel. God, how he loved this woman. Jack felt a lump in his throat.

  “Jack,” she said, her voice soft and soothing, her hand warm in his.

  “Yes?” he said.

  Please, say something that will make the fear go away. Please, help me.

  “Claire will be napping for another hour or so, sweetheart.” Her eyes seemed almost glowing. “Will you come upstairs with me? Will you lie with me and let me take you away from all of this for a while?” She squeezed his hand.

  Jack rose and hugged his wife tightly, feeling her arms around him, breathing in her scent again. What on earth could possibly be in his mind that would take him away from this woman and all her love? Jack broke the hug and kissed his wife deeply, his tongue exploring her mouth as she pressed against him. And again, the feel of her and the love in her eyes took all of the nightmare far, far away; back to some deep recess in his hurting mind.

  “Lead the way, honey,” he said. “I place myself in your very capable hands.”

  Together they nearly ran up the stairs, hand in hand, to their bed and sanctuary from his madness.

  Chapter

  16

  The afternoon gave Jack a renewed sense of hope. It was not just the lovemaking (though that was fantastic) and the closeness and vivid sense of reality it had brought. It was just as much the simple things that the day provided. The time spent playing with Claire in their bed. The walk to the playground hand in hand, their little girl pointing at squirrels from her stroller, squealing with delight. It had been the trip to the grocery store with all three of them together (though he wondered briefly if Pam was afraid to let him go out alone, and had to shake the feeling off). It had been laughing and teasing each other while they made dinner together, Claire looking at picture books in her high chair. It had been sipping wine over a simple spaghetti dinner, and cleaning Claire’s spaghetti sauce clown face off while they all laughed. When Claire was asleep again in her crib, after Jack read her stories (“Rainbow fish went into a scary cave”), they had cuddled on the couch together. They finished their bottle of Shiraz and talked about the future, neither even trying to follow the senseless sitcoms on the TV. Jack had not felt at all afraid. He had been full of hope.

  Now, lying in bed beside his wife, her sleeping head on his shoulder and her soft arm across his chest, Jack fought desperately to hang on to those feelings. His mind kept pulling him to the fears of his day and doubts about the future they had planned on the couch. It was hard not to be haunted by thoughts of tomorrow and what it would bring, with his looming session with Lewellyn and all the burning questions his mind tried to raise. The things Pam had said earlier about his knowledge of the Marine Corps made perfect sense, but still seemed off somehow for reasons that were hazy, like shadows in the dark.

  Jack yawned a deep and tired yawn. He had taken his magic pills and sleep was pulling at him. He allowed himself to collapse and to give in to his exhaustion. He would think about these things tomorrow. He kissed Pam lightly on the lips.

  “I love you, baby,” he said, and let his heavy eyes close.

  “Mmmmm,” Pam replied.

  In moments he was fast asleep beside her.

  * * *

  Jack dreamed, despite the medicine that Lewellyn and Barton had given him, but this time he dreamed without fear.

  Jack walked along the sand berm in his tennis shoes
and jeans, shivering slightly in the cool desert air. Despite the night, the half‐moon made it surprisingly easy to see, and Jack maneuvered along the berm towards the hushed voices farther up the large wall of sand and rock. Just over the berm, Jack could see a rim of light in the distance.

  Fallujah.

  He kind of expected to feel a rush of fear or anxiety. He felt nothing but calm. Maybe it was because he knew he was dreaming. Or maybe because in this dream he was himself, Jack, instead of a dying Marine sergeant who couldn’t get enough air into his bleeding lungs. He knew his beautiful wife slept beside him seven thousand miles away and that their daughter slept just a few steps up the hall in her nursery. They were both safe. Or maybe the medicine, the Effexor, did something after all. Maybe that was what made it all tolerable. Whatever the reason, he actually felt pretty damn good, a new feeling but he sure as hell liked it. Jack smiled a little in the dark.

  As Jack got closer to the hushed voices they became more discernible, more like talk than just noise, and he could see a group of young men huddled together against the berm, leaning back, legs stretched out in the dirt. A few orange cat eyes bobbed around the group, glowing ash from lit cigarettes that a few of the Marines smoked as they talked and laughed in hushed whispers. When Jack got a few feet from them, he stopped, and sat cross-legged (criss-cross apple sauce, Claire giggled in his mind) in the dirt and listened to the young men.

  “Rich, you would eat the ass out of dead rhino,” a voice cracked. That had to be Bennet, Tex to his Marine buddies (like every Texan in every Marine platoon, Jack thought).

  “Fuck you, man,” Simmons answered, his neutral upstate New York accent contrasting sharply with Bennet’s slow drawl. “I’m telling you this shit is good. This is the best MRE they give us.”

  “God, Rich, you say that about every fuckin’ MRE meal.” Jack wasn’t sure at first if he could place the voice, but then realized it sounded like Ballard, a lanky kid with bad acne from Ohio. Probably the best shot in the platoon. Jack (Casey) had taken him off the SAW, the M249 machine gun, and put him back on an M16A, but with a laser scope, early in the deployment. “You even said that about that ‘Captain’s Country Chicken’ shit, remember Mac?”