Ransom's Redemption

by Rhavensfyre

  “Damn it, Victoria.” Ransom snapped the case shut and slammed it back into the drawer, then dug deeper, past the two-inch-thick medical folder that detailed her path back to the land of the living and pulled out a small packet of letters.

  There were only a dozen of them. Dirty, the edges creased and folded from being crammed inside a sea bag, but they all had two things in common. They were unopened, and they were all sent to her while she was deployed. The nurse at the hospital had been so thrilled to hand them to her, these letters that had chased her through the snail mail system from place to place and never making it in time. By the time they did reach her, all of them rubber banded into one neat bundle, it was too late. She wasn’t the same person she had been; those letters were just a reminder of how much she’d changed.

  She tapped the letters on the desk, then flipped through them like shuffling a deck of cards. The same name appeared in the upper left hand corner of every envelope, scribbled in the messy scrawl of someone used to typing more than writing.

  Victoria Carrillo.

  ***

  Come out, come out…wherever you are. I see you, Victoria, your shadow behind the bedroom window. I knew you would come back. You can’t stay away from your client’s for long. They make you feel too important.

  Chapter Nine

  Ransom struggled to wake herself up. Covered in sweat, her throat wrapped around a silent scream so painfully tight she could barely breathe, she fought and lost the battle inside her head. Every breath pulled acrid smoke into her lungs. They burned in memory of the heat and fire that almost consumed her. She blinked away the hot tears streaming down her face, then scrubbed at her eyes, trying to erase the images of torn flesh and hot metal around her but it was no use. She knew what came next. The smell of burning gas, followed by a blast so loud it turned the world around her silent, then the excruciating agony. A dozen pinpoints of white hot pain exploded through her shoulder, rendering her left arm useless. Then sound returned, whooshing back into the world like a whirlwind and carrying with it the terrible screams of the wounded. Hot sand and burning shrapnel licked at her uniform and sliced through her sleeves, leaving a bloody trail behind her as she crawled away from the burning Humvee. The blaze was a beacon of light that was sure to attract attention and make her vulnerable to detection. Her heart beat painfully inside her chest, trying to keep up with the demands of her body.

  “No!” she shouted, sitting straight up in bed. She had relived this moment in her life way too many times and it always ended the same way, no surprises, and no straying from the script. Sometimes she was lucky and could pull herself out before the end, like tonight.

  “Jesus,” she muttered. She hadn’t had “The Nightmare” this bad in over a month. She had started to believe that it was fading away on its own, but that hope was shattered when Victoria showed up. I never wanted to be responsible for anyone ever again. Yet, here I am.

  Ransom threw off her sweat-soaked sheets and crawled out of bed. She had to do something, anything to get the nightmare out of her head. Slipping into a pair of sweatpants and racer back tank top, she padded down to the basement where she had set up a gym. She cranked up the stereo to an appropriate decibel level to drown out the sounds of gunfire bouncing around in her head, then spent a few minutes wrapping her hands. Her shoulder still ached, whether it was from the old injuries or from the nightmare she didn’t know, and she had to roll and stretch out the tight tendons and muscles before she could even begin.

  It was all a part of the ritual, and she felt the dream fade with each exercise as she started punching and kicking the specialized training dummy she had bought to stay sharp with her martial arts training. She was really getting into the groove of it, her punches and kicks hitting the lifelike target with a steady rhythm as she changed up the combinations instinctively, her eyes focused on some inner vision as she took her pent-up emotions out on the inanimate body.

  She spun around, her hands up in a defensive posture when she heard a soft step behind her followed by absolute silence as her music was turned off—not just down but off.

  Victoria stood in the doorway, her finger still on the off button, wearing nothing but a very short, silk like pajama set that would have easily gotten Ransom’s attention three years ago.

  “What the hell Victoria, you have no right!” Ransom yelled. She wasn’t really in a very good place right now, and she definitely wasn’t in the mood for Victoria’s word games.

  “Is it really necessary to play it that loud? And at three in the morning? I could hear it all the way up in my room.” A wave of nausea hit her, followed by painful throbbing that somehow managed to make her eyes feel like swollen balloons. It hurt. She closed them against the painfully bright fluorescent lights and rubbed her temples. Bright spots danced behind her eyelids, which felt like two pieces of sandpaper rubbing against her corneas. “Ugh, my head. I swear it feels like someone’s taking a jackhammer to my sinuses.”

  “Whose fault is that?” Ransom snarled. Red faced from exertion and covered in sweat, she glared at Victoria with more fury than being interrupted from an impromptu workout session warranted. “I wasn’t the one who told you to go hunting for the liquor cabinet key and get hammered.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Victoria admitted. “And you have every right to be angry at me.”

  “Is that an apology?” Ransom’s entire demeanor changed. She crossed her arms and stared at Victoria. She didn’t blink, or fidget, she just watched and waited.

  Victoria swallowed nervously. Never had she met a person, let alone a woman who could pull off such casual potentiality. She had to cast about for the right word, and that was as close as she could get. The potential for action, even violence, while remaining completely still unsettled Victoria. The longer she stood there, arms crossed, legs shoulder width across, hips loose and ready to move in any direction at a moment’s notice…the more nervous she became.

  “Yes?” Her answer became a question the moment it left her lips. How did she do that? Make me question myself and my motives with just a question and a look? Doubt was not something she was used to, and lately there was a lot of it going around. Too much. She dropped her shoulders in defeat.

  “You’re right. My behavior was inexcusable. I’m sorry.”

  “No. Never say you’re sorry.” Ransom dropped her arms and smiled. “You can be a sorry ass, but sorry isn’t an apology.”

  “I’m sorry, now I’m confused.” Victoria shook her head, then winced when her brain didn’t like being bounced around inside its box like loose change.

  “Sorry implies you hurt my feelings, Victoria. An apology is all about accountability. That’s what I was taught in the military. No one says they're sorry. You apologize for failing to meet expectations, face the consequences, and move the hell on. From the look on your face, I have a feeling you’re already feeling the consequences. I see one hell of a hangover in your future.”

  “So, what you’re trying to tell me is emotions don’t matter? I don’t believe that. Look at you. It’s three in the morning and you’re down here beating the hell out of a mannequin. Can you honestly tell me this has nothing to do with what happened between us earlier?” Victoria spoke softly, partially because loud noises were starting to make her want to throw up, even the sound of her own voice, but mostly because it was what she did…ask questions. Even on the cusp of the worst hangover of her life, she couldn’t divorce her inner therapist.

  “No, I can’t, but not for the reasons you think.” Ransom looked away. She wasn’t about to tell Victoria a nightmare drove her down here. That was none of her business.

  “Since you don’t know what I think, why don’t you let me in on what you know. I can tell that something is bothering you.” Victoria found a bench closer to Ransom and sat down. There was something else going on here, something more than her being upset about Victoria drinking too much and making a fool of herself.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” Ransom
closed her eyes, and the nightmare was right there, just waiting for her to return. The inside of her eyelids were an appropriately hellish blood red backdrop for her own personal movie theatre. They went after one of the transport vehicles first, tossing a backpack into the back of the vehicle before speeding away. The heavy vehicle jumped into the air as the explosion boomed around them, a fireball lighting the darkened sky as Ransom’s world slowed down to a crawl. She watched the burning vehicle descend to the ground, it almost seemed to float on the smoke and flames, then reality sped up to painfully pull her into a world of gunfire and insanity. She held someone she cared for in her one good arm and lied to them shamelessly, ignoring her own wounds and struggling to remain conscious so they wouldn’t be alone. She smiled up at Ransom, trusting her judgement and content to lie there until help came, but the only thing that happened was death. Ransom watched the light behind her eyes fade, then blink out, bleeding out into the ground around them. Her uniform was soaked with the same damning blood, mixing with hers and staining her camo’s a deep, dark crimson red, the true color of hell on earth. Ransom forced her eyelids open, only to find Victoria right there, watching her closely.

  “It’s pretty obvious to me that you need to,” Victoria spoke softly. The distant look in Ransom’s eyes was disturbing. She appeared so far away, like she was watching something behind Victoria that no one else could see. Victoria felt transparent, a ghost in a room full of ghosts that spoke to Ransom louder than she could ever shout. She reached out and caressed Ransom’s cheek, just to make sure they were still together on the same plane of existence. “Ransom?”

  Ransom blinked. Victoria watched as pain and loss, then conflict and anger shuttered across her eyes. Another blink and there was nothing. In an incredible display of self-control, Ransom clamped down on her emotions until there was nothing left to prove that the last few minutes even happened. She looked at Victoria calmly before speaking again.

  “I can’t talk about it, not yet, and certainly not with you. I’m sure Samuel’s told you why, and if I know him as well as I think I do…he’s even given you a few hints on how to deal with me. Filled you in on all the interesting factoids about Ransom’s fucked up life, just in case your stay here gives you the opportunity to get through to me.” Ransom was on a roll now, throwing punches left and right without worrying about the damage she was inflicting. “I don’t need to stroll down memory lane right now. I won’t appreciate it if you try to push me, and all you will do is make this more difficult for the both of us.”

  “I understand,” Victoria said. They had a past together. She was too close to her because of it, not because it happened, but because she hadn’t let it go. I still have feelings for her. I can’t be her therapist. It wouldn’t be ethical. She swallowed past the pain that came with that realization. “Is there anything else I can do?”

  “Right now? You can turn my music back on and give me some space. It’s still early. The sun won’t be up for a couple of hours. I’ll keep the volume down so you can sleep…there’s no reason we should both have to be awake.”

  “I will. But just one thing before I go. I need to know…am I one of those things from your past you don’t want to talk about?” Victoria was rewarded with a subtle tell when Ransom inhaled quickly, surprised at the unexpected question. She shook her blonde mane, the sweat dampened hair moving sluggishly against her sharp movement.

  “Memories are tricky things, Victoria. Pluck the wrong one out of the past, no matter how pleasant, and the rest come tumbling down with it. I’m not sure I can survive that avalanche.”

  “That’s a terrible burden to bear, Ransom.”

  “Perhaps, but it’s my choice. I can’t be who I need to be if you insist on playing therapist with me. I have to be this in order to keep you safe.” Ransom tapped her chest, just above her heart.

  “And afterwards, when this is all over?”

  “When this is all over, you get to go home.” Ransom’s face reshaped itself into something else altogether, something far beyond grief or regret.

  She turned her back on Victoria and tightened her gloves, focusing on the practice dummy in front of her. The bust was realistic enough, down to the heavily muscled torso and square jawed visage of a real opponent, but the human qualities ended there. No matter how hard she struck out, she couldn’t break bones or damage organs. There was nothing there. He was as hollow inside as she felt, lacking emotion or desire. Ransom dropped her hands and her head. “Please, just go back up to your room. I’ll be up in time for breakfast.”

  Victoria left Ransom in peace, the stereo thumping in the background at a more reasonable level that became gratefully muffled as she climbed the stairs back to the main house. Her head still throbbed painfully. She sought out a bottle of water and some aspirin before falling back into bed. She could feel the beat of the music through the mattress, but there was no sound accompanying the mild vibration. As she fell into a blissful sleep where her pounding headache could be ignored, she focused her last coherent thought on what Ransom had said, or rather what she didn’t say. Home. After traveling halfway across the world and back again, Ransom still hadn’t found her way home.

  ***

  It’s not her. Who is that woman in her house, and where is Victoria?

  Chapter Ten

  When Victoria woke up again it was well past 10 am, and despite Ransom’s prediction, the sunshine streaming through her window didn’t make her want to cringe and crawl under the bed like a vampire. Other than the old shag carpet coating her tongue, she didn’t feel nauseated and surprisingly enough, she even felt hungry.

  “Wonderful,” Victoria murmured. She was in a surprisingly good mood this morning. The promise of a beautiful day and no lingering hangover was a grand combination she couldn’t ignore.

  She tilted her head back and soaked in the heat radiating through the paned glass window. In the time-honored tradition of making lemonade when life gave you lemons, Victoria decided to make a conscious effort to approach her situation in a different light. If she was going to be stuck here for a while, she might as well enjoy the little things—like sleeping in late and cooking for herself. She didn’t have to be the victim, or the helpless maiden waiting for someone else to rescue her. She had resources. There were things she could do to help. With that decision came a renewed sense of purpose that put a bounce in her step. The first thing she needed to do was sit down and talk to Ransom.

  After getting a good look at herself in the mirror, she amended her plans. Her hair looked like a small flock of finches had tried to build a nest, and she was still pale enough to warrant makeup today. There were dark puffy circles under her eyes, and her hands shook just the slightest bit. She wasn’t about to give Ransom any ammunition to tease her about her little indiscretion last night. Her stomach growled, choosing that moment to complain about being completely empty.

  “Breakfast, but only after I make myself presentable,” she promised, patting her middle to calm the rumbling. Food would help, so would a cup of strong coffee.

  She was halfway to the bathroom door before she snapped her fingers and did a one eighty, bee lining it back to the bedside table to grab the cheap burner phone Samuel had given her. She frowned at the ugly, boxy thing and hesitated before picking it up and stuffing it in her back pocket. It was an ugly reminder of why she was here. She didn’t have to like it, she didn’t have to look at it, either. The phone had been holding down a piece of paper, plain lined paper torn from some kind of notebook and folded into a neat rectangle. The script inside was equally neat, crisply following the lines with a precision that made her cringe. Her own handwriting was a messy scrawl worthy of any doctor and just as hard to read.

  Victoria,

  My cell number is programmed into your phone. If you need me, text or call.

  I have my phone on me.

  Stay in the immediate area of the house and barn. You know the rest of the rules.

  Ransom

  Victoria
smirked, then crumpled the note into a tiny little ball and tossed it into the trash can. If Ransom hadn’t insisted she keep the phone with her at all times she would have missed her note.

  It was nice that Ransom was concerned, but she wasn’t a child that needed a reminder to stay close to the house. “I hope Ransom knows I have more sense than that,” Victoria groused. Besides, nobody knows where the hell I am.

  Victoria changed into a pair of jeans and a comfortable looking button-down shirt she found in the bottom of her suitcase. She didn’t recognize the shirt when she shook it out, so she checked the tags before slipping it on. It was her size, but she didn’t remember buying it. Hmm, not really my style, but comfortable enough, she thought, smoothing the brushed cotton fabric down her front before shrugging and heading out the door. Samuel had helped her pack, who knew what dark corner of her closet he found the thing in.

  A couple of aspirin and a huge glass of water later and Victoria was ready for the day. Someone had put the bacon in the freezer and it needed to thaw out before she could start cooking, so she went looking for her wandering protector, purposefully tagging each building like a baseball player running the bases after hitting a home run. She knew she was just doing it to be rebellious, but it made her feel better. It didn’t take her long to realize Ransom was gone, off zipping around the property on her ATV.

  “Well, I’m sure she’ll be back soon,” Victoria said, resorting to chatting with an insistent orange tabby brushing up against her shins. He looked up at her with saucer eyes and meowed pitifully past the worst purr she’d ever heard. It reminded her of a pickup truck her college roommate owned. It was old as hell and between the misfires and rough idle, it sounded like Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bangs grumpy older brother. “Where did you come from, huh? Are you hungry? Well, me too so why don’t we head back in and find something good to eat?”