Honor System (The System Series Book 4)

by Andrea Ring

  If you don’t think I want to see my child born, you can leave right now.

  “That’s not what I meant,” I say.

  Tyrion can see souls, and he has a better grasp on the physical abilities of Dwellers than Jack does. Bring him back with you.

  “I will, but he can’t connect to someone like I do. At least, I don’t think he can. We’ll see. Any other suggestions?”

  No.

  I think about this dilemma.

  If Dad’s correct, and he usually is, his brain is doing the rejecting. Why? There’s something about his soul that his brain doesn’t like. It’s like there’s a dissonance between the two, perhaps even a cognitive dissonance…

  “I have a thought,” I say. “I’ll mull it over tonight and see what I can come up with. I’ll have Tyrion come by, too.”

  What thought?

  “Well, you know how you’ve had a tough time believing in God. I mean, I know you believe in Him, but you’ve never trusted in Him. You’ve always believed in yourself instead, and your confidence in yourself has carried you through some pretty difficult decisions…so maybe…maybe now you’ve lost that confidence, and all you have to do is trust in God, but you can’t do that…or maybe it’s not even about God, not really, maybe you’ve just stopped believing in yourself. Maybe your brain really does think your soul is corrupted, so it can’t accept you back.”

  Dad is silent, so I know I’ve said something interesting.

  “Anyway, I’ll be back. I’ll bring Tyrion. And maybe I’ll bring Dr. Rumson, too.”

  Okay.

  “I love you, Dad. We’ll set this right.”

  I love you, too, Thomas.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Do you think you can drive?” Tessa asks.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t tried yet. But I’m sure I can.”

  “Thomas, I want you back home so badly, you know that, but if you’re going to be here all day with Dad anyway, and if I have to drive you back and forth, and if we’ll need a nurse at home to help you…maybe you should just stay.”

  “You don’t want to have to take care of me,” I say.

  “That’s not it at all!” she cries. “But there’s only one of me. The Planarian Institute is perfectly set up to help you and Dad. Can’t we just take that help? Just until you can walk without falling. What if you fell and I couldn’t help you? And we have X and Em, and Mom’s a pain in the ass, and I just—”

  “I get it,” I say. “I’m sorry. I get it.”

  I fold Tessa into my arms and hold her. She sags against me.

  “I want you home,” she says into my chest. “I don’t sleep well without you there.”

  “I know,” I say. “I’m almost there. Another week or two, and I’ll be good as new. You’re right. I shouldn’t put another burden on you when you’re dealing with everything by yourself.”

  “You’re not a burden,” she says, lifting her head. “If you want to come home right now, we’ll figure it out.”

  I shake my head. “It’s only a couple of weeks. And Dad needs me. I should be here and focus my attention on him.”

  Tessa scoots the walker in front of me and steps back. “Is any of this changing your faith?” she asks.

  I start walking toward the door. “Not yet.”

  “But it’s so odd, isn’t it? The soul and the body needing to work together? I always thought of the body as a shell, empty unless a soul was filling it up.”

  “The brain isn’t a shell,” I say. “It’s a miracle. It makes sense that it has some degree of control over its own life.”

  “Does it?” she says. “I thought the body and the brain didn’t work without a soul.”

  “We don’t really know the answer to that. Or maybe we do, since Jack has seen the body die when the soul leaves it. And Dad’s soul is still connected to his body, so maybe the brain won’t work without the soul. That doesn’t mean the brain is worthless.”

  We head out into the hallway. My legs now move normally, and I don’t walk like I’m trying to support my weight with rubber bands anymore. But my muscles are still weak. A couple of turns around the lab are about all I can do without collapsing.

  “So when is Dr. Rumson coming?”

  “In about an hour.”

  “Do you think he can help?”

  I shrug. “He can’t hurt.”

  “Alright, I’m off,” Tessa says. She gives me a hug. “I’ll bring the kids by tonight to tuck you in.”

  “I love you, Tessa.”

  She grins and gives me a kiss. “I love you more.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Dr. Rumson hovers in my doorway. He grins when he sees me, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

  I clasp his hand and he pulls me into a hug. Eleven solid years of friendship between us definitely warrant a hug.

  “It’s good to see you up,” he says. “My prayers have been answered.”

  “Mine, too,” I say. We let go of each other, and I wave him to a chair. “Thanks for coming. This may be a fool’s errand.”

  “It’s never foolish to visit friends and offer support. I’m…happy to help.”

  I stare at him. “Not that I don’t appreciate it, but you don’t look all that happy.”

  Dr. Rumson studies his hands. “Is it rude of me to say I’m a bit nervous?”

  “About what?”

  He finally meets my eye. “You said your dad’s soul is visible. That I might be able to see it?”

  I nod.

  He laughs. “It’s like meeting the Big Guy. To be in His very presence.”

  I smile. “You’re in the presence of souls every time you’re with another person. Hell, you have a soul. You are a soul. We’re constantly in His presence.”

  “You’re right, of course,” he says. “But to see it with my own eyes…faith becomes fact. It’s an affirmation of my entire life’s purpose. That’s a momentous thing.”

  “It is. The first time I saw it…there aren’t any words. You can’t prepare. Just know…Dad’s soul is a bit damaged right now. It doesn’t look normal. Its color’s almost completely gone.”

  “And you think a crisis of faith might be changing the color?”

  “That’s my theory. But Dad’s always had a contentious relationship with God, so I think it’s more of a crisis of faith in himself. Using experimental science where babies were the unwilling test specimens…I think that’s pushed him over the edge.”

  Dr. Rumson nods. “I understand. It sounds like a strong theory to me.”

  “Does it?”

  Dr. Rumson stands. “Let’s put it to the test.”

  ***

  We enter Dad’s room. His soul is still there, threaded to his body yet plastered to the ceiling as though trying to make its escape.

  I glance at Dr. Rumson. “Do you see it?”

  He shakes his head. “No. Where?”

  “Above his body at the ceiling.”

  “I don’t see anything.”

  I pull a second chair up close to the bed, and Dr. Rumson sits while I find the scissors. I cut myself and Dad and hook in. The soul reaches out to me, and I’m suddenly connected to Dad.

  “Dr. Rumson’s here,” I say.

  I can’t sense him, Dad thinks. You have to connect to him, too.

  That never occurred to me.

  “Dr. Rumson, Dad says I need to connect to you, too, so he can communicate with you. What do you think?”

  Dr. Rumson doesn’t speak. He just holds out his hand to me.

  I give him the scissors. “You’ll have to cut us both.”

  His first attempts to cut me are tentative. I get a pin prick, a shaky paper-cut-depth scratch, and then he steels himself and grows bolder. He digs the scissors in and ends up cutting into muscle. I wince before I can stop the pain.

  “Sorry,” he says.

  “Not so deep on your hand,” I tell him. “I only need an opening.”

  He giggles nervously and cuts his palm. I clasp his hand
tight in mine.

  I know the moment when Dr. Rumson sees Dad’s soul—he gasps, and a strange gurgle erupts from his throat.

  “It’s beautiful,” he whispers. Tears gather in his eyes, and he brushes them away.

  Thanks, Dad thinks.

  “Michael? That’s you?”

  It’s me. Thank you for coming.

  Dr. Rumson shakes his head. “This is completely surreal. Forgive me. I need a moment to get my bearings.”

  Dad and I sit silently while Dr. Rumson bends forward and prays. I try not to listen in, but he’s broadcasting loudly. Something about awe, and faith, and forgiveness, and love, and gratitude.

  Dr. Rumson is a good man.

  He suddenly sits up and takes a deep breath. “Thomas said you mentioned something about not being a good man, Michael.”

  Too many times I’ve done what needed doing, but it wasn’t necessarily right.

  “Are you referring to your time in the military?”

  Partly.

  “Have you ever spoken to anyone about the choices you made on the battlefield?”

  I can feel Dad squirm, even if his body isn’t moving.

  No.

  “You didn’t speak to your wife? Or to Erica?”

  No.

  “Why not?”

  They both had a vision of me, as the heroic Navy SEAL. I guess I was too much of a coward to tell them the truth.

  “I don’t think anyone would call you a coward,” Dr. Rumson says.

  I was afraid their love for me would change if they knew.

  “If they knew what?”

  Dad doesn’t reply.

  “I’ve counseled many soldiers over the years, and I know how difficult it is to speak of your time in combat. But this is it, Michael. This is the time to let it all out and to share the burden. There is no judgment here.”

  Thomas will know, Dad thinks.

  “Thomas is a man now, a husband and a father and the best example of a son I’ve ever met. He sees how much you regret your past choices, and he will love you no less for them. I can promise you that.

  “And if I could speak to you alone, I would, but we both know Thomas must be here. And it will be alright. The knowledge he gains will help him to understand you better. And this talking of your past may be the thing that brings you back to your loved ones. Isn’t that worth it?”

  Where do I start?

  “What’s on your mind?”

  Dad’s soul squirms a bit then settles.

  My team was sent to Khafji, Saudi Arabia, in early ’91. It was a small town, lightly defended by the Saudis, and we figured that if Iraq were going to start anywhere on a Saudi invasion, they’d start there. We had a small camp set up on the outskirts of town, and even though we tried to keep a low profile, the town knew we were there. The spies…you wouldn’t believe the spies. You’d think the Saudis wouldn’t want Iraq to come in with tanks and take them over, but the culture of fear was so strong there…I still have trouble understanding it.

  One night, I’m on watch. People would often try to get a look at us, and most of the time, I couldn’t tell what side they were on unless they spoke. The Iraqi army, for the most part, was a band of commoners. They recruited anyone and everyone. Even kids.

  So I’m on watch, and someone approaches. I yell at him in Arabic to stay back and return to the village, but he just keeps coming. So I try Farsi. He keeps coming. Finally, I can see him, and it’s a boy of about twelve. A fucking little boy.

  And he’s sobbing. Tears are running down his cheeks, and his chest is hitching. I lower my gun and ask again in Arabic if he’s okay and needs help.

  He nods but doesn’t speak, I don’t think he could have spoken if he’d tried, but he keeps coming. I put my gun back up and tell him to fucking stop unless he wants to get shot! So he stops.

  The moon is out and I can finally see him clearly. He’s got enough C4 strapped across his chest to blow a fucking hole in the earth. I say, ‘Don’t move! Don’t move! I’ll get someone to help you!’ But he just shakes his head and swipes at his tears, and he finally does speak.

  ‘Your camp or my village,’ he says.

  I tell him, ‘No! I’ll save you. My friends can save you,’ but he says, ‘You can’t save my family.’

  I tell him, ‘I can’t let you come closer. I won’t let you blow up my friends. We’re here to help you.” But he takes another step forward.

  ’Stop!’ I yell. ‘Stop, stop, fucking stop!’ But he won’t! Why won’t he stop? God, why didn’t you make him stop!

  I don’t know when I started crying, but I taste salt on my lips and squeeze my eyes shut.

  “Go on, Michael,” Dr. Rumson says.

  He wouldn’t stop, don’t you see? He was just a boy, just like Thomas, who cared about his family and cared about his village, and fucking war…it found him. He had no choice. I had no choice.

  “What choice?”

  I shot him. I shot him right between the eyes. I tried to make it quick and painless.

  Dr. Rumson rubs his free forearm over his eyes. “You did what needed to be done, and you did the right thing,” he says.

  I murdered a little boy! Dad shouts in our heads. A defenseless little boy!

  “He was not defenseless,” Dr. Rumson says. “He would have blown your entire team to the Heavens. You saved men’s lives that day.”

  At what cost? That boy’s life wasn’t worth less than mine.

  “No, it wasn’t, but evil men put him in that position. You did not go into the village and shoot him at random. You were defending yourself. God would agree with your choice, Michael. He would want those evil men punished, not you.”

  You don’t know that.

  “I’d bet my life on it.”

  Dad sighs heavily.

  In ’89, we were in Panama. Mostly reconnaissance stuff, relaying of intel, but one time we walked into a drug bust. The locals had formed a little outlaw band to try to stop the drug production, ‘cause three-quarters of the villagers had become addicts. And we walk in on this, and it’s a fucking madhouse. I watch a guy pick up a kid by the scruff of his neck and stuff a handful of pressed cocaine down his throat. The kid was a teenager, probably the only one making money in his family, and this guy—I get it. I get what they were trying to do, but he killed this kid right in front of me. He starts foaming at the mouth, coughing up a lung, and that only had him breathing in more cocaine, and he falls on the floor, and this guy, this vigilante, he starts kicking the kid. Like I’m-gonna-beat-the-living-shit-out-of-you kicks, and he gets a good one in to the temple, and the kid goes limp, and blood bubbles out of his mouth, and I lost it. I fucking lost it.

  “You shot him?” Dr. Rumson prompts.

  That woulda been too easy. I was amped. I took the knife outta my belt and hacked him to death.

  Dr. Rumson squeezes his eyes shut.

  I’ve been a sniper when I needed to be. Forty-six kills, and none of them saw it coming. One of them took two shots. A bee landed on his arm, and he moved to swat it away. I blew his ear clean off.

  Dad speaks for two more hours about his time in the military.

  I’ve never cried that much in my entire life.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Trish was the bright spot, Dad thinks. Every time I did something I regretted, I thought, I have Trish to come home to. She’ll make me a better man. And she did. Especially after Thomas came along.

  “Children are often the impetus for personal growth,” Dr. Rumson says. “And no one can fault you for how you raised Thomas.”

  Thomas and I came out the other side, but it wasn’t my doing. I raised him to be like me—secretive, practical, confident. The only reason he accepts me is because of you.

  “You give me too much power,” Dr. Rumson says. “And too much credit. Your actions created the bond you have with Thomas now. He’s seen you do many good things.”

  Like what?

  “How about rescuing the babies from Tyrion’s expe
riments?”

  Anyone would have done that.

  “Not true. Tyrion didn’t. Many at the Morula Center did not. And you are the one who created the infrastructure and the relationships so that it could be done. You’ve spent your life helping people, Michael.”

  Why doesn’t it feel that way?

  “Because now, you knew that Thomas would be at risk if he tried to save you. You knew you were shortening his life. You could ignore all the other deaths because they didn’t hit close to home, but this, the harming of your son, your conscience could not ignore. And now every act you regret, all the things you’ve tried so hard to suppress, are surfacing. It’s more than you could take. Your reaction is normal. And healthy.”

  Doesn’t seem too healthy from where I’m floating.

  Dr. Rumson smiles. “You should have dealt with each incident as it happened. That would have been the healthiest thing. But let’s look at what happens when people cannot face their regrets. Some people get depressed, some commit suicide, some go postal, as they say, and shoot a roomful of people. You, on the other hand, internalized it. It is a bit like depression, and if it continues, it will result in suicide. Is that what you want?”

  No.

  “Then buck up. That sounds simplistic, I know, but it’s what you understand. You have to get control and realize that every single one of your actions came from a good place. You wanted to do the right thing. You tried to do the right thing. You didn’t always succeed, but Michael, you are human. Humans err, and they sin, and then they pray for forgiveness and move on. You have to do that.”

  I’m not good at praying.

  “Practice and an open heart are all that is required. You’ve never been closer to God than in this moment, with all your flaws laid bare, with humility in your heart, with your very soul exposed for the world to see. Take advantage of this moment, Michael! God is listening.”

  Dad goes silent.

  I haven’t spoken this entire conversation, but I have so much to say.

  “I love you, Dad.”

  His soul shimmers, and I feel it surround me. I take the hug and breathe deep.

  ***

  “That was…I didn’t expect that.”

  “You must have imagined some of the things your father did as a soldier,” Dr. Rumson says.