Hard Trauma

by Franklin Horton

  He reopened the internet browser and returned to Facebook. He and Deena didn’t interact on social media very often, their circles being entirely different, but they were connected, allowing him to keep up with pictures of Aiden's latest adventures. After clicking his way to Deena’s page, it didn't take very long to track down the video. She’d attempted to block it from her page but new people kept tagging her in it. Before Ty could even decide if he was ready to watch it, the video started playing automatically.

  The shaky cell phone footage did not show what precipitated the event. It didn’t show the man touching Ty, nor did it show how he dropped the man. That probably happened too fast for someone to start recording it. Where the video began was with the man flat on his back and Ty’s hand at his throat. He had to admit it didn't look good. The video followed as the security guards escorted him and Aiden from the theater.

  The video didn’t bother him that much but he wasn’t happy they’d caught Aiden in it. It wasn’t her fault her uncle was wound a little too tight. Neither she nor Deena should be punished for the things he did. He realized that was part of the collateral damage of him being close to them. Sometimes he went off and people in the blast radius got burned. It was all the more reason he probably shouldn’t be close to them, perhaps even to people in general.

  He started reading the comments posted below the video and it got even worse.

  "OMG, Deena, is that your brother?"

  "Someone like that should not be around children."

  "I wouldn't let him take my child to the movies."

  "That man clearly has anger issues."

  Rage surged in Ty’s chest, making him want to shove his fist through his laptop screen. Failing that, he considered responding to each of the comments with profanity but that would only make matters worse. It would embarrass Deena even further and it would probably lead to more people sharing the video. Everyone loved that kind of drama. Certainly the video appeared to be getting enough attention already. The number of people who'd viewed it was appalling. Even worse, nearly a hundred people had shared it to their own social media pages. Ty had gone viral in the worst possible way.

  He placed his laptop on the coffee table and stretched out on the couch, grabbed a blanket draped across the back, and pulled it over his body. He laid there staring at the ceiling. This clearly wasn’t working out, this whole “life” thing, this whole “being close to his family” thing. How could be have been so effective in the military and so inept now?

  A black hole opened in his chest and he felt himself slipping inside. The sensation was hard to describe. It was emotional and physical at the same time. He wondered if the people who chose to check out and end it were the smart ones. How much more of this could he take? Not once in his military career had he ever considered giving up. It wasn’t in his vocabulary. No matter how difficult the training, how hopeless the mission, or how painful his injuries.

  Now he was ready to.

  He looked around for his Glock. It was just out of reach but he could lean forward and get it. He hated to put Aiden through it but perhaps it was the merciful thing to do. Why keep embarrassing her? Surely as she got older she’d become more acutely aware of his shortcomings. She’d start avoiding him, just like he heard from so many other folks in the Wasteland.

  The comments posted below the video played through his head: #PSYCHO, #angerissues, #PTSD, #madman_at_the_moviemall.

  He couldn’t help but think that the energy of all these commenters would have been better spent sharing information about Gretchen Wells. The world had become such a narcissistic place. He thought of all the people he’d seen taking selfies at the gym and while he was at work. Were all those selfie-obsessed people from the Petro Panda sharing information about the missing girl tonight or were they posting their own stupid pictures?

  Ty sat upright on the couch. Had any of those pictures taken at the truck stop been posted to the internet? Had they been shared like the video of him at the movies? If so, were there any clues hidden in them? He threw off the blanket and reached for his laptop.

  Five hours later, Ty was still sitting there. He'd long since exhausted the ink cartridge in his printer, producing the stack of pictures sitting on the corner of his desk. Beyond that point, everything he found had been saved to a folder on his hard drive. He’d discovered and followed dozens of hashtags related to the softball team’s trip. He'd used the breadcrumbs of social media to check the pages of parents and grandparents to see if they'd taken any photos at the truck stop. As a result of those efforts, he'd amassed a very thorough gallery of high-resolution images much sharper than anything produced by the security cameras.

  He’d not found the missing girl in any of them, but the backgrounds of these photos definitely deserved more attention. They caught people filling their vehicles, people wandering in and out of the store, and dozens of license tags belonging to patrons who were at the store during that time period. It was a wealth of information he had to assume was previously unknown to the investigators.

  His search wasn't limited to a single social media site either. Some people's profiles were set so that posting a photo to one site led to it being simultaneously being posted to their other profiles at the time. Ty followed rabbit hole after rabbit hole. He wondered if the police had explored this angle. He probably needed to contact the lieutenant he’d spoken to at the Petro Panda. He had her business card somewhere. He could copy the pictures onto a USB drive and leave a set with her.

  When he finally turned the computer off, he realized the sun would be up soon. He needed to get in bed before that happened. He had a hard time sleeping once daylight arrived. He crawled into bed and found he didn’t have any trouble turning his thoughts off this time. The black maw of depression did not threaten to swallow him and he was soon fast asleep.

  9

  After a couple of hours of hard sleep, Ty woke up feeling like shit. He had that same thick-headed stupor that often accompanied a bad hangover, except he’d had nothing to drink last night. This was simply the after-effect of a late night after a very long day. He tried lying in bed a little longer but the train had left the station. He couldn’t get back to sleep. It took him a few minutes of staggering around the house in a groggy state to orient himself to time and place. It was only after a strong cup of coffee that the gears in his brain meshed together and the events of the previous day came back to him.

  After finishing the entire pot of coffee, he decided to go for a run. He switched to running clothes since running in your underwear was frowned upon. He strapped an elastic cell phone holder to each bicep. The one on the right side contained his phone and driver’s license, while the one on the left contained a compact .380 pistol. Ty didn’t go anywhere without the means to protect himself or escape capture. It was one of his things.

  He preferred running on trails to running on pavement, so he hopped in his car and drove the ten minutes across town to the head of a popular trail. He parked in the gravel lot and stashed the keys inside the fender well when he was certain no one was looking. The first mile of the trail was always the most congested. It irritated him but he understood it would thin out as he got further from town.

  There were ladies in yoga pants speed walking with strollers or token Labrador retrievers. Silver-haired retired couples walked together in matching track suits, fastidious in monitoring their pace, distance, and heart rate. A determined but limping man who must have been in his seventies was walking off his knee replacement. After a mile, Ty left them all behind. It was just him and the occasional cyclist.

  He inserted a single earbud, unable to relax if he wore two because it made him feel vulnerable. He loved the serenity of the deep woods. The trail, a former railroad bed, took him into a hardwood forest and along several creeks. The perfect accompaniment for this tranquility was the grungy metal of The Melvins. He selected a playlist on his phone and hit Play.

  The plan was for six miles, three out and three back. Ty wa
s barely two miles into his run when his phone started ringing. He probably could have ignored it if not for the incessant beep in his earbud. Recalling the events of the last day, he decided it could be something important. He slowed to a walk and checked the screen. He didn’t recognize the number but he went ahead and answered it. “Hello?”

  “Hey, is this Ty Stone?” There was a forced exuberance in the voice, like the man was selling cars or insurance.

  Ty immediately regretted answering the phone. He hated breaking pace nearly as much he hated talking on the phone. “It...is,” he huffed.

  “I haven’t caught you at a bad time, have I? You sound a little winded.”

  “I’m out for a run.” As if it’s any of your fucking business, whoever you are.

  “Well, you might need to slow it down a little bit. You sound like it’s kicking your butt.”

  The last thing Ty was interested in was fitness advice from some stranger on the telephone. It made him want to crawl through the phone and demonstrate what getting your butt kicked was actually like. He experienced a flush of anger. “Who is this and what do you want? I’m a little busy at the moment.”

  “Okay, we’ll get right to it. This is Butch Flynn. I’m head of Human Resources for the Petro Panda. I work out of the corporate office in Nashville.”

  Human Resources? What the hell did they need?

  He wondered if they wanted to thank him for his performance after the abduction yesterday. They’d done things like that before, recognizing employees who’d risen to the occasion when some unusual circumstance had taken place at their facility. Just last year they’d given an award to an employee who went the extra mile in the recovery effort after a tornado. Before that, they’d recognized an employee who saved someone in the parking lot with CPR.

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Flynn?” Ty asked, continuing to walk, not wanting to let his heart rate drop completely back to its resting pace.

  “Mr. Stone, I’m afraid the company has some concerns with the manner in which you performed your duties yesterday. That thing you did with the trucks, closing off the parking lots, constituted a serious safety violation in our eyes. You put our customers at risk and that’s just something we can’t allow. For that reason, we’re going to have to let you go.”

  Ty stopped in his tracks. “Excuse me?”

  “Yes, it’s unfortunate. I understand you thought you were doing the right thing but you were acting beyond your authority. Everyone at Petro Panda has a role and you ventured beyond the scope of yours. Had you called corporate and briefed a manager, we could have offered guidance. We could have provided technical assistance and steered you in the right direction. Instead, you decided to play cowboy and go rogue. We can’t have that.”

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Ty said, unable to push back the anger now. “There was no time for that. The state police investigator complimented me on my actions. They agreed that locking down the scene was the right thing to do.”

  Butch sighed. “I understand that, Mr. Stone. They have the authority to take action like that, but you don’t. What they agree with or don’t agree with is totally irrelevant as far as the company is concerned. They don’t run the Petro Panda.”

  Ty wanted to climb through the phone, grab this Flynn character by the necktie, and bash his head against his desk until it popped. He took a deep breath and tried to control the anger in his voice. He didn’t want to give the asshole the satisfaction of knowing he’d rattled him.

  “You know, it might get interesting when the media gets ahold of this,” Ty said. “I met several reporters yesterday. There are probably some at the Petro Panda right now. I’m sure they’d love to hear about you guys terminating me for helping secure the scene. That kind of thing doesn’t play well in the media.”

  The asshole sighed again and Ty knew it was for dramatic effect. “It’s unfortunate you feel that way but think carefully before you act, Ty. The manager at your location said you made her feel unsafe yesterday. You ignored her recommendations and behaved in an aggressive, perhaps even reckless, manner. I’ll go as far as to say that she felt threatened. If you issue a statement, we’ll be forced to do the same.”

  “You’re a fucking asshole,” Ty growled. “I hope we get the opportunity to meet in person one day.”

  “Careful,” Butch warned. “I’d hate for you to say anything that might be mistaken for a threat. You wouldn’t want to give people the impression you’re unstable, would you? That certainly wouldn’t help your case.”

  Ty hung up. He started to unleash a yell of primal rage but it would probably terrify some other runner out enjoying the day. They’d call the cops and complain he’d made them feel uncomfortable. That was just what he needed. How had he gotten to the point in his life where everyone was scared of him? It was a world of assholes and he was tired of them all.

  He resisted the urge to throw his phone deep into the forest. He started The Melvins again and crammed the irritating thing back into the phone sleeve on his bicep. He had a lot more stress to burn off now.

  Fucking perfect.

  The only good thing to be said about it was that the anger pushed the depression down. As long as he was hating someone else, he hated himself a little less.

  He started out at a jogging pace. Fueled by caffeine and hate he was soon burning down the trail at a full sprint, his respiration functioning with a mechanical efficiency. Sweat streamed from his body and slung from his pumping arms. His eyes burned down the trail, narrowed with a furious intensity. He imagined Butch Flynn was ahead of him on the trail, like a carrot dangling from a stick. If he ran just a little harder, he’d catch him. When he did, he’d beat him like a piñata full of Skittles.

  10

  Back at the trailhead, Ty sucked down two bottles of water while he walked off the run. He circled the perimeter of the parking lot, turning his situation over in his head. His stomach was in knots but he wasn’t sure if it was his pace or the state of his world. While he hadn’t particularly enjoyed being a security guard the work was comfortable. The routine was familiar and it came easy to him. It paid the bills. Then there was the infuriating manner in which he’d been terminated.

  The other question was whether this might impede him finding another job. Most large companies like the Petro Panda, terrified of a lawsuit, were hesitant to pass on too much information when contacted by a potential future employer. Most had a pat answer they provided, such as stating whether the former employee was re-hirable or not, or whether they performed their job duties as required. He didn’t know what Petro Panda might say about him.

  Bastards.

  His bank account was in good shape. He hadn’t had many expenses when he was in the military so most of his money went into savings. He wasn’t married and didn’t have a house. He’d never fallen into that trap of needing an expensive car, the latest gaming console, or the biggest flat screen television. His only spending habit was that he enjoyed going to the range and shooting firearms. He owned several but demonstrated restraint there too, not purchasing so many that they became a burden to him. He bought good weapons, good accessories, and good ammo.

  Ty tossed his empty water bottles into a garbage can and slouched on a park bench. He needed to find some way to redirect this anger or it was going to get him in trouble. He couldn’t simmer on a low boil all day. He pulled out his phone and opened the photos. The last was one he snapped of Lieutenant Whitt’s business card before he left his house. He committed the number to memory, then switched to the keypad and dialed her number, leaning back to watch the parking lot while the phone rang.

  “Lieutenant Whitt,” the voice answered.

  Ty recognized the efficient, authoritative tone of the former drill instructor. “Hey Lieutenant, this is Tyler Stone. I’m the security guard from the Petro Panda. We met yesterday.”

  “Hello, Mr. Stone. How’s it going?” Her tone was friendly but business-like.

  “Not so hot, to be hone
st, but that’s not why I called. I had some information I thought might be of use to you.”

  “Did you remember something that might be relevant to the case?” Whitt asked, hope in her voice.

  “Not directly,” Ty replied. “My sister and I were discussing social media yesterday, and it made me think of something. I remembered that while the softball team was there, both the girls and their parents were taking tons of pictures. This was around the same time Gretchen disappeared. I thought there could be something relevant in the background of those pictures.”

  Ty didn’t get into the reason he and his sister were discussing social media. He was mad enough already without adding yesterday’s anger into the mix.

  “Well, I appreciate that. We have the contact information for everyone who was here when we arrived yesterday. I’ll have someone reach out to them and see if they have anything that might be helpful.”

  “I might be able save you a couple steps there. After I thought of this last night, I couldn’t get it off my mind. I don’t sleep all that well. Anyway, I was up late last night copying pictures from various social media sites and there were quite a few taken at the Petro Panda during that window of time. I didn’t spot the missing girl in any of them but that doesn’t mean there might not be some clue I missed. I saved them all to a USB drive, if you want a copy.”

  There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Ty began to wonder if this was a bad move. Did it make him come off as creepy or suspicious? He was aware that criminals sometimes inserted themselves into investigations, trying to be helpful. At least that was what he saw on television. Was that how he was coming across? Was he trying too hard?

  Ty cleared his throat. “Okay, if you’re not interested, I’m sorry I wasted your time. I just couldn’t get this out of my mind last night and had to look into it.”

  “No, I’d definitely be interested in seeing what you put together, I was just surprised by the initiative you took. That’s quite a bit of effort. Anything that saves us legwork moves this investigation further down the road. In fact, I’m at the Petro Panda right now. We have a command center set up here. Could you swing by today and drop that USB drive off?”