Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Title: Fever Dream Pt.  01


Summary: Twin brother returns home after ten years.  Can he come home?


Keywords: inc,fic



   Pt.  1 The Longest Day Ever

   CH.  1

   It was a bright day.  A Tuesday.

   A spacious two story house stood at the end of a long road.  A craftsman
style home, with a sizable front yard and a very large back yard which sat
surrounded by green trees on all sides.  The wind was blowing lightly
through them, creating the calming sound of rustling leaves combined with
the light jangling chimes which were hung from the front patio roof.  All
else was quiet.

   A lone, compact car turned onto the street, heading straight toward the
house.  It made a stop right in front of the driveway and a tall bearded
man got out.  He paid for the lift and bid the driver thanks with a wave,
grabbing his Army issue duffle-bag from the backseat.  The car drove away
and he was left standing in front of the house, although thinking of it as
merely a 'house' seemed almost insulting to it.  It was his home.  The home
he was born in.  The home he was raised in.  The home he fled.

   With the car out of earshot all was quiet, with exception of the sound
of the wind moving through the trees, rustling leaves and moving chimes. 
He dropped his bag on the ground gently, tilted his head back, closed his
eyes and listened.  In all 28 years of his life, it was this sound that
could soothe him every time.  Other sounds could do it at different times
throughout his life, but this was the only sound which, regardless of
circumstances, could always calm the storm in his mind and in his heart. 
For 5 whole minutes he stood there, eyes closed, listening, soothing
himself, trying to gain the strength to move his feet to the door.  He
hadn't heard that sound for ten years.  At least he had this moment, alone,
to listen and be calm before the storm.

   What could be said?  What could be done?  Like a river thoughts,
memories, and fears ran past in his mind's eye.  A pair of dark,
hypnotizing eyes.  A violent haze of red.  A war-torn desert far away.

   Life.  Love.  Death.  Pity.

   Ten years, and all he could piece together right now in this moment were
flashes, images and feelings.  A collection of words used to describe the
little pieces of life that stood out.  What could be really said about
whatever life was in between these moments in a human life which define us.

   He ate.  He slept.  He worked, fought, bled, ran?  Hid?

   He was all of these things, and none of them.  It really depended on the
moment, he thought to himself.  At this moment he was 10 again, a scared
boy who was afraid to go home after being out much, much too late.

   He knew he could only prolong the inevitable for so long.  With that
realization he reached up with his hand and blew a kiss to the sky to thank
it for what it had given him.  Hope.  Strength.  Calm.  Control.

   "Cool Control," he whispered to himself.

   He picked up his bag and walked to the front door.  He froze upon
reaching the door, but only for a second.  Then, with a deep breath, he
took a hold of the handle, turned it, and walked through.  Once inside, he
closed the door quietly, almost on instinct.  He held his breath at first,
waiting to hear movements throughout the house of someone, anyone who might
be home to greet him.  What he heard was the near deafening silence which
almost always accompanied a home with no one in it.

   "Hello?" he said, a little more timid than he would have liked.  "Is
anyone here?  Its uh...I'm...home...", he almost whispered.

   No answer.

   He walked over towards his father's office and set his bag down by the
door, listening carefully.

   *Nothing.  He walked around the corner into the kitchen.  Nothing. 
Everything was put away nice and neat, almost the same as when he'd last
been here.  He walked through the dining room to the family room, again
with very little aesthetically changed over time.  Nothing.  Not wanting to
leave any stone unturned, he padded through the office, went out the back
door and walked across the back porch which overlooked the rather
impressive grounds behind the house, and then went back inside, still
without finding anyone.  Walking back to the entryway, he turned to the
stairs.  He carefully padded up each step slowly, looking at the familiar
pictures hung on the wall, all of them in their same spots.  He noticed
some new ones, but since he was already on edge with anxiety and he had
forgotten to take his morning medications, he could only note that they
were there, without looking at any of the people within them.

   With the stairs crested, he made his way softly and slowly down the
hall, pausing to look in each room, which was made easier by the fact that
his mother detested closed doors to rooms no one was in.  He always found
this little quirk in his mother funny because she never explained why, she
would say, "I just do."

   No one was in his parents room, either of the three guestrooms, or his
older brother's old room, which now seemed to belong to someone else,
someone far younger.  Then he came to the door to his and his sisters 'twin
suite'.  It was a very spacious suite, remodeled special by his father
shortly after they were born.  The odd thing was that this door was the
only one fully closed.  Every door to every other room in the house was
open...except this one.  He looked down at the handle and it looked like a
much newer one than the one he'd remembered in his childhood.  With a
quizzical look, he reached for the knob to give it a turn, but it didn't
budge an inch.  Locked.

   "But there are no locked doors in this house...Well, there weren't any
locked doors anyway," he muttered to himself.  This was a rule put down by
his father.  He hated locked doors, always saying "Locked doors lead to
locked hearts."

   He thought for a second and then quickly remembered that there was a key
rack in the pantry with a specific, labeled spot for every key to every
lock in the house, the cars and every other part of the grounds.  His
father also used to say, "It's always best to be prepared for the worst.".
He was the Police Chief after all.  He trotted down the stairs, walked to
the pantry in the kitchen, opened the door and quickly scanned the rack for
the right key.  After a few seconds seconds he found a key simply labeled
'JS'.  Once he saw it he knew it was the right one.  No other key came even
remotely close, with very clear titles like 'Emergency back shed key' and
'Backup BMW X5 key'.

   Grabbing the key off the rack, he left the pantry, padded slowly up the
stairs and down the hall to the bedroom door.  He put the key in the door,
turned it until he heard a clear and satisfying click and the door
practically opened itself, ushering him in.  Walking into this room was
like walking through a time portal.  While the rest of the house was
reasonably the same, with rather small changes and improvements here and
there, this room was precisely the same as the night he left.  The smell
was that of a room that has been closed and locked away for a very, very
long time.  The bedroom door led immediately to a sort of mini entry way
which had two open doors, one on the right side, and one on the left.  Both
doors led to two separate bedrooms, each with their own bay window, queen
size bed, and walk in closet.  Each room was a mirror image of the other by
design, meeting in the middle by a wall with set of double doors in the
middle, connecting the two rooms.  At the moment these doors were wide
open.

   He walked into his room, on the right.  It's uncanny, he thought to
himself.  Everything in the room, from what he could tell, was exactly like
he left it.  His closet door was ajar, from when he grabbed a change of
clothes and a backpack.  His bed was made, the covers and pillow the same
as the ones he remembered.  Just to check, he walked over to his small
stereo, sitting on his nightstand, to see if the album he had been
listening to that night was still there.  He flipped open the lid to the CD
player and sure enough, Juturna by Circa Survive was still sitting there.
He hadn't listened to that album since the night he left, which was a shame
since it was his favorite album by his favorite band at the time.  His
school bag hung beside his door on the wall, just as he'd left it.  his
hoodie was hanging off one of the bottom posts of his bed, just as he'd
taken it off earlier that same evening.  Upon closer scrutiny, the room
appeared to have been dusted and kept clean on a consistent basis, but
other than housekeeping, things were left where they were, and he suspected
that was no accident.

   To some, finding their childhood room in exactly the same condition
they'd left it might be comforting.  To him, it only served as an indicator
of just how much he knew he must have hurt his family.  His sister.  They
must have felt so betrayed and hurt by his sudden and callous departure,
that none of them could even step foot in his room.  They probably didn't
even speak his name anymore.  He wouldn't have blamed them.

   "This was a mistake..." he whispered aloud to no one.

   He shouldn't have come.  He should have stayed gone.  Suddenly, his nose
started to tingle, his breathing become increasingly shallow, and he
couldn't stop his jaw from clenching.  An anxiety attack was about to come
at him full swing if he didn't try to calm down and take his pills.  He
quickly exited room and rushed downstairs to his bag, snatching it and
running back upstairs.

   He deftly opened his duffle, finding his pill bag instantly and fished
out his Trazadone and popped one in his mouth.  It was a few hours early,
them being night-time medicines for anxiety and sleep, but he knew he
couldn't hold out any longer.  Today wasn't a normal day and todays stress
wasn't normal stress.  He reached back in his bag and pulled out his Army
workout shorts and shirt, along with his toiletries and a towel.  What he
needed was a hot shower, to wash over his back and help calm his nerves. 
With that plan in mind, he quickly undressed, threw his clothes on the
floor at the end of his bed, and crossed the threshold of his room into his
sister's side, where the only structural difference between the two rooms
was their shared bathroom on her side of the suite.  He was tempted to look
around to see if her side of the room was the same as his, untouched since
that night, but he didn't think he could really handle that.

   He fished his body wash, toothbrush and toothpaste out of his toiletry
bag and hopped into the small shower.  He brushed his teeth in the shower
in order to save time and do most of what he needed to do every morning in
the same place.  A habit he picked up in the Army.  Some people would
probably find it gross, he often thought to himself, but whatever.  He
lathered up some body wash in his hands and slid it all over his tired,
sore muscles.  With a nonstop plane-ride from his duty station in North
Carolina, and a long car ride to the house, he hadn't showered or slept in
over 24 hours.  Wanting to get the business end of showering out of the way
quickly, he rinsed himself off, and quickly brushed his teeth.  Afterwards
he stood there, head hanging forward, letting the near-scalding water
cascade down his neck, over his shoulders, and down his back.  Within less
than 10 minutes, he felt the effects of the relaxing water and his anxiety
meds kicking in.

   He exited the shower, dried himself off, grabbed his things and just as
quickly as he had crossed the room before, walked over to his bed.  He
deposited his toiletries back in his bag and hung the towel on his old desk
chair.  He had a thought to try to find his old favorite pair of sweat
pants to wear, maybe feel a little closer to the past, but with him putting
on over 50 lbs.  of muscle mass in the last 10 years, he knew they would
never fit him again.

   He pulled on his Army shirt and shorts, and took a deep breath.  Since
entering his old room, to keep his sanity he had succumbed to routine.  It
helped to turn off his brain to simple let his bodies auto-pilot guide him,
and for the most part it had worked.  He was just about evened out.  But
now he could think of no more routines to take care of.  He was in new, and
old territories simultaneously.  Looking out the window to his left, he saw
late afternoon starting to turn to dusk.  It started to dawn on him that
although with the door left unlocked, which meant his family was certainly
local, he had no idea where they were and when they might return.  I should
probably just wait in the entryway so I can get the being yelled at and
stuff out of the way, he thought.  Then he realized that he probably should
be dressed in clothes that he could make a quick exit in should they simply
demand he leave outright.  They wouldn't do that though, right?  he
pondered.  I mean I know they're gonna be shocked and angry, but I don't
think they would just immediately throw me out.  Mom and Dad are reasonable
enough people, even when they are mad, he decided.

   Not really knowing what to do with himself exactly, he thought it might
be comforting to lie down for a few minutes.  Maybe put on the CD in the
stereo for old times' sake?  I doubt it will, but maybe I'll feel a bit
better, he thought.  With that, he turned the stereo on, a bit surprised
that it still worked, and it immediately started playing exactly where he
had shut it off, just as The Great Golden Baby was starting, roughly 1/3 of
the way through the album.  He couldn't stop a small smile touching at the
sides of his mouth.  Putting it at a relaxing volume he walked over to the
door to the bedroom and closed it most of the way so he could possibly hear
the approach of anyone who might come home and find him.  He lied down on
the bed, turning to his side, enjoying the feeling of a quality, albeit
old, mattress on his injured neck and back.

   The time of day was one he always found captivating.  It was an almost
mystical interval between night and day that lasted for mere moments.  Even
though he couldn't see out the window from his bed, since it was on the
same wall the bed was against, he could see how the light through the glass
was changing hues, which in turn changed the room.  As darkness slowly
crept at the corners of the room he closed his eyes, listening to the
familiar music as it traveled through the air into his mind.  It made him
imagine he was running freely through a lightly wooded glade, the trees
white like birch and grass a fall shade of copper.  The sky was a dark
grey, almost like it was filled from one end of the world to the other with
smoke clouds.  It was raining water down, but only the slightest bit.  He
stopped running and looked all around him, searching for someone.  Within
seconds he saw her, at the crest of a wide sloping hill, solitary within
this flat place.  She was standing tall and resolute against light winds,
her raven hair and all-encompassing red robes flowing in the wind behind
her.  She was waiting for him, he knew it.  He went into a dead sprint
towards the hill, with the rain starting to come down harder.

   He was starting to gain ground but when he looked up at the hill it
didn't seem to be getting any closer.  With as much physical power as he
had, he went faster than anyone should be able to go, trees rushing past
him like a blur of white and orange.  He was getting closer.  He started to
ascend only to have his prize turn and sprint away from him.  Frustrated,
he ran up the hill even faster, wind whipping in his ears.  This only made
her run faster, until suddenly she seemed to drop out of his sight.  He
arrived suddenly at the spot she had disappeared to find that the hill
ended in a stark cliff face, hundreds of feet down where the roughest seas
he had ever seen raged beneath.  Wave after wave of water, the color of
cold steel, crashed against the cliff face and he squinted his eyes,
struggling to see her anywhere below.  Suddenly, he saw a body, with raven
hair, tangled in red robes, lying face down on a rock, continually being
tugged closer to the edge by the steely water.  He had to get to her,
before she was dragged under, swept out to sea.  With no other thought but
a desperate, all consuming need like he'd never felt, he flung himself off
the cliff, towards whatever awaited below.

   CH.  2

   Downstairs the front door suddenly swung open to a gabbing family coming
home from a fun afternoon on the town.

   "Well I don't understand what you mean, honey.  I thought the story was
very moving...and Cate Blanchett was so beautiful.  Wasn't she Stella?"

   "Oh God!  No question, she just seems to get sexier with each year that
passes.  I wish I knew her secret."

   "Oh Goodness Stella!  Like you need anyone else's 'secret' sweetheart."

   "Well The only place I was moved was to the bathroom," said the very
large, burly 60-year-old man as he closed the door behind the group.

   "George, I swear.  Sometimes I wonder if you'd rather watch wood being
stained then spend one evening with me."

   The slight pain in her voice wasn't lost on George.  He was being an
ass.

   "I'm sorry Martha.  You know that deep stuff is wasted on me," he said,
sneaking a warm peck on her cheek.  "But I'll try to make it up to you," he
said, with a smirk and a smack on her ass.

   "GEORGE!" she scolded, more for show than anything else, "Remember to
leave it unlocked honey, Paul and Tillie were right behind us."

   Paul and Tillie showed up a few minutes later and soon the kitchen and
family room were a bustle of conversations, laughing and sorting out
dessert.  The clinking of spoons, bowls, and wine glasses filled the house
as the 5 of them wound down from a fun day filled with lunch, shopping, a
movie, and then dinner.

   "Oh Tillie, honey, leave those in the sink, I'll take care of those in
the morning," Martha said, her eyes starting to get heavy.

   "It's fine, Mom, just a few things, I got it," Tillie answered.

   "Stella, are you staying over sweetie?  It's getting late and I saw you
drink that second glass," Martha said, trying to sound both sweet and
authoritative at the same time.  "You know I worry when you kids do that
and try to drive home."

   Stella rolled her eyes slightly and smirked as she stood up from the
couch, "Yes mom, I'm staying.  I'm actually about to grab my phone and call
John to say goodnight, then head upstairs to turn in."

   "Give him a smooch for grandma, I love him," she called as Stella left
to the entryway where she left her purse.  "I still don't know why he
couldn't wait until tomorrow night to stay at his friends.  Grandma and
grandpa aren't going to be around forever you know, and he does have the
rest of summer vacation to spend with his friends, and he is our only
gran..."

   Martha continued for another few minutes, more to herself than to anyone
really in the house, but Stella was already in the guest half-bath next to
the stairs on her phone.

   "Siri...call John," she said into her phone, waiting through 3 rings
before he picked up.

   "Hello?" said the ten-year-old on the other end.

   "Hey you!  How's the strategy guide working out?"

   "Fine.  We just cleared the Water Temple"

   "Uh huh, and where was the switch for the door?" she asked with a grin,
knowing the answer.

   "Right where you said it was mom," he sighed, not sounding happy to
admit his mother was right, again.

   She loudly cackled into the phone so he could hear her elation at being
right.

   "Honey, I know you just got it this week," she said through chuckles. 
"But that game came out a very long time ago.  I must have watched that
game beaten at least a dozen times."

   "By who?  I thought Uncle Paul didn't like Zelda?" he asked.

   "It doesn't matter baby, I just have," she answered, expertly keeping
her voice from showing a twinge of emotion at the memories.  A skill
longstanding, and by now quite refined.

   "Just don't stay up too late, and if Conner's Mom says it's time for
bed, it's time for bed!"

   "I know, I promise.  Hey mom?" he asked

   "Yeah honey?"

   "Can I stay like a couple more days here?  Conner's cousins are coming
tomorrow, and I haven't seen them in like a year!  So Con-"

   "Yes honey, that's fine," she interrupted.  "Just have Conner's Mom text
me with whatever the plan is, and that she is ok with it and that's fine."

   "Thanks mom!!  Goodnight!"

   His excitement always melted her heart.  He needed to stop growing up
and fast.

   "Night baby."

   She hung up and set the phone down on the sink.  Before leaving the
bathroom, she did the ancient ritual of women across the globe: check
herself in the mirror.  Tall, by a woman's standard at 5 feet 10 inches,
she was blessed with probably the best genes she could have hoped for. 
Slim, athletic build with killer dimensions and fair skin.  Jet black hair,
green eyes and cheekbones meant for on-screen royalty probably...not that
it mattered.  Besides professionally, what good did looking stunning do
when you stopped saying yes to even a simple date for drinks long ago.  She
didn't actively try to hide her looks.  On the contrary, at the office she
was always in the latest labels, the nicest bags, with her hair and make-up
expertly done.  Even now, in just a slim pair of J.  Crew jeans and a very
tasteful long sleeved, blue and white striped shirt she was elegant, if a
bit on the modest side.  In the end, at least in the dating arena, she was
just fine living the rest of her life on the bench.  She rarely gave it a
second thought really.

   With her mirror check finished, she smiled sadly and snapped the light
off.  She was striding back towards the family room when she heard
something odd.  Stopping, she tilted her head slightly and concentrated for
a second.  Feint music met her ears, coming from upstairs.  Absent-mindedly
her body slowly guided her steps towards the stairs as she strained to hear
what was playing, and trying to think of which room it could be in.

   "...your face is light, and cocaine white..."

   She knew that song.

   "...I've been erased...from the picture..."

   Where did she know that song from?

   "...Smoke's filled the air...and I'm struggling to breathe..."

   It was coming from way down the hall.  That much she knew, but it was
very quiet.  She had reached the foot of the stairs and was about to step a
foot on the first step but she stopped suddenly after a realization.  The
song and the only room it could be coming from hit her like a train.  The
pantry, she thought.

   She marched with increasing purpose, straight into the family room,
turning into the kitchen and to the open pantry door, ignoring the families
immediate halt to conversation and inquisitive looks.

   "Stella baby, what's up?" her father asked.

   "Stella, what on earth are you stomping around for?" her mother sleepily
added.

   She looked at the rack, and immediately found the one key that should
never be out of fucking place.  Was today cleaning day?  she thought to
herself.

   "Mom!  When was the housekeeper here last?"

   "Last week sweetheart, she comes again tomorrow.  Why?" Martha asked,
growing increasingly confused with her daughter's behavior.

   "What the Fuck!" Stella blurted, getting increasingly angry by the
second.

   "Stella!" her mother practically shrieked, shooting up from her lying
position on the couch.

   But Stella wasn't listening, she had already exited the area, on her way
back to the stairs.

   "Honestly George.  They become more like you every day, I swear," she
mused as she laid herself back down against him, making George, Paul and
Tillie chuckle together.

   Stella reached the stairs and slowly climbed, getting less angry and
more hesitant with each step she took.  She loved Circa Survive.  Normally
she would have smiled and hummed along with the music, but this was an
album she would never listen to.  Once she had crested the stairs, she
looked to her right, towards her parent's room, even though she knew
perfectly well the music wasn't coming from there.  She turned to her left
and it took her only a second to confirm what she had been hoping with all
of her might wasn't the case.  To her left, at the end of the hall, the
farthest door on the right, the one that had no earthly business being open
was open, and music was coming from it.

   Instinctively, she shifted to one side of the hall, her body sliding
against the wall as she practically tip-toed towards her old room*.  Their
old room.  Who in the fuck went in there?  Why did they leave the God damn
door open?  And why, in the mother fucking hell, did they turn on the damn
stereo?  If it was Paul, I'm going to fuck his ass UP!  She thought
frantically to herself.  As she reached the door, she finally realized she
was trembling all over.

   "Control...Ok? ...Cool Control...It's fine," she whispered to herself.
"I can do this.  It's simple, right?  Just look in the room, find the key,
turn off the stereo, lock the room, murder Paul, and go to sleep."

   Normally she would chuckle, but when it came to this room, she had no
sense of humor.

   She pushed open the door and saw mostly black.  She walked into her room
on the left, saw the bathroom light on and the smell of a hot shower still
in the air.  The bathroom light illuminated her room just enough for her to
look around and see that on one was there and the window was closed.  No
intruder.  Then she remembered the stereo playing to her right, on the
nightstand in the other room.  His room.  If someone was here, it wouldn't
be on her side.  But it doesn't even matter because there's no one here.

   She took a deep breath to try to stop the trembling.

   It's not like I'm gonna just walk through those doors and he'll just be
there, 18 years old, reading a book, 'Oh hey Stel!  Come lay down and I'll
read you this part.  Sorry about earlier, I had a final that took a decade
longer than it was supposed to,' she thought.

   This is stupid!

   She squared her shoulders, shrugged her stupidity off and padded through
the doors.

   This was one of those moments in life.  One of those crystalizing
moments that go by too fast and yet seem to freeze in time.  One of those
moments that would eternally etch itself into her mind; Every sound, every
smell, every sight in excruciating detail.  A small stereo playing his
favorite music.  A strangely shaped bag with his name on it.  Discarded
clothes with his scent.  In his old bed, sleeping just as peacefully as she
had ever seen him, was her dreams come true, or was it her nightmares?  She
had no idea how long she stood there watching him, maybe seconds, maybe
hours.  However long it took, the trembling had stopped, replaced only with
a stillness spreading throughout her entire body.  The stillness came with
a price, however.  Her eyes flooded quickly with tears, welled over and
streamed continually down her face.  It was also becoming entirely too
difficult to breathe, and unless the darkness was simply playing tricks on
her, the room seemed to be closing in on itself.  Two instincts started to
overtake her mind.  One was to bolt from the room as fast as her legs could
possibly carry her, while the other was pulling her slowly to his bedside.

   The second instinct narrowly won out as she felt herself being pulled to
his bedside, lowering to her knees on the floor, to almost level with his
face.  He was big.  Much bigger than she remembered, at least from what she
could tell through all the moisture obscuring her vision as the tears
simply refused to stop.  He wore a t-shirt with something on it, she
couldn't tell, but she made out the letters ARMY on his shorts, same as on
the bag on the floor.  He also had a full, thick jet black beard now, to
match his hair, which looked short.  Or maybe not short?  She couldn't
really tell in the dark.  She had imagined scenarios of his return hundreds
of times.  Questions always abounded.  His disappearance.  The last decade.
Why he left.  Why he broke his promise.  What brought him back.  She had
had a journal, from therapy, with pages upon pages of what she was going to
say to him.  Curses she had longed to sling at him, but in this moment, she
couldn't think of a single word.  Not a single question she wanted an
answer to.

   She only knew one thing at this moment: she needed to touch him.

   She slowly reached her hand towards his beautiful face, but the
stillness that had kept her together until now was rapidly diminishing. 
Her entire body started to tremble uncontrollably, her hand wavering. 
Breathing was coming in short, staccato gasps as she struggled to regain
control.  Breaking point should have come when her hand softly reached his
cheek.  She felt it coming, her body, her mind, her heart, all should have
broken.  But she didn't.  Her hand came to rest on his cheek, and suddenly
the trembling stopped.  Her breathing still took effort, the tears still
came, but most of her body, and more importantly her mind were still. 
Steady.

   As she knelt there, softly stroking his cheek with her thumb, the same
questions came to her that had been harbored for ten years, but with a new
place.  Wonder.

   Where had life taken him?  Middle-East most likely.  Did he have to
fight?  Was he afraid?  Did he have to take a life?  Had someone tried to
take his?  No doubt bitterness would return, but right now these thoughts
came as genuine concern.

   She couldn't imagine him in some foreign land, armed to the teeth,
fighting some enemy.  She had spent 18 years defending and protecting him.
He was always an easy target for other kids, boys mostly.  He was kind,
soft, sensitive, and caring.  He always shed a tear for those in pain and
treated every living thing in his gentle way.  More than once, a group of
boys his age would have him cornered, threatening or ridiculing him as he
cried.  She always knew he didn't cry for fear, but because he never wanted
to hurt anyone, for any reason.  Throughout their entire childhood and
adolescence, her knowledge of, and fierce adoration for his gentle heart
made her merciless and cut-throat in his defense.  No pain was ever bad
enough, either emotionally or physically for whoever meant him harm, or
attempted to come between them.  Blood, tears, words with meanings so sharp
they could put a kid into therapy, were her weapons.  Knowledge of how far
she'd go to protect him was well known on the school yard and in the
neighborhood, which meant she was rightfully respected and feared.  This
meant she rarely, if ever needed his protection back, and she wouldn't have
had it any other way.  She never wanted his gentle soul to change.  It
balanced her out.

   No doubt he had changed, but right now, he was that gentle boy again. 
But that was before he left.  Old feelings began to resurface now as the
initial shock began to wear off.

   Promises were made.  Life affirming, eternally connecting promises. 
Words and acts took place that could never be taken back.  Horrors had
happened to her, and when the time came to cash in on those promises, he
had vanished, without a trace.  He had betrayed everything they shared, and
exactly 24 hours after promising her the world, he stole away the next
night, their bond, their promises, their hearts packed with him...and here
he was, ten years later, sleeping peacefully, where he should have been the
night she needed him most.  The trembling had returned, but instead of
fear, fury had taken its place.  He was wonderful.  The most wonderful
liar. Just as her anger began to reach the surface, he stirred.

   CH.  3

   The air rushing past his ears was almost deafening as he plummeted to
the rocks below, but he was without fear.  Just as his face was about to
impact on the hard stone, he flipped himself and landed right on his feet
with a sudden thud.  He ran over to the body with the raven black hair,
hoping against hope that she would be alive.  Nothing else in life mattered
to him.  He reached her and tried to lift her and turn her over on her
back, but she might as well have been made of stone herself for how much
her body budged.  He squatted down and, taking ahold of her, lifted with
all his considerable might, but she moved not an inch.  He lifted so hard
that when she didn't move, he fell back on his butt.  He got back up on his
knees, and went to grab a hold again, but she suddenly stirred, rolling
over to face him.

   Her face was like an angel's, soft and tender, with a smile on her lips.
She was soaking from head to foot, but when she reached her hand to his
cheek, it was warm, dry, and soft.  He felt her warmth radiate throughout
his entire body, and peace came to him, but only for a moment.  He looked
into her eyes and saw her continence change.  Her smile slowly became a
sneer, her warm eyes became filled with rage, and suddenly, he felt fear.
The cold ocean spray of the sea around them became harsher, and hot.  The
stones under his feet burned.  The sky went from smoke grey to black and he
knew what was happening.  Punishment.

   He deserved this, and yet he couldn't remember why.  He was guilty, he
knew, but of crimes he had forgotten, or had he?  This unnamed woman, had a
name, he knew it.  She wasn't an angel, but real, somewhere.  Nothing was
right.  This isn't real.  It can't be.  None of this is right.  I have to
get out.  I have to...wake up.  Please!  Please wake me up.  PLEASE!!

   "PLEASE!" he cried out, at the top of his lungs, as he lunged forward
into the dark.  he looked this way and that, at first not remembering where
he was.  There was faint light coming behind him, a radio playing his
music, and a gorgeous woman with wide, tear streaked eyes gaping at him
from the floor beside him.

   "Stella!" he breathed out.  He began to reach for her but before he
could even start to lean over, she was gone in a flash, barging through the
door, letting it slam into the wall and then shut with a loud snap.  He
surged out of bed, wrenched the door open and flew down the dark hall after
her.  He began to practically leap down the stairs 4 at a time to reach her
in time, but before he could she was already through and out the front
door, throwing it shut with another house-shaking slam.

   "STELLA!  What the hell is going ON!?" he heard a booming, familiar
voice call from the room behind him.  Suddenly he remembered where he was.
Home, only he wasn't the only one here anymore.  Stella had been here, that
much was certain.  She, and the rest of the family, must have gotten home
while he slept.  Standing in the middle of the dark entryway, he turned
towards the family room as a woman he had never seen before walked towards
him.

   "Stel?  Hun wha-OHMYGOD!!  PAUL!  DAD!  QUICK, PLEASE!!" she shrieked in
terror, backing into the wall behind her as the thundering of feet meant
the rest of the room rushed to her.

   "HEY!  YOU STAY RIGHT WHERE YOU ARE!!  DON'T MOVE!" his father shouted
in his cop voice as he ran into the room, shielding the young woman.

   "Paul, run to my office and get my service pistol and cuffs.  NOW!"
George ordered.

   Without any more direction need, Paul walked briskly towards the office
door on the other side of the entryway.

   "Honey, what's going on?" Martha said, trembling from behind her
husband, hiding herself.

   Things needed to be diffused before someone gets hurt, and fast, he
realized.

   "It's fine Mom," he said in a calm, soothing voice, finally finding the
courage.  "It's just dark and Dad can't recognize me.  Everything's fine."

   Martha didn't need any time to recognize her baby's voice.

   "JACK!" she cried out, rushing past everyone to her boy, tears already
flooding her eyes.  In no time at all, he was standing with his mother,
crushing herself against him, her arms wrapped around him, face buried in
his chest, sobbing.  Slowly he reached his arms around her and held her
tight, but his head and eyes stayed trained on his father's silhouette.  He
had had a feeling that this would be his mother's first reaction to seeing
him, but his father was another matter.

   "Tillie, reach behind you and turn on the light please," his father said
in an uncharacteristically uncertain tone.

   Light came, washed over the room, and suddenly all was clear.  Jack
stood, holding his mother close, looking to his father for...something. 
Anything.  He wouldn't wait long.

   "Martha, back away from him please." He said in a bold, yet even tone.

   "No," she whimpered.  "Please honey, he's home."

   "Martha, come here.  Please." He almost pleaded, but with a tone of
finality.

   Slowly, she peeled herself away from Jack and, never letting her
tear-filled eyes leave his face, back towards her husband.

   The tension was palpable and felt by everyone in the room.  George cut
through it a moment later.  Slowly, he walked to his son.  Jack was ready
for anything.  A punch, a kick, a slap, yelling, anything.  As his Dad
quickly reached for him, he flinched, but he needn't.  Before he realized
what was happening, his father closed the last couple strides and wrapped
his son in his arms.

   "My boy...My Boy," He kept repeating as he held him as if he might
disappear any second.  Not a moment later, he felt his mother come up
beside him and the three of them wrapped their arms around each other,
locked in a warmer embrace than he had ever dreamed he would receive,
suddenly appearing after a decade-long vanishing act.  Before he could even
try to hold it back, he felt the walls he'd been struggling to prop up
break apart, and fall.

   "I'm so sorry...I'm so, so sorry..." he repeated between sobs.

   They held each other like this for a few moments, all of them, at the
very least, allowing tears to stream freely as they relished in the comfort
of being together again.  After slowly breaking apart, Paul made his way to
the three of them, and without even a word, brought his brother in for a
warm embrace, also feeling relief at seeing his baby brother home after so
long.

   After he let Jack go and gave him a tear-filled smile, which his brother
returned, Martha approached Jack again.  She reached him and put her face
and hands on his chest.  "Where were you...Where were you..." she kept
saying, increasing in intensity until she slammed her fists into his chest.
"WHERE WERE YOU?!"

   "WHERE.  HAVE.  YOU.  BEEN?!" she shrieked with each strike, but he made
no move to stop her or defend himself.  He merely closed his eyed and took
what he knew he deserved.  This continued until, seeing his wife fall to
pieces, George rushed to her, clasping her hands, spinning her around and
taking her in his arms where she sobbed.  All Jack could think to do was
stand there, eyes straight ahead on the wall opposite him, his eyes
re-filling with tears.  No one knew what to do, where to go or what to say
for an uncomfortably long time, until Paul finally broke the silence.

   "Why don't we all go to the kitchen and sit down?" he suggested, turning
to his wife.  "Tillie, could you put on a pot of tea for everyone?"
Everyone started moseying into the kitchen, with Jack taking the closest
seat at one end of the long oak dining table, while the rest of the family
took their seats at the end opposite end, sans Tillie as she hurried about
the kitchen.  After a few moments where everyone seemed to be waiting for
someone to start, Jack cleared his throat.

   "So...I guess I should start?" he asked in a low, subdued voice.

   "Why don't I ask the most obvious questions first, "His father said
venomously.  "And then you can give us an entire story on where our son has
been for ten years." Jack nodded in affirmation.

   "You can ask me anything..."

   "Why'd you leave?"

   "...Except that." Jack answered quickly, looking down.  At this, his
father hammered his fist on the table to show his anger, but Jack didn't
waver, nor even look up.

   "OK...why are you here?" his father continued.

   "I...wanted to come, Dad.  I needed to come home."

   "What the hell does that even mean?" George snapped back.

   "I...I don't really know.  I guess I...looked in the mirror one day
and...found I couldn't look anymore."

   "What do you mean, honey?" Martha interjected, finally turning to look
at her son.  She was struck by how 'not her son' he looked.  He was only
28, but he looked old, beaten, and tired.

   "I..." he stuttered, starting to lose it.  he looked in his mother's
eyes finally, "I don't know...who I am anymore Mom." He said through
labored breaths.  That was the last her anger at him could take.  She was
his mother and he was her baby.

   She left her seat suddenly, and in seconds was in the seat next to jack,
taking his hand.

   "You're Jackson.  You're my boy, and you're home now," She cooed. 
"Look, enough questions.  Just start as close to the beginning as you can
and tell us where you've been and what has happened."

   "I left...and wandered into a recruiting station," he began slowly.  "I
snuck into your office dad, and stole out my documents and stuff.  I told
them to give me whatever job left immediately, no matter what it was.  Only
thing available that fast was with the Army and it was infantry.  If I
signed on for infantry right then, the next day I could sign all the
paperwork, they would drive me down to MEPS, and from there, in as early as
two days, I'd be gone.  They would put me up at a Holiday Inn while I
waited for my flight to Basic Training."

   "...and in those two days, you didn't take even a second to think that
for every moment of those two days, and for TWO WEEKS after...every member
of your family was searching all over town for you?" George said through
gritted teeth.  "I guess If I hadn't listened to your damn brother, and put
out that damn BOLO like I wanted to, I'd have found you right quick," he
finished, throwing Paul a fiery glance, which Paul didn't look over to see.

   "Dad...I-"

   "Continue Jackson," Martha said, shooting daggers at George, which shut
him up.

   Tillie was now bringing everyone their tea, bringing Jackson his cup
last.

   "Jackson, this is your sister, Tillie.  Tillie, this is Jackson, your
brother," his mother said, gesturing with her hand between the two of them.
Tillie bent down, wrapping her arms around his shoulders in a genuine, warm
embrace.  "Welcome home," she whispered, then walked over to take her seat
by Paul.  Jack wasn't surprised by his mother's very specific omitting of
'in-law'.  In his family, they didn't use terms like 'in-law', or 'step',
or even 'half' anything.  When you came into this family, you came in with
no adjectives, no hyphens, and no half measures.  "Thanks," he answered
her.

   "...anyway, I uh...I arrived at Fort Benning for Basic.  After that was
Infantry School.  Before Infantry School was over, I was offered a slot at
Airborne school in Fort Bragg.  After that, I was offered another school
slot, in Fort Campbell, Kentucky for Air Assault...fast-roping out of
helicopters" he added to his mother's confused look.  "I finally arrived
back at Fort Benning for...Ranger School." He looked to his father after
that last part to see his reaction.  He was rewarded with the faintest of
chuckles and the first approving look he'd yet received.

   "...you make it?" he asked, his eyes narrowing, one eye brow cocked.

   Jack answered with as close to a smirk as he could manage, "Yup." At
this, his father relaxed enough to give a full smile.  "Like your old man
after all."

   "Just what I need, two of you," Martha tisked.  Still, she had to
chuckle.

   "...after that, I did my EIB training, and finally got placed on a
rapid-deployment cycle.  2 months later, I was in Afghanistan for a
26-month tour with a smaller fire-team.  Came home, then volunteered for
another tour, this time in Iraq.  One of the last since we got the word 6
months in to pull all troops out.  any-"

   "OH MY GOD, STELLA!" his mother shouted.  "I completely forgot!  I've
gotta-"

   "Oh God, you're right!  Stay mom, I'll run and try to find her," Tillie
said, suddenly running out of the kitchen towards the front door.

   "Sorry honey, go on," Martha coaxed him, rubbing his hand.

   "...Anyway I got home and...alright look.  I did 2 tours in Afghanistan,
one in Iraq, spent 2 years in Korea, and 2 in Germany.  I made friends,
lost friends, saw things, did things, and now...now I'm home," he said,
feeling the weight of an entire life lived all at once.  "Yeah, there's a
lot more, and of course I want to tell you, and I will but-"

   "You got an honorable discharge?" his father asked, suddenly grave.

   "Yeah," Jack answered.  "Well, officially speaking, I'm
retired...medically"

   "Medically!" his mother blurted, suddenly handling him all over as if
some body part she couldn't see might be missing.  "Honey!  What happened?"

   "Nothing much...on the outside anyway."

   His father looked at him with a knowing expression.  He knew, more than
some, that the true toll of what warfare meant to a human being was rarely
shown on the outside.  It was usually when the day was drawing to a close,
when all was dark, quiet and still that the memories...of lives taken and
decisions made, that couldn't be taken back, weighed on you.  Even those
who weren't forced to take a life, could be haunted by the memory of that
version of themselves making the mental decision that if it came down to
it, they would pull that trigger before risking making the wrong call. 
'better to be judged by twelve than carried by six' was his old Platoon
Sergeant's motto before every mission he had run, seemingly a lifetime ago.

   "Not tonight," George finally said to everyone around the table.  "That
particular discussion can be had later, and in private if need be." He
added, more for Jack's benefit, than anyone else's.

   "Thanks dad."

   "Honey, there has to be more to your life in ten years than just your
Army career stuff.  Did you ever meet any girls?  I dunno..." Martha
started.  "...any boys?"

   "Mom..." he sighed, clearly not amused.

   "Martha, come on now," George said.

   "No, I'm serious!  Look, I'm just saying, no judgements sweetheart.  I
know you left and became this 'super-soldier' man, probably trying to be
whatever you felt your father, or whoever else, wanted you to be, but the
Jackson I remember was such a soft, gentle boy," She stated
matter-of-factly.  "I mean, you never wanted to hurt a fly, and I mean...I
never saw you interested in, or dating, any girls...not that you would have
had any time to, with you and Stella taking up 100% of each other's time
since practically birth."

   Another mention of Stella made Jacks stomach turn, and his suddenly pale
face didn't hide it.

   "I'm just saying, whoever you would have chosen, whichever it might be,
you know your father and I would love and accept you no matter what."

   "Yeah mom...I know.  I always have.  But for the record, I am not
attracted to men...like at all." He said with a tone of finality that meant
the question of his orientation was settled.

   "Ok, there was a woman, but it's not a normal situation, and it's a lot
to get into.  I married her.  We are not togeth-"

   "Married!" his mother choked out, nearly shooting tea out of her nose.

   "Yes, married.  Look...We aren't together anymore, I didn't love her,
she didn't love me.  I was...stepping in...to help her." He continued with
reluctance.  "I mean, we never even slept together.  She was in a bad way,
I thought she just needed someone to take a chance and help her get on her
feet, so I helped provide some...stability I guess, for her and her son."

   "Oh honey..."

   "She turned out to be someone else entirely, and now I'm paying for it.
That's basically the story...at least all I'm willing to get into tonight."

   For a few moments, all was quiet.  Then they heard the front door open.

   "Stella, sweetheart?" Martha called out.

   "No, just me," Tillie answered back.

   "Oh no.  Honey, go driv-"

   "Martha," George cut in.  "You know as well as I do, if Stella doesn't
want to be found, she won't be.  She will come back when she is ready to.
Lord knows she has more right than most to react the way she did."

   "Oh my God!  I totally forgot about...Should we tell him, or let
Stella?" Martha asked.

   "God no, are you nuts woman?  We can tell him."

   "Tell me what?" he demanded.

   "Well, honey, it's about the night you...disappeared." She said, looking
very uncomfortable.

   It took him a moment to react, mostly because he knew exactly what they
were going to tell him.  Of course, they had no idea he knew.  As far as
they knew, he had vanished before Stella came home, clothes ripped and
shaking all over.  They had no idea that he had snuck downstairs, having
heard her come home.  He had heard every detail that came out that night.
Not that it made this moment any easier.  Not only did he have to hear it
recounted to him, but he had to try to act like he was hearing it for the
first time.

   "Let me Martha," George started.  "Look son, I know how you
two...are...when it comes to each other."

   You have no idea.

   "So, try to keep calm and just wait until I'm all done, because trust me
it's gonna be as hard for me to say as it is for you to listen, ok?"

   Cool Control.  It's fine.  You can handle this.

   "That night, Stella was at the school late, with Mr.  Peterson, like
every Monday evening.  Apparently, he wanted more than to help her get that
scholarship she had her heart set on."

   He paused, looking like he was still trying to find the best way to put
it.

   "Ok look, Jack.  I don't...ok.  He...he raped her, Jack" he finished,
suddenly looking sick.

   "Wow, way to soften the blow dad.  Very delicate."

   "Fuck you Paul!  You try sayin' this stuff.  Wait until it's your little
girl one day huh?  see how you fuckin'- "

   "JESUS George!  Enough!" Martha said sternly.

   "No mom, it's alright.  He's right, I was way out of line.  I'm sorry
dad," Paul said, feeling genuinely sorry.

   "Look, honey.  She got home late that night, and told us everything.  I
won't go into any scary details or anything, but it was bad.  Your Dad and
Paul went into the station right away and tried to get a warrant for his
arrest as fast as they could, but by the time they got everything situated,
and got down to his house, which was actually right across the woods back
here, behind the estate, funny enough, he was gone..." Martha almost
babbled.

   "...without a trace really."

   "Well, not completely without a trace.  We found fingerprints and fibers
in the house...some blood spots..."

   Until now Jack had kept his jaw clenched and eyes straight forward, but
this was something he hadn't thought of.  Hadn't counted on.  He jerked his
head to Paul, without even thinking, staring into his eyes, looking for a
hint of...something.  Paul, who had been mostly silent until now, looked
intently back, letting his intense gaze do some talking of its own.

   "I mean...we didn't pull any matches on the prints or hair that wasn't
Mr.  Peterson's, so fat lot of good they did us.  But the blood was
definitely his.  Whoever else was there, was sloppy, but vanished as well."

   "So, you suspect foul play then?" Jack asked, almost holding his breath,
his eyes not leaving Paul's for a single second.

   "Well, I wouldn't call what might have happened to him foul," Paul said,
with a knowing smile touching at the corner of his lips.  "But there's
really no way for us to know what happened to him, or where he is."

   Ok.  He can only suspect.  I can handle that.  Jack assured himself
inside.

   "I mean...given what he did, and who he did it to, if it had been me..."
Paul paused, his smile now gone, eyes boring into Jack's.  "...and I wasn't
a cop.  I probably would have snuck into his house, strangled the life out
of him, put him in his own car, driven his body out to some...secluded spot
in the woods, buried his body in a shallow grave, and set his car on fire."

   His entire body felt sick instantly.  His blood seemed to freeze in his
veins.  He was right, earlier up in his room: he should have never come.

   "Of course, if I had done something like that, I'd have left behind a
ton of evidence, and I couldn't hope to stay unknown for long," he said,
smiling at everyone else in the room, chuckling.  "Hell, my only hope would
have been that by some stroke of cosmic luck, just the right person would
have had to find the evidence, and make it disappear.  Of course, then I'd
have to take a page out of Jack's book and vanish.  Right?" he asked his
dad, looking his way as he chuckled.

   "What the fuck is wrong with you?" George asked, scowling.

   "Honey, I know the topic makes us all angry, but you don't have to be so
morbid," Martha added.  Tillie merely rubbed his back, not knowing what to
say.

   It took Jack a few moments to find his voice again.  It was clear that
Paul knew more than Jack had ever imagined anyone would, but it also seemed
equally clear that no matter what he knew for sure, he was, and had been,
keeping it to himself.

   "Look...I know that we all have a lot more to talk about, but I don't
think I have any more in me tonight.  I didn't want to just assume, but
would it be alright if I crashed here for maybe a couple of days, get my
bearings and I'll look into a place t-"

   "Excuse me, but you aren't going to be staying anywhere outside of this
house, for any foreseeable future," His mother said forcefully.

   "She's right," his father said, standing up to his full height.  "This
might seem like some silly parenting joke, but I assure you it's not.  I
don't want you leaving this house, Jack.  Not for a while anyway."

   He knew it might have sounded odd for parents to try to ground a grown
adult child, but he fully understood where they were coming from, and
wouldn't fight them.

   "Ok."

   "Good.  Now let's all turn in.  It's been a long night and I think we
all need some sleep.  C'mon sweet pea." George said, trying to somehow
guide his family through one tough evening like an old, tired captain
through uncertain waters.  It seemed to work though, as everyone slowly
rose form their chairs, and started hugging each other goodnight.  Jack's
mother wrapped her arms around him first, gripping him for dear life.

   "You'll be here in the morning, won't you Jack?" she whispered to him.
It broke his heart just a little more.

   "I'm not going anywhere, ever again Mom.  I promise.  I'll be here when
you wake."

   "Thank you, honey.  I hope you're a heavy sleeper because I might check
to make sure a few times through the night," She said, chuckling.  His
father took his mother's spot a moment, later, wrapping his son in a bear
hug.

   "I love you so much, son."

   "I love you too, Dad."

   Tillie came next, tears in her eyes.  "I'm so happy you're here.  I know
you don't know me yet, but just know I'm here for you, we all are." She
said, hugging him tightly.  The thing was, even thought he had just met her
tonight, he found comfort in her words, and hugged her tightly back.

   "Thank you, Tillie." He whispered back.

   "I'll go get the car started babe, take your time." She said to Paul,
smiling as she left for the front door.  Now it was just Jack and Paul,
standing across from each other, the silence becoming deafening.  Paul
strode over to his brother, putting his hands on his shoulders, and looked
into his eyes.

   "Don't worry, Jack.  You're safe.  You've always been safe," Paul said,
bringing him into his arms.  "Unlike when we were kids, this was one
mess...I gladly cleaned up," He whispered in his ear.  "I'll always have
your back, man."

   "Does anyone else..."

   "No." Paul quickly whispered back.

   "Could you ever get in trou-"

   "No.  Don't worry, I knew what I was doing.  Like I said, you're safe.
Completely.  Now...let's never talk about this, ever again, OK?  What's
buried, stays buried."

   "Thank you, Paul.  Thank you so much."

   "I love you, man." Paul said.  With that, he strode past, into the
entryway, and out the front door, leaving Jack alone again.

   CH.  4

   Feeling physically exhausted, but with his mind too active to sleep yet,
he went out of the kitchen door, out onto the back porch.  Not wanting to
switch on any lights, he strode out to the top most step and sat down,
looking up and taking in the clear night sky.  Tonight was a still night,
and a near-full moon shone down, basking the long, sweeping lawn in the
magic of a lunar embrace.  Moonlight kissed every surface in sight, and it
made the world glow.  Something about the sun being down, and the moon
taking its place gave off the feeling that the starry night sky was a safe
canopy, enveloping all under its ever-protective wings.  The smells of
summer were more subdued at night, but it still permeated through his
nostrils.  Fresh-cut grass, Evening dew, and what seemed like a trace scent
of every tree on earth, wafted through him, wrapped around him.

   How many times had he run up, down, and all around that wide-open lawn?
Through all of those trees, hand-in-hand with her?  How many times had she
lifted him up when he fell, kissing his cuts and scratches?  How many
nights had they lain, side by side on a blanket, trying in vain to touch
the stars in the sky?  How many sunsets had she begged him to dance with
her, barefoot and free?  Countless.  But it didn't seem to matter much now,
at least not on this lawn, on this night.  Probably not on any night in ten
years.  All was still in this world now.  No laughing, no running, no
kissed scratches or touched stars.  Just regret.

   I should have danced with her, just once.

   "You got off easy." a soft voice said from behind him, making him jump
up and whip around.

   On the patio couch, sitting with her knees in her chest, beside an open
dining room window, sat Stella.

   "How long have you been out here Stel?"

   "Long enough to know you've been a busy boy," she said, nudging her head
towards the open window.  "Long enough to hear most of your...incomplete
story." As she paused, she stood up, walking down the porch steps, facing
up at him.

   "Stel, if you heard most everything, then you heard that I can't go into
it anymore tonight, OK?  Look, tomorrow morning, you and I ca-"

   "Oh fuck you Jackson, OK?  You can spin your fucking bullshit yarn to
them, and gloss over everything important, and they will cave, maybe even
not notice for a while, but don't you dare insult me.  I'm.  not.  Them."
She snapped.  The second she said it, he knew she was right.  And since it
was Stella, to him, it didn't matter if she was right or not.  She was
getting what she wanted.  She always did.  Well, almost everything, he
thought.

   "Ok fine Stella, but look...Everything I told them was true.  I didn't
lie about any of-"

   "So, you married some woman, a woman you didn't love, and who didn't
love you, and never, not even once, had sex with her?  Not even a little
quickie?  And just did it to take care of her, or help her, or whatever?"
She demanded.  "And don't you fucking lie to me, Jackson, cuz I'll know. 
You know I will."

   "Yes.  All of that is true." He answered plainly.

   "Ok.  Fine." She answered back, knowing his honesty.

   "Why are you getting divorced?"

   "She wanted something...Something I couldn't give her."

   "Tell me the whole truth Jackson." She demanded, locking her beautiful
jaw.

   He slowly rose to standing, never looking away from her.  "She found out
why I couldn't."

   "Fine." She answered, satisfied with the truth.  Her demeanor shifted
though, one of curiosity, concern instead of challenge.

   "Did...when you went to those places...were you afraid?" she asked, eyes
searching his.

   At this, his demeanor changed as well, from one of humiliation and
trepidation to one of quiet resignation.

   "Everyday."

   "Did you...have to kill anyone?"

   "Yes."

   "People tried to kill you?"

   "Yes."

   "Did it...change you?" she almost pleaded, afraid of the answer.

   "Yes."

   "How?  How do you feel that's different?"

   "Empty," he croaked.

   She almost broke when he answered, but she held herself back.  He had
much to atone for, and not even her ache to console him would stop her from
exacting it.  The scales between them were tipped too far askew, and until
balance was at least on the path towards resolution, she had to stand firm.

   "Why did you join?  What made you choose the same path as Dad?"

   "I don't even know anymore.  I needed to go...somewhere."

   "But why Jackson?  We finally come to it.  Why did you have to leave?"

   "I can't tell you that Stel."

   "Bullshit Jackson.  Fuck you.  Yes, you fucking can, and you fucking
will.  You're gonna tell me.  I deserve to know, you hear me?  I deserve an
answer, right now!"

   "Stella, I know you have no reason to anymore, but I'm asking, begging
you not to ask me that, and to just trust that I had a really important
reason."

   "TRUST YOU?!  Fuck y-...that's bullshit." She boomed, ramping back up,
before Jack closed the gap between them and grasped her shoulders, staring
intently into her eyes.

   "Ok, look..." he started, mulling over the changes to the situation,
given the revelation from Paul earlier.  "...hear me out.  Not tonight mind
you, but soon, I will tell you.  I promise you Stella.  I will tell you
everything, and when I do, you'll see why I left, why I had no other
choice. You'll see that I did it for you, for us.  That I did what I had to
do, for reasons I promise I will tell you, just not now, Ok?  Please
Stella, take a chance, I know it's a big one, but trust me."

   ...and she did.  In his eyes, at that moment, she saw a flash of that
gentle boy that had captivated her heart so many years ago.  That kind,
loving man that she would have done anything for.

   "Ok.  Ok...alright I tell you what, Jack.  Ill give you time..." She
said, watching relief flood over her twin's face.  "Four weeks of it, in
fact.  Yeah...four weeks, and in that time, you do like Dad said, and you
don't step foot outside the bounds of this property.  You hear me?"

   "Yeah, I hear you."

   "In fact, you know what?  I'm gonna move in too, and while I'm here,
you're gonna answer any questions I have about anything and everything,
anytime I think of it.  And you're gonna leave me the fuck alone when I'm
here too.  Unless I come to you, you don't approach me.  And I get to come
to you, and approach you anytime, for any reason.  Oh...and one last
thing." She said, shrugging his hands off her shoulders and squaring her
jaw.  "You don't fucking touch me.  You don't hug me, hold my hand, tap my
shoulder, nothing.  If I do those things, then I make the choice, but not
you Jackson.  Don't you fucking touch me."

   He listened to her tirade, silently accepting her terms with not a look
of reproach or pain...until the last part.  The callous disregard in her
voice, the cold determination in her eyes as she warned him against
touching her, cut to the bone and to that end, his tear ducts seemed to
have found their second-wind.  He could no longer see her clearly, even
standing this close to her, through the pools and tightness in his chest.

   "Do you understand me, Jackson?"

   "I understand, S-Stella...I promise."

   "Ok.  Goodnight."

   That seemed to be her cue, and without another word she strode past him,
up the porch steps and reached for the door.  She turned, and asked one
more question before she went upstairs.  "Why did you say please?"

   "What?" he asked, confused about what she was asking.

   "When you were sleeping, when you shot awake, you begged 'please'. 
Why?"

   "Nightmare."

   "Do you have them often?  When they...scare you awake?" she asked,
sounding genuinely curious, and a little concerned.

   "Often enough"

   "Every night?"

   "Yes."

   "Ok...well, Night." She muttered going into the house, leaving Jack to
his own devices.

   Once the door was shut and he was sure he was alone, he took one last
look at the night sky, wishing this day would just end.  He went back in
the house and padded softly through the house to his room, where once he
walked in, he saw a flurry of movement to his left, in his sister's room.
Apparently, Stella had brought whatever things she kept, in whichever other
room in the house she kept them, to her old room.  She was clothed in just
an oversized thin, grey t-shirt, and from Jack could tell, not much else.
The light from the bathroom bathing the otherwise dark room in light
provided him a good idea of how she still looked underneath it all, and as
always, it was breathtaking.  She really was the most beautiful woman he
had ever seen.  Long, lithe, and slender.  He stood there, staring, as she
situated her current things amongst her old things, getting ready for bed.

   "Get it out of your head Jackson," she said, her voice dire with
warning. Apparently, she still had eyes in the back of her head.  "Get
ready for bed.  Today was long, but your long days have only begun, and I
know you need rest.  Sleep." Even when she loathed him, she looked out for
him.  He nodded, knowing her back was still turned and she couldn't see it,
and went to close the double doors separating their rooms.

   "What the hell are you doing?" she asked, spinning on the spot, eyes
narrowed.

   "I...just thought that-"

   "I don't know how many times you hit your head over there, but we have
rules Jackson..." She stated authoritatively.  "...and those ruled haven't
changed.  No doors between us in here.  That stays the same."

   "Sorry, Stel.  I didn't forget, I just thought you might have changed
your mind, given-"

   "Well I haven't." she snapped.  "If you ever hope for us to...get back
to being in the same universe as we used to be, then you better get your
shit together.  Ok?"

   "Alright."

   "Now please, go to sleep."

   With things as settled as they would get for the night, Jack stripped
his shirt off, cracked the window, turned off the radio and got in bed. 
What a fuckin' day, he thought.  They say, 'you can never go back home',
but Jack never really got it until today.  In some ways, things had gone so
very different than he'd imagined.  But in some ways, it had gone very
similar.  There was pain...so much of it.  Anger, sure.  Regret.  But one
thing that he hadn't counted on there being so much of...was hope. 
Everyone was hurt, as they should have been, but every single person had
shown him in even the smallest way that hope remained for him.  Even
Stella, although she showed the least of it, but she still showed that it
was there.  Whatever he had been through up to this point in his life,
nothing compared to the challenge ahead, but it was a challenge he would
meet with every strength he had.  The stakes were too high to lose.  With
emotions calmed down throughout the house, his eyes began to burn and get
heavy, and with a deep sigh, he finally allowed sleep to take him.

   CH.  5

   He stacked against the wall, four other men hugged up in a line behind
and against him.  He tapped the guy behind him silently with his non-firing
hand, and waited for the tap to go down the line and return to him,
signaling that everyone was ready.  He felt the tap, looked to the
breach-man and nodded.  The breach-man nodded back, swung the heavy steel
ram with all his might and the door flew inward, off its hinges and into
the room with a crash, with the man ducking back behind the other wall, out
of Jack's way.  Jack was point, and fluidly rushed into the room, eyes
trained through his sight.  The white-robed, brown-skinned man left to
watch the door was still stunned when Jack found him.  He made the
slightest of twitches for the AK at his feet when three loud, rapid pops
from Jack's rifle sent three rounds into his chest, causing him to fall
over.

   "One down." He shouted out.  as the first man behind him went left as
Jack trained right.  Another 4 loud pops meant Smithwheel found a second
target.  "Two down."

   The last two swept in, while the breach-man took the rear, and covered
the entrance.  In 30 seconds, two more targets went down, one of which
being the primary target who they'd come for.  He had been setting up
make-shift rail systems on tops of buildings in the AO, sending various
rockets and mortars towards, and sometimes into, the FOB nearby.  It wasn't
until it blew the arm of some Field-grade officer walking to his room from
the DFAC that the word came down to find him.  The radio crackled on after
all the violence had subsided.

   ...Shadow 7, Shadow 6, over...

   ...This is Shadow 7, send it...

   ...Status, over...

   "We all CLEAR?" Jack called out to the rest of the team in the house.

   "Yeah Carter, we're clear...all good." Smithwheel answered back for
everyone.

   ...Red team down, target eliminated, all clear.  Green on weapons,
equipment and personnel, over...

   ...Roger Shadow 7, Index.  RTB, time now.  Good job.  Shadow 6 out...

   "Alright, march order guys.  Let's get the fuck outta he-"

   ...Click...

   They all knew that click, and it made Jack whip around to the far side
of the room, where Smithwheel had stepped on something they'd all missed in
their sweep.  "Oh Fu-"

   The next sound everyone heard was an explosion, blasting the wall and
roof out and throwing Smithwheel up and over in one direction, with his
legs flying in another.  The concussion had thrown everyone back on their
asses or thrown them into walls.  Jackson had been blasted out the window
behind him, showering him in shattered glass.  His ears were ringing, and
he didn't know which way was up or down.  It took a few seconds to remember
wear he was and what happened.  "STEVE!" he shouted, scrambling to get
himself up.  "NO!" He stumbled into the wrecked house, and saw his friend,
sans legs, trying to look around for them, in shock.

   "Shit man!  Shit my fuckin legs, guys.  What the fuck man?  No, man! 
Please!" He cried.

   The others scrambled to their feet, with the medic rushing to
Smithwheel, trying to figure out what to do as blood was pouring out of
him.

   "Please, Jack...I wanna go home.  Help me man, please!  I just wanna go
home..."

   ...Shadow 7, shadow 6, what happened...

   "Jack, call in a nine-line...Jack...JACK!" the medic yelled, trying to
snap him out of it.

   "He just wants to go home..." was all he could get out, shock fully
setting in.  "He just...wants to...go home..."

   ...Shadow 6, Shadow Doc, requesting medivac...line one...

   "He just wants to go..."

   "HOME!" he cried out.  "PLEASE!"

   He bolted upright, drenched in sweat.  He couldn't breathe.  He shot his
head this way and that, trying to remember where he was.  All he knew was
he was alone and it was dark.  He felt only panic, but had no one to
comfort him.  Shuffling footsteps in the room behind him helped to remind
him of where he was, and right when everything came back to him, Stella
whisked into the room, holding a bottle of water.  "Stella..." he said,
still coming back to reality, fighting tears.

   "It's ok Jack, I'm here." She cooed, sitting beside him, placing a hand
on his bare, sweaty chest and bringing the opened water bottle to his lips.
"Here, take a deep breath and drink some water." He did as she asked, and
took a gulp.

   "Here, hold this and I'll get a damp cloth," She said, more maternally
than he would have expected from her.  He did as she asked, and held the
bottle himself while drinking.  He heard her soak, and then wring out, a
wash cloth in the bathroom.  She was sitting by his side again in seconds,
wash cloth in hand.  She started with his neck, then slowly and gently down
his shoulders and back, wiping the sweat from his body.  "There we go,
you're safe now.  You're here.  Home, with me.  Ok?" she said, still in the
softest of voices.  "Ok..." She said, taking the empty bottle from his
grasp gently, "...now lay back.  It's ok.  Slowly." He did as she
instructed, comforted with being guided by her gentle hands.

   She then wiped the damp, cool cloth across his broad chest, and unless
he was imagining things, she was going considerably slower on his front
half than she had with his back.  Letting the shape of her hand mold to his
form, she slowly caressed the cloth over all of his chest, and down his
stomach, slowing down even more once reached his abdomen.  His eyes were
watching her face like a hawk, waiting for any kind of reaction, but her
eyes were paying attention to her task.  Then, suddenly her eyes darted
straight at his, stopping her cloth filled hand abruptly, then withdrawing
it entirely.  Her eyes weren't angry though.  They weren't hostile or
regretful in any way really.  They looked...certain.  Decided, but on what
he couldn't say.

   "Is that better now?" she asked, her tone genuine.

   "Yes.  Thank you."

   "Don't thank me, Jackson.  I have to do this."

   "But why?  After everything I've done, I mean-" he started, but she
brought her hand up to his mouth to stop him.  She then placed it square on
his chest and leaned in close.

   "We made promises to each other.  Life-long promises...and unlike you, I
meant every single.  one.  I keep my promises Jackson."

   Her words were like a bullet to the heart, but he tried his best to hide
it, unsuccessfully.

   "Shh, no...look I'm sorry.  I shouldn't have said that.  It's ok." She
said, hastily trying to comfort him, remembering what brought her in here
to begin with.  "That was wrong, what I said.  You're fine, you're safe. 
I'm sorry." She rubbed his chest to sooth him, and it seemed to bring his
breathing back down to a steady pace.  "I'll be right in there, ok?"
gesturing to her room.  He nodded in ascent, and she rose to go back to
bed, but immediately after, sat back down, leaning into his chest, cupping
his face in her hands and peering into his eyes.

   "I'm...I am so angry at you," she said, her eyes tear-filled and fierce.
"I can't even...I can barely breathe I'm so angry.  But I still
mean...every single promise...I made that night.  I still love you...so
much, Jack.  So...I believe you, that you had your reasons.  I'm not ready
to just forget, forgive and accept it until you tell me everything, and
that means I'm gonna need time...time to work things out, to let you in
again.  So, I won't fulfill certain promise I made...we made, when it comes
to...us....yet." She said, putting just the right amount of emphasis on
'us' while tracing her thumb across his lips.  "You have secrets.  I have
secrets too.  Will you tell me your secrets, Jack?  When you're ready, will
you tell me all your secrets?  Even if it hurts?" she asked, bordering on
begging.

   "Every single one, Stel.  I promise."

   "Ok.  We'll just take it one day at a time then.  I won't ask 'why', not
until the four weeks are up, or you decide to tell me, but everything else
is fair game...and the rules I said before still stand."

   She simply gave him a sad smile, leaned in and kissed his forehead, and
rose.

   "I love you.  Just be patient." She said as she left to her room.

   He waited until he heard her get in bed, and then shifted to his side,
where he was the most comfortable.  This was the longest day I have ever
lived through, he thought.  I'm just glad it's over.

   "Jack, in ten years...were you ever...with anyone?" Stella called to him
from her bed.  "Just tell me the truth."

   "No Stella.  I've never been with anyone.  That's the truth." He
answered back.

   "Me neither.  Goodnight."



   to be continued....
   For pics visit ---->> https://bit.ly/2ReHUJI