We drove back down to Mercado Lane to retrieve a map of the East Coast where General Vergs had written up his plan of attack. A plan which cost him a humvee and six men, sure. But he wasn't going to back down that easily. The stopover attack at Hobart gave him an opportunity to survey the locale. High hills, tall trees—something was brewing behind that drunkard face of his.
Joshua was hesitant to let me in now that I was with the general—the look on the CS' face implied that General Vergs hadn't been sleeping there for quite a while now. Nonetheless, after reasoning with him, Joshua let us through and even did us the favor of stepping outside to trim the garden.
The kitchen area, mostly untouched since Dr. Agatha could no longer go down the steps, was so cold and so sterile that General Vergs' heat and stench radiated even stronger in it. However, I was respectful and opted to breathe through my mouth and out my nose to avoid catching a whiff of his boozy odor. That way, I'd be tasting hints of warm liquor instead of sniffing everything else.
General Vergs told me to wait downstairs while he spoke with the doctor. Through the window above the sink, I told Joshua to wait until the general and I finished our business inside the house. The CS nodded and continued maintaining the garden. From the foot of the stairs, I heard their conversation unfold.
"Don't close the door," said Dr. Agatha, probably thinking it was the CS given she spoke in a calm manner. Perhaps, she was looking the other way.
"Emily."
Dr. Agatha didn't say a word. Sheets rustled and the floorboards creaked—that made me worried. Anxiously, I ascended the staircase to the sounds of what I assumed to be the general restraining the doctor as she attempted to whack him. I peeked through the gap in the door, finding Dr. Agatha cornered on the general's side of the bed with General Vergs pleading with her by her nightstand.
"Emily, please talk to me."
"There's nothing to talk about," she was quick to shut him down.
"Yes, there is."
General Vergs ambled to his side of the bed, kneeling before the frail Dr. Agatha. The doctor attempted to drag herself back to her side, but the general gently held her in place. He was afraid that she would've inflicted pain on herself from fighting his grip, and so he kept on begging her to stop. Eventually, Dr. Agatha yielded and looked him in the eyes, almost transfixed by them as she saw them light up for the first time since months, but she didn't give in that quickly.
"What?" she asked him. "What do you want?"
The both of them had spent a minute or two exchanging gazes. One was calm but fierce while the other was gloomy and afraid. Dr. Agatha looked down on the general as he asked for forgiveness, as if she had been appointed his judge. Though as ill and bedridden as she was, she had quite a hard shell on her—so much harder than the general's bravado.
"I've been bad," General Vergs murmured, "and I've done you wrong."
"Tell me something I don't know." The doctor's words packed a punch.
Other than laying down on a wire for that country he "loved so damn much", he realized what it was actually costing him. And I'll tell you what: it was costing him more than his life on that wire. It was costing him something he would've actually died for, whether the world was at war or not.
"Please, Mitchell, you don't want this," Dr. Agatha wagged her head. "You just don't want to lose any more of anything to this senseless fight. I know you. I know that you don't want to lose. I know that you can't handle defeat."
"Emily—"
"But maybe this is the thing you need to lose to realize that."
"No—"
"Oh, how would you know?!" Dr. Agatha raised her voice at him. "You're not the one who was afraid that this'll fall apart! You're not the one who cares for those kinds of things, Mitchell! That's not you!"
Her sermon was interrupted when she had a hacking fit—it sent General Vergs and I into a panic. Quickly, I rushed down the steps to fetch a glass of water from the kitchen where Everett saw me shaking through the window. He came barging in the front door, no questions asked, and went straight to the cupboards where he obtained Dr. Agatha's medicine. When we both got what we came for, the CS and I bolted for the staircase, colliding shoulder-to-shoulder, and ultimately, tumbling down the steps the second we grabbed the railings.
Miraculously, the glass didn't shatter in my grip, though my face was dowsed in water. General Vergs heard the commotion and came down the steps without uttering a word. He took the medicine from Everett's outstretched hand and the glass from mine. As he made it back up the steps, the CS and I assisted each other to our feet. He sat at the dinner table while I followed the general up the steps.
When I reached the top of the steps for a second time, I placed my back against the wall and listened to their conversation through the gap.
"Mitchell," Dr. Agatha said in a calm and somewhat caring tone. "Did you ever stop to think that it was going to be like this? That we would never get the chance to settle down? That I could never give us the child we wanted?" She let out a cathartic laugh, followed by a tear-jerking cry. "Some life, huh?" she wept. "What a life you and I have to share."
"But I want it more than anything, and I know you want it too," General Vergs said. "I got caught up with what I thought I should've been for Congress and for my country. I thought that everything I did was for the greater good, and that I was some kind of savior to all of you, but I wasn't. Weaponizing Anais, sending countless men down to the frontier just to die, keeping all of this a secret from Elisabeth—it only broke us apart. I know that now. I know that what I did was wrong, but I want to make up for it. I want to make up for it because I know what I'm losing if I don't, and I don't want to lose you, Emily. You're all I have."
That was the general I knew. That was the General Vergs that I first met with in Big Indian, the one that welcomed me into his home when we first set foot in Mercado Lane, and the one that confessed to me about feeling lost when we shared a drink on his doorstep. No more was the Congress slave who kept secrets and put lives in danger on the daily. Although he held that rank and file, he was so much more. He was, as I like to put it, a loving, caring partner and father. Upon peeking through the gap, I found Dr. Agatha resting in the general's arms.
"What has this world come to, Mitchell?" she cried. "Our babygirl is still out there. I can't sleep, I can't eat. I'm nothing without her."
General Vergs embraced the doctor like he was shielding her, back straight and all. I nearly forgot that he had liquor coursing through his veins. "Don't you worry, my love. I'll bring her back. I'll bring her back as soon as I can."
"Oh, Mitchell…," Dr. Agatha gave in completely, speaking to him as if he had only just arrived. "Where did you go?"
"I'm right here, Emily. I'm right here."
* * *
I had taken a nap in the guest room—Anais' room—when the general woke me from my sleep. The time was sixteen hundred, and the winter sky was getting even darker. The Fort Lee general assisted me downstairs where Joshua, standing by the dinner table, had folded a freshly ironed uniform for me to wear—the exact same one that the regiment soldiers wore. On top of the folded fatigues—my very own orange bandana to tie around my bicep.
Thwap.
General Vergs placed the map on the table—it was the same one that Joshua had stashed away in the utility room. After ordering the CS to tend to the doctor, General Vergs and I sat at the dinner table and discussed what Operation: Babylon or the "70 Deal" really was.
"Up until Thomas defected to the French, the operation was what the name implied—reclaim seventy percent of French-occupied territory and clear the terrain for air support."
"General…" I let the silence stir for a bit. That conversation meant so much to me—it might've been the first honest talk I ever had with the man. "What happened to Tommy? What happened to my husband?"
Months of death and pain and agony had finally led me to that moment. The moment where I could finally lay the thought of my husband to rest. The moment I could let go of all my gripes and all my troubles. The moment the general could finally come clean and recognize me as an ally. The moment I could actually close that dark and cautious chapter in my life.
I never felt more ready to hear the truth.
It was always a force of habit for General Vergs to take a swig whenever he'd talk about Congress or how far the French pushed us back or, when they were still at each other's throats, Pope. But as he pulled his flask out of his jacket to take a sip, he stopped. With his eyes straight down in a thinking manner, the general set the flask on the table and pulled his hand away steadily like he had just defused a bomb.
"It was the first of September," said General Vergs. "Thomas had already been serving as our secretary for a while and was commissioned by Congress to deliver your microfiche to a spot near Teaneck. That same day, Miller reported to me that Thomas defected. He was spotted entering the Barren Buffer Zone in his humvee."
The Fort Lee general looked ashamed as he told me the news.
"I sent the lieutenant after him and he caught Thomas just beyond Edgewater. He was in bad shape. There was a sniper round lodged in his upper back."
"Oh, my God," I choked out. "It doesn't make any sense. He was already driving down there to do the major's job. Why would they still hurt him?"
"When Lieutenant Miller found him, his humvee was parked facing north with the passenger-side window partially shattered," the general explained to me. "It was suspected that Thomas got cold feet about the whole thing and opted out. Eyes and Ears probably stopped him in his tracks across the river, but Lieutenant Miller got him to safety."
"Oh, Tommy." I covered my face with my hands and began tearing up.
The general had to avert his gaze from me so as not to break down as well. One of us had to be strong to get that point across, and he was the one who opted to do that.
"His final moments were spent sitting in an abandoned home along JFK Boulevard in Bergen County. That's when he recorded his conversation with Miller, and he did so to prove to Congress and to the regiment that he wasn't a spy and that you had no hand in all that. After all was said and done, he asked Miller to step out while he…"
I already knew how my beloved Tommy went. All I had to do was hear it come out of the general's mouth. To me, it meant more than just hearing the truth. It let me know that he wasn't going to shoot me if I faced the other way. That he wasn't going to lock me in a cage or throw me down a hole like what he did with St. Vier. If I was going to lay down on the very wire that he did, there had to be trust.
"He opted out. Miller returned his body to Edgewater, said that Thomas 'body packed' the patents before recording that conversation so that we'd know how to hide or retrieve it." General Vergs let me sob for a few more seconds before he grabbed his flask and stood from the table. "He was buried near Pompton Lake in Passaic County."
"They found the body," in a blank state, I said to myself.
General Vergs opened his flask and raised it up to his head, pouring its contents into the sink. When he placed the flask down on the countertop, he said to me, "Changes had to be made in the operation. After Thomas' defection, Congress marked you as a person of interest. They urged me to get a hold of you, worried that you and Thomas shared the same allegiance, and that if not, the Hexagon would come looking… which they did."
"Keep your enemies close," I replied.
Remorsefully, General Vergs agreed with my statement. "For a time, that was the idea. However, we couldn't pinpoint if you were a liaison to the French or genuinely oblivious to what was going on, and so, we ordered Lieutenant Miller to keep an eye on you. We mapped out all the hamlets in the area that your squad could exterminate and made irregular routes and schedules of when you were to go there, preventing the Hexagon from analyzing your sortie patterns."
By keeping me in a non-routine rotation, the French couldn't identify when and where I was. The Fort Lee regiment adopted the cash drop system from that new clause in Congress' mission parameters. Come to think of it, the Hexagon still managed to get a few good hits in, like in North Palisades and at Tellers Tower, despite the regiment's efforts in keeping my coordinates unknown.
I recalled another thing. In his journal, Tommy mentioned something about delivering messages from Edgewater to the Hexagon—maybe Hoboken or somewhere in the Barren Buffer Zone. What was that all about?
"Tommy said that after you established the DMZ," I recalled, "he'd deliver messages to and from the Hexagon. What was that exchange?"
"General Bernard and I were discussing, on paper, the state of the buffer zone such as the effects of the Master Camps on our livestock and how the franc ate away at the bill. In the first few messages, I pleaded with the man. I tried to reason with him. After a series of negligence, my pleas became threats, and those threats became actions… but only after he broke that vow. And not only did we lose Edgewater—we suspected that Thomas divulged information to the French regarding our border defenses."
"Under the guise of 'delivering messages'?"
"I… I don't know what else to tell you."
That was the end of it. After that whole revelation, I was officially up to speed on everything—from the 70 Deal to Tommy's death and to what my presence entailed in the war.
"Well," the gears were still grinding in my head, "what else can you tell me?"
General Vergs disappeared behind the steps as he entered the utility room. He did not say a word while he was there. All I could hear was the rustling of boxes and bins along with the flapping of papers and folders and clanking of trinkets. I sat there, looking out the window while the agonizing thought of Tommy's defection sizzled in my mind. Practically handing over Edgewater to the French—I couldn't fathom.
General Vergs emerged from behind the steps with a leather wrap cradled in his arms. He plopped it right next to the map and sat back down.
"What your husband did was a heinous crime against the sole integrity of this very nation," General Vergs told me in a stern voice. "An offense that could damn this world into a second Cold War if we're not too careful with how we proceed."
Shing.
I heard the chime of nickel as he unraveled the leather, revealing to me my holstered pearl-grip Escort resting alongside the broken .38 Special. I was not a gun nut or anything like that, but the shine on that nickel just did something to me whenever it'd catch my eye. That Escort had my back before anyone else did.
You know, you'd have to learn the hard way to know that guns don't lie—they're man's most honest machines.
"I didn't agree with his motives toward the end—until now, I don't. But he did everything in his power to make sure that you didn't have a fault in this and that the blood wouldn't be on your hands. He gave up that much just for you. He loved you that much, Lisa. His allegiance wasn't with the Americans or the Soviets—it was with you. Everything he did—he did for you."
The general reached for my hand across the table and stared me in my eyes, giving me the most sincere gaze he had ever given.
"Lisa," he breathed, "I am sorry for everything I have put you through, all the things you had to do, and all the people you had to lose just to get here."
A different kind of shine shimmered in my eyes. It belonged to the single teardrop that ran down the Fort Lee general's cheek, mirroring the ones welling in mine. My heart, after locking up from all the aching, was now open to him—as open as it was for Dr. Agatha and for Anais.
"Is it…," the general was reluctant to ask me, "Is it still possible for you to forgive me?"
I remembered what Pope told me before she left it all behind: "living a lie is just as good as being dead". Well, I was no longer living that lie, and whatever ounce of ghost I had left in me dissipated at that dinner table.
I was alive.
General Vergs' hand began shivering on top of mine. I placed my other hand over it and thawed him from the cold, caressing with my thumb—my take on his hand-hold, which was always his form of an embrace.
Without breaking the gaze, I tilted my head in a reassuring manner and answered, "I'd like to think so, yes," beaming a smile his way.
Smiling back at me, General Vergs told me, "I'm glad to hear that."
It took me too long to realize that General Vergs really was what Tommy described him to be. He was a faltering candlewick, drowning in the wax he melted himself in—the mess he made. But it took a little more messmaking to pull himself out of that rut, and that was the same case with me. We weren't enemies made apart by mutual suspicion. We were both faltering candlewicks burning just enough to slip away from the trouble.
Not all burdens were fixed. Some—we just had to let go. And letting go meant that he and I buried the hatchet, and maybe even danced on its grave. But that was enough of the cha-cha.
It was now time to tango in the fires of Bovina.
Main Street, the time was seventeen hundred.
I paid Joseph a visit. He was staying at a one-bedroom unit in one of the sponsored blocks for journalists who came in from all around. The apartment buildings, which were initially closed up when I got there the first time, had been reopened and were now state-funded and heavily guarded.
Joseph's building looked over the whole street. From his window, I saw all the humvees lined up and the Gloria-08 bouncing rays of the setting sun off its cold shell whenever the winter skies cleared up even for just a bit.
We both shared a black tea by the windowsill, watching the people of Mercado Lane walk up and down the street. It was a good feeling. Something about the faint light creeping into that dim room of his gave me that familiar feeling of waking up in Lords Valley. Yes, I gave that place a lot of flack, and I still do stand by what I said about that place making me "soupy in the brain", but slow days like that—you'd get them every two blue moons.
He was standing by the window while I was perched on his couch.
"Were you able to speak with whoever you were looking for?" he asked me.
"I did."
I sported the regiment uniform with the orange bandana tied around my left bicep. The gloves kept my hands warm and my kneepads secured my legs pretty well. I didn't need to nurse my knees every now and then. I also had the Pali' Recon patch showing proudly on my chest. It had the U.S. flag on it with a rook on top, representing protection and defense with its castle emblem.
My badge was a lot dirtier than it should've been. That was because I was wearing the very same patch Tommy wore during his service—the one General Vergs gave me back in September.
Joseph showed mild disdain on his face—I could understand why. Back in Montreal, he knew me for my poor posture, my soft voice, and my raggedy clothes. In Mercado Lane, I was something else. I was strong, I had a voice, and I definitely had a presence.
"So," Joseph said before letting out a sigh, "I take it this might be the last we speak?"
"Please don't be upset."
"I admire your courage, Elisabeth. I really do. But this? It really looks like, to me, you're just walking into the fire."
"Hey now," I said to him. "You're doing the same just to get a good story on your hands."
Joseph placed his cup on the coffee table in a worried manner. I felt bad that I made him lose his taste for the tea, but the concern he had for me, although he had every right to be concerned, was the same kind that Captain Mapleman, Joshua, and the others had when they wanted me to stay away. Now, Joseph didn't have any of those intentions—he just didn't want me to die—but it was going to be the same thing all over again if I listened.
I had to be stubborn. Just a bit.
"Look," I said to him as he walked back and forth from the living room to the kitchen. "I met a girl down here. She's twenty-one. Joseph, she's just a kid. General Vergs' kid." I crossed my fingers. "We were this close, and when I heard that the Hexagon took her away, every single doubt I had in my body about coming down here quickly vanished."
"The general's kid?" Joseph couldn't believe it—even I couldn't, and I was the one telling it. "That's… that's very wrong."
"If she's still out there, she won't have long."
"And if they find out her affiliation with the general… it'll be much sooner."
Vroom.
The general's convoy rolled up to the apartment building. That was my signal to leave. Before bidding farewell to my Montreal friend, I took a big sip from my black tea and wiped my gob with a napkin. Joseph, still hesitant to let me leave, made his way to the door and waited for me to stand from the couch.
"I'll write to you when I get the chance," I told him.
"Don't worry," he replied. "I'll be around."
I stood from the couch and walked over to him, giving him a friendly embrace.
"You owe me a book," he quipped.
"I really do," I chuckled. "And thank you… Thank you for bringing me here."
My sincere gratitude seemed to ease him. His breaths weren't so short and he was able to let the beads of sweat run down his forehead without having to wipe them with his fidgety hands.
"You take care, Elisabeth."
"One last thing…"
I had three pistols on me that evening—one in my holster, one tucked in the back, and another tucked in the front. The one in the back was a Beretta 21 Bobcat. I had retrieved it from the armory along Main Street on my way to his place.
Joseph stuck his hand out as I placed the pistol in his grasp, his eyes wide open. The "housewarming gift" was a little ominous. I'm sure it even kept him up at night, but I cared about him as much as he cared about me. I was afraid he'd break like glass.
"You keep this one close, okay?" I whispered. "Bedside, showerside, in the glove box, in your pocket—everywhere you go."
"I… I will," he answered. "Be safe, Elisabeth."
That was the last we spoke. There was always that thought in the back of my head: don't ever let him have to use that gun. But it didn't matter—he needed it. They tried to put me in the ground for searching for the truth. I was positive they'd put him down for the same reason. That Bobcat was his lifekeeper.
"Be safe, Joseph."
Eighteen thirty.
The convoy was creeping up Main Street, positioning along 9 West. Our guys loaded the armored cars with Hexagon mortars, frags, grenades, and other explosives—you name it. If that were me at an earlier time, I would've frozen up just from looking at the sight. But it didn't faze me. It felt more necessary than it did chilling.
I had to assume the worst, right? I had to assume that, if Anais were still alive, she was getting the full brunt of it in that Master Camp. At first, I expunged the thought from my head as it just made me relive that moment I laid eyes on Lieutenant Yemelyanova's desecrated corpse. However, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that the lieutenant's body was more of a wake up call for us to get up and go. We didn't know how much time the little huntress had left, and so we scrambled double-time.
But, I suppose, there was time for other things.
Vroom.
While I was sitting on a bench right outside Joseph's apartment, a humvee parked down the street. Its mechanic rattles and hisses caught my attention. I watched as the driver of the vehicle bent over to the passenger seat, looking like he was reaching for something. I figured it was my ride. When he exited the armored car, my eyes were stuck on him and my heart skipped a beat.
It was Noble.
He wore a sheepskin bomber jacket over his fatigues which suited him well. It was as dark and as smooth as his skin. However, he had a different look on his face. His beard was even longer than before, stretching down to his collar, and his eyes were so drained that it looked like he had just gotten out of bed.
But he wasn't dead inside. He didn't slouch nor did he drag his heels. The captain still had that fire in him—I felt the heat of it from where I sat. In that harsh winter, in that cold and gloomy town of Mercado Lane, I found something that could warm me up.
Slowly, he began marching my way with my orange shawl in his grasp. It was torn and burnt at the ends, but other than that, it appeared to be well taken care of. He must've missed me as much as I missed him. I fixed my hair and straightened my back as he came up to me, greeting me in a hushed tone.
"Hello, Lisa."
"Hi, Noble."
Not much was said. The Pali' captain handed me the orange shawl and told me that the convoy was ready to leave for Catskill. That was when he reached out to assist me up from the bench.
Before I took his hand, I looked up to the sky, searching for Tommy's gaze in the light snowfall. Quietly, I asked for his blessing. I asked to be free and to open my heart once more. I was ready for something new, and I wanted him to know that he didn't need to guide me any longer from beyond the grave. That he could have faith in Noble's guidance and rest eternally in God's keeping. It might have been just a minute or so of sitting and staring, but in my mind, that was all the time in the world and all the time I needed to let him know that I was ready.
"Let's go, Lisa." Noble lovingly held my hand and walked me to the armored car.
It was a quiet saunter and a quiet ride. We only started speaking again once we exited Mercado Lane on 9 West, riding as the tail of the convoy. I had my back rested against the poor cushioning of the passenger seat, looking out the window as snow hit the glass. Noble had his eyes on the road the entire time though tucked his lips as if he was going to break the silence.
I broke it instead.
"Did General Vergs brief you on the mission yet?"
He answered, "We'll be briefed at the Rip Van Winkle Checkpoint."
"How come I didn't see you up there?"
"General Vergs needed me south of Mercado Lane." His responses were short but they weren't dry. "He feared that the Hexagon was going to move up from Fort Lee."
"Did they ever?"
"Fortunately, no."
Unfortunately for us, Pali' Recon was down to seven men—eight including me—and we were the only squad that was being sent up to Catskill. O-Peck still had their four guys, but they were going to remain at the Rip Van Winkle Checkpoint with the rest of the guards. It looked like our eight-strong band was going to be the ones facing up against that Master Camp and the outpost they set up in Hobart. Then again—high hills, tall trees, and all the explosives in the world.
Maybe the lesser the better.
The silence that brewed after those short conversations was, without a doubt, the result of our dwindling relationship. We were civil and we were kind, but we were definitely not okay.
Then, Noble asked me, "Did General Vergs tell you about Operation: Babylon?"
"He did."
"And… he told you about Tommy?"
I just repeated my answer, "He did."
"Good."
Whenever he wasn't speaking, he was tucking his lips and awkwardly nodding his head. I was certain that he had something to say in regard to the elephant in the room. General Vergs—he despised me, but he kept me at arm's length out of defense. Noble—he outright deceived me.
His face, when he'd tuck his lips like that, made me frustrated. I faced the window instead, watching the frost form on the glass. It was only then he'd look my way. I saw him through the reflection, his tired eyes constantly shifting between my back and the road.
"I'm sorry," said Noble.
Instead of facing him, I focused my gaze on the convoy. We were slowing down a bit—I could tell because of the gap growing between us and the armored car in front. If the captain was going to come to a stop just to grab my attention, then so be it.
"I… accept your apology," I said nonchalantly.
It's not that Noble wasn't satisfied with my response—just with how quickly I was willing to forgive him. He felt the need to say more, and I could see why. You'd owe that to someone you've deluded for a long period of time. That'd leave the person wondering if all you said were true, and if not, which of those things were true. If I needed to prove to the general that I wasn't a liaison, Noble had to prove to me that he was more than just the buffer.
"You make it sound like there's nothing more to talk about," he quipped, but I didn't find it funny nor appropriate.
I told him, "I'm… I'm just puzzled."
"About…?"
"About everything," I answered him. "It's hard. I want to fix this, but it's hard. I don't know if I can."
"You can let me in, Lisa."
"How?" I murmured. "And not in a rhetorical, not-a-chance kind of way. I'm genuinely asking you: how do I let you back in?"
"You just do, okay?" As he drove, he reached for my hand and told me, "Look, I know it's hard, but once you let me back in, I promise you, you can leave the rest to me."
"That's what I did last time… Look where we are—"
Hiss.
We came to a full stop, but not because Noble was too invested in the conversation. We got a flat tire. The Pali' captain cursed under his breath as he rolled his window down, signaling to the convoy to keep going.
"What… What do we do?" I asked him.
"Just stay here. I'll switch in the spare."
"The spare?" I panicked. "How long is that going to take?"
"Not long."
The red taillights of the humvees in front of us disappeared rather quickly into the dark. Just like that, the two of us were stranded on 9 West—not a building in sight. Noble hopped down the armored car to retrieve the spare tire from the undercarriage, leaving me in the passenger seat.
A sudden fear took control of my body. It dialed up all of my senses to a hundred. Every clank from underneath the chassis rang like a church bell in my ears. Every blinking light from the dash was like a flashbang in my eyes. I was on high alert.
"Noble?" I called out to him, but that primal fear got a good hold on my voice.
Every joint in my body felt like they were winding from the extreme clenching sensation I had throughout. It was like I was being buried alive, and the seatbelt, which was fastened tightly over my torso, did not help alleviate the stress.
Then, a feverish heat surged through my chest, crawling up and down my arms and legs. My wounds were sizzling—it felt like I was on fire. It didn't take me long to realize: this is what it feels like. When bombs go off and bodies go flying, you don't just walk away from it all. It trails you from that day forth. What I was experiencing was nothing short of a PTSD episode.
The idle car, the lone road, the dancing trees, and the dying wind—it was Riverside Drive all over again. The most terrifying thought was that I didn't know who was going to blow up that time—me or the Pali' captain. I already walked away once. I didn't think God was going to let me walk away a second time.
Click, boom!
I unbuckled my seatbelt and kicked the door open, melting onto the steps of the humvee, shivering and crying. Noble came rushing to my aid from the other side of the armored car, pistol in hand.
"Lisa? Lisa!" he yelled.
I was paralyzed from the waist-down, just like when the shrapnel shot into my knees. I couldn't bend a muscle.
"Noble," I tried my hardest to call out to him, but all I could do was breathe out his name.
The Pali' captain, rattled by the state I was in, knelt before me and secured his pistol. He knew what I was experiencing. I mean, the wounds said it all. Noble removed his jacket and wrapped me in it, embracing me as tight as he could. His hold on me didn't have the same effect as the seatbelt—it was actually quite soothing.
"It's okay," he chimed in my ear. "Lisa, I'm right here. I'm not gonna hurt you—"
"How do I know that?" I stammered between my sobs.
"Lisa—"
Once I regained control of my body, I broke free from his grasp and wandered onto the middle of the street, his winter jacket falling from my shoulders. I surveyed the trees from where I stood. Not a glare in sight. Because of that feverish heat, the winter felt like it was nothing but a cool breeze—I needed it on my skin. The captain was racked with chills as he begged me to get back inside the car.
My head was pounding, and all I could hear was the sound of a clock ticking down to something. I was anticipating a blast. In the middle of the road, I pictured Lieutenant Miller's corpse. Teeth, bone, threads of flesh—it was a nightmare. I felt like I was being gutted alive, thinking about how Noble could've had the same fate if he drove me that day. With how much we stuck to each other… that was a possibility.
Thud!
The smack of my rump against the asphalt pulled me back from that deep, dark, and tangled corner of my mind. That slow panic coursing through my veins dissolved, and that fear of a bomb going off just ceased to exist. I didn't even feel the aftershock of it. As if I just woke up from a bad dream in the middle of the night.
"Lisa," he called my name.
"Noble?" I responded, crawling on my hands and knees back to the humvee. "Noble," I cried again.
The Pali' captain got down on all fours just like me, inching his way on the black ice. Once he was in reach, I scuttled into his arms once more, digging my face into his neck as I seeked for that warmth I'd been feeling from a distance since we rode together.
"It's alright," he told me in a soft voice. "I won't hurt you."
"How can I know for sure?" I asked him. "How can I know that you won't hurt me the way you did back then? You lied to me, Noble. You kept secrets from me."
"I know," he admitted. "I know I did." The captain held me on the sides of my head, staring into my swollen eyes with an inch of a gap between us. "I was afraid, Lisa. I was afraid of losing what we had—it was special to me. I knew that if you found out the truth, you wouldn't look at me the same way again. I wanted to shield you from it, but really, I was just shielding myself."
"Why would you care so much about me to do something like that?"
"Because you mean a lot to me, Lisa." Noble carefully lifted me up to my feet and held me close to his chest. "You gave me a reason to do things. You gave me a purpose. Without you, I don't imagine I'd amount to anything more than a service dog."
"You're much more than that—you know that."
"Then why do I feel like nothing when I'm without you?" The Pali' captain knelt before me and held my hands. "You're everything to me, Lisa. That's the truest truth. I know it'll be hard to trust me again, but I won't mind spending the rest of my days trying to get that back—that trust."
"I don't want to end up like Lieutenant Miller and Ms. Matsumoto. They made it work, but Noble, they paid the price. I don't want that. I realized I want to live. I want to live knowing that my life is not a lie—"
"It isn't."
"Then tell me… Please, tell me how it isn't."
"If you give me a chance, if you let me in, I can show you what it means to live… and it'll be exactly what you showed me all this time. The things we've done, the words we said to each other—they were real to me. I want that again—I want it all."
I got back down on my knees, pressing my chest against his. Our hearts were beating in perfect harmony—I thought that was only a thing of fairytales. No sheepskin winter jacket could've given me the same warmth the captain gave just from holding me close and breathing my air.
"I want you, Lisa."
That time, his chocolate eyes didn't break away from my gaze. I leaned back, letting my full weight rest in his grip. Noble held me tight. He brushed my hair over my ear, reminding me of the time when he dressed me with a Rose Mallow in the Purple Home.
There was this flame building up inside me—not the one that struck fear in my chest. It was more like the one that the Pali' captain had inside of him, like he had ignited that very same flame within me. He made me feel young again.
"Noby," I uttered his name tenderly, "I love you."
"I love you, Lisa. I love you with all my heart."
I leaned in and he pulled me close, sharing with me a passionate kiss in the dark. We had completely surrendered to each other—happily and rightfully so.
That cold winter night, on that dark road surrounded by endless stretches of trees and powerlines, with our flat-tired humvee casting its high beam on the two of us, I began painting the mental picture of him and that soulful stare he gave me that night.
My fondest mental note.