BoneMan's Daughters (10 page)

He could not stop his face from twisting. Though he clenched his jaws tightly, he could not hold back the cry that was already
forcing its way past his throat, filling his mouth.

And then Ryan began to sob, body shaking, eyes streaming tears.

He tried to explain something to them. He tried to tell them he was sorry for this momentary lapse in control; that it would
just be a minute and they could finish up. He tried to say that it was the children, the children, all the children lying
on the concrete around him, broken…

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He tried to make them understand but all he could do was sob these words, just barely, breath catching,
chest jerking.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Doctor, please.”

The two words from Julie swept over him like a balm. She was trying to get him to stop this. The subject was failing miserably.
He’d exposed himself and made an utter fool of himself.

“Doctor?”

Ryan sucked deep, stilled the sobs with a hard sniff, and spoke. “No.” He was still shaking but the pain in his throat has
lessened and he could speak.

“No, it’s okay. Let me finish. I have to finish.”

“I don’t think he’s in any condition—”

“Seven,” he said.

They stared at him.

“Seven. They killed seven.”

“I think we should take a break, Captain,” Newman said. “You’ve been through a very difficult time and you need some rest.”

“No, no I don’t!” He was still shaking but the worst of it had passed. “They killed seven innocent bystanders!” he cried.
“I can’t do this. I can’t pretend any longer. I… I was in the room with them, you see? I can’t do this!”

“Easy, Captain. You’ve been through—”

“No. No, you weren’t there! He was right, we have no right to kill innocent women and children! I can’t do this!”

“Captain…”

“I tried to kill myself! I tried to swallow my tongue, I tried to choke myself by twisting my head, I tried, but…” Ryan
knew now that something profound had changed in him. It had taken days to break through, but sitting here telling them all
that had happened, he couldn’t deny the shift in him any longer.

If Kahlid hadn’t accomplished his objective of changing America’s mind by personalizing the collateral damage, he had succeeded
in altering Ryan’s mind.

“Try to stay calm, Captain,” the psychiatrist was saying. “We can stop at any time if—”

“I kept passing out until I finally managed to rub the skin on my wrists raw on the towel.”

Newman’s eyes dropped to the bandages around his wrists. He nodded, understanding that Ryan wanted to get all of this out.
To purge himself of the horror through confession.

“When he came in and saw the blood soaking through the towel and me slumped in the chair he thought I might have succeeded.
I hadn’t, but he had to stop the bleeding.”

“He was alone?”

“One other guard was with him, and when he undid the towels to stop the bleeding, that’s when I attacked. He thought I was
unconscious and Kahlid was screaming at the guard, telling him that if I died it would all be wasted.”

Ryan sat there in the chair still trembling, letting it all out in a long rush.

“I grabbed Kahlid by his hair and I bit him on his face, his nose. My ankles were still taped to the legs, but they’d removed
the chains when they’d strapped my arms to the chair. He was screaming and I lunged forward with his face between my teeth.
The chair broke. I don’t know what all happened, because I only wanted to hurt them as much as I could before they killed
me. But they didn’t want me dead, that was the thing… that was why the guard didn’t shoot me when I was over Kahlid.
He tried to pull me off but he didn’t try to kill me and he couldn’t use his gun because Kahlid was right there under me.
Hollering.”

The tremors in his legs had passed. His hands were calming and had stilled almost completely when he folded them on the table.

“You killed Kahlid?”

“I think so. He went totally limp. But I wasn’t really thinking. I managed to knock the guard out with my elbow when he grabbed
my shoulder. It was a mess, I was screaming, hitting, biting… I think my elbow slammed him back into the concrete wall,
where he collapsed. I realized I could escape. So I grabbed a knife from the guard’s belt, cut the boy’s rope—”

“They had another victim alive in the room?”

“Yes, they’d come in to break his bones. But I set him free.”

“And?”

“And then I took Kahlid’s radio and ran. There were no other guards that I saw, I don’t know why… maybe they were in
another part of the bunker or had gone for gas, I don’t know.”

“None of the doors were locked?”

“Yes, they were bolted. But I was on the inside and I opened them.”

Doctor Newman settled in his chair. “How long did you run before you called in on the radio?”

“I don’t remember. I had to get far enough away so that if they intercepted my transmission, they wouldn’t have the time to
track me down before the helicopter came for me.”

They sat in a protracted silence. His breakdown here in front of them could only lead to one conclusion, and thinking of it
now, Ryan was filled with the same terrible urge that had haunted him as he’d sat in the dungeon and had also followed him
to the hospital.

He was a father. He’d convinced himself that he could continue his duties because it was what he did. But he couldn’t do them
without being a father.

And now he wasn’t sure he wanted to do his duties. Setting duty aside, he was left with only one desire. To be a father.

To rush home and hold Bethany tight. To sweep Celine off her feet and kiss her and beg her forgiveness. They hadn’t let him
call home yet, not before a full debriefing, but now… now…

“I want to go home,” he said, and a fresh flood of tears silently filled his eyes.

“You’ll need more rest.”

“I really want to go home. I can rest at home.”

“I think we both know that you’re suffering from post- traumatic stress disorder. These things don’t pass overnight. You’ve
expressed some emotion here today, but you’re going to feel survivor guilt, guilt over feeling relieved that you escaped,
and anger as well. Maybe a lot of anger.”

“I’m begging you. Please, I need to go home. I just need to… I have a daughter and a wife.” The tears snaked down his
cheeks. “Please.”

After a moment of thought, Newman nodded. He scrawled something on the sheet in front of him.

“I think you’re right, Captain. Command will want to review your statement. They may have more questions, but I’m going to
recommend that you be put on an extended leave with on-going psychiatric treatment and evaluation CONUS.”

“When will I be able to go home?”

“If all goes well, you’ll be home with your wife and daughter in a week, Captain. Fair enough?”

Ryan wiped the tears off his cheek. “I want to call my wife.”

“I think that can be arranged. Let’s give command one day to look this over and we’ll arrange a call.”

“Thank you. Thank you, I would like that very much.”

THE SEED THAT had taken root in Ryan’s mind after he’d lowered his guard in the psychiatrist’s debriefing had grown throughout
the day and as he slept that night, until only one thought filled his mind when he awoke the next morning.

Bethany
. Celine. He had to call Celine and tell her everything. Then he had to get out. Out of the desert. Out of the war.

He was no longer fit to serve in this war.

The shakes had all but vanished upon his return to the hospital—he felt as stable as he had since his return. Not a thing
wrong with his mind that he could discern. He’d gone into the debriefing thinking of it as yet one more game to beat so that
he could get back to being who he was, and he’d come out realizing that he was no longer who he was.

Ryan sprinkled sugar on a slice of grapefruit and placed it into his mouth. Normally he would have avoided the pink fruit
because of the harsh taste the skin left in his mouth. But today he sucked the sweet nectar alongside the bitter white flesh
and found the contrast refreshing.

He took a bite of toast, looked up, and stared at the empty bed beside him. They’d removed the soldier who’d died there last
night. Corporal Bill Townley from Utah who had been in-country only six days when an antipersonnel mine had removed both of
his legs. Bill had told Ryan his story, explaining that he was going home to his wife and two children as soon as they could
move him.

The white bedsheets had been changed and folded back with perfect lines, waiting for the next patient.

Perfect lines, like Ryan. For most of his life he’d been the stoic computer in the corner, accepting input, then calculating,
parsing, breaking down data before spitting it back out in the form of a report to be acted upon by others. A fine machine,
highly praised for its efficiency. He had saved lives and won freedom and been a model to follow.

But that was the old him. In some ways he was a new man. The old version of himself had died in Kahlid’s basement along with
seven children. The new version of himself had been resurrected yesterday as he endured the psychiatric evaluation.

He couldn’t possibly thank Doctor Newman enough.

Now realizing that he wasn’t who he thought he was, he was left with the mind-boggling task of figuring out who he really
was, only a part of which he truly understood.

The part about his role as a father.

For the first time in many years Ryan thought he might actually be feeling love again. Real love, based on a feeling of great
adoration, not simply the dull demands of duty.

He loved Bethany, the kind of love that made men do irrational things. In all honesty, he didn’t love Celine, but he was
eager to learn how. Neither knew what he’d been through this past week, naturally. It was information of a sensitive nature
that he would be allowed to speak about only when they’d finished their preliminary investigation and then only if they deemed
it appropriate, which they would.

The outer door squealed and swung open. Julie walked in, smiling, black shoes clacking on the polished linoleum floor with
each step. She’d said ten; it was only nine.

Ryan pushed his tray aside, swung his legs to the floor, and stood. She ignored the other patients who watched her walk. Most
had physical wounds far worse than Ryan’s superficial cuts, and he felt guilty for having taken up one of the forty-eight
beds in this ward. But he supposed their decision to keep him under observation as he rested his damaged mind had been justified
at the debriefing. Either way, he couldn’t wait to leave the room for good.

“Good morning, Ryan,” Julie said, stepping up to him. “I see you’re ready.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“That’s good, because we’re early. We called your wife earlier to locate her and were informed that she has a pressing engagement
this evening at eight PM central time, one she seemed unwilling to break. Texas is ten hours behind us—that would be ten in
the morning, an hour from now. So we made arrangements for her to be home now.”

“You… but you didn’t tell her anything?”

“No. Just that it was important that you speak with her. As you requested we’ll let you break the news. Your wife hasn’t heard
a word.”

He’d rehearsed his words a dozen times through the night and had decided that he would start with an explanation of his ordeal
before expressing his new outlook on both her and Bethany. She would dismiss any words of graciousness and love as so much
more surface talk, the kind he offered her when the occasion fit. In order for her to understand that Ryan had changed, really
changed, he would have to give her a glimpse into the pain he’d felt first.

And Bethany… angel…

He hoped she would embrace him the way he wanted her to. The way he needed her to.

“Okay,” he said, stepping past her.

He held back to let her pass and followed her from the ward to the phone room set up outside the hospital command center.
“So command’s okay with it, then?”

“The phone call? Yes.”

“My going home.”

“Oh, right. Based on Dr. Newman’s recommendation, yes. He wants to see you for a follow-up at ten, after your call.”

“When? When can I go home?”

“If he clears you, three days.”

The ball of relief that rolled down his spine should have hardly surprised him, but he wasn’t acclimated to this new version
of himself just yet. His gratitude must have been obvious, because Julie smiled.

“It must be nice.”

“What must be nice?”

“Being so loved. I’m jealous.”

“Really?”

She cocked her eyebrow. “Not of your wife specifically, I didn’t mean it like that. But yes, really. I can tell you love your
wife and daughter very much. It must be nice.”

“It hasn’t always been like this,” was all he could think to say.

“War changes us all, Captain. Just be thankful you’re going home in one piece.”

How perfectly true.

They entered a room with cubicles set up along both walls, roughly half of which were occupied by soldiers, sailors, marines,
and airmen calling home for one reason or another. Julie led him to one of several at the far end, where he would have at
least a modicum of privacy.

“You have half an hour, Captain.” She smiled and turned to leave him.

“Were you the one who spoke to my wife?”

“I was,” she said, turning. “Don’t worry, she’s waiting by the phone.”

“Thank you, Julie.”

She seemed slightly amused. “You’re welcome, Ryan.”

He eased into the metal chair, picked up the black phone receiver, and dialed the country code, the area code, and then the
Austin number. The phone rang six times before going to voice mail. Celine’s chirpy prerecorded voice greeted him.

You’ve reached the home of Celine and Bethany Evans. Call our cells or leave a message. Beeeeeep.

“Hello?” She wasn’t picking up. “Celine?” When no once answered, he told the machine he’d try again and hung up.

Ryan jerked his head around to see Julie glance back as she exited out the far side. She had said home, not cell. To be sure,
he quickly dialed Celine’s cell phone.