Taken With The Enemy (20 page)
Why was everything always a joke to them? And why did they think everything could be made better with food? I had probably gained ten pounds since my arrival-despite my five day fast.
I cringed when gun fire rippled through the darkness.
Who could honestly eat at a time like this?
"Shouldn't we do something?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Like what?"
"I ... I don't know."
"There's nothing we can do but wait. Let the others do what they do best. I'll make you some pancakes and coffee. Let's go in the dining room."
"You should be resting,” I grumbled, crawling off the bed.
"I'm fine. You did a great job fixing me up."
Wait a minute.
“I thought you weren't supposed to talk to me."
He chuckled. “I'm not. So don't tell anyone."
I smiled and followed him out.
Not five minutes after we finished eating, the phone rang. Coincidently, or not, the gunfire seemed to grow heavier.
My patient picked up, pressed it to his ear for a few moments, then hung up.
He turned to me. “Doctor, how fast can you change your clothes?"
Is someone hurt?
"Why?” I whispered.
"You have to leave in two minutes.” He smiled sadly. “You need to put your military uniform on, but no ACU top and no gear. Pocket all your important documents. Hurry."
I sat stunned.
"Please, it's important."
His appeal shook me out of my stupor. I rushed to my room.
Like I was back in basic training, I rushed to get dressed.
I had just finished tying my boots when I heard the front door crash open. Moment's later, my captor was in my room, armed up and ready to go.
He took my hand. “You good?"
When I nodded, he dragged me out, forcing me to jog to keep up with his long strides. My patient followed in tow, rifle in hand.
"Where are you taking me?"
"North wall. Back gate."
Through the corridor, down the stairs, into the lobby, out the front doors. The battle had intensified and it seemed the very ground shook with the violence of it. I cringed when a thunderous blast reverberated through the air. Unaffected, he kept pace, skimming the wall and turning the corner, keeping the building between us and the concentration of gunfire. Black smoke rose into the dusky pink and orange sky, marring what might have been a beautiful sunrise.
We all stopped short at a small postern.
Pressing on his ear, my patient looked at his watch. “Confirm."
My captor spun me around. “Brenna, will you wait for me?"
"I-I-Wait where? Where am I going?"
"Back home."
"No. I—” I was cut off by deafening boom in the distance.
"It's not safe here,” he stated. “Listen. I'm just asking for you to give us a chance."
"You want to be with me? How? I don't see how—"
"Forty seconds,” my patient stated, opening the gate's lock and stepping out just beyond the wall.
My captor placed his hands on the side of my face. “I'll make it happen. Just say yes."
"I never let anyone in because I'm scared of losing them.” Rapid gunfire assaulted my ears and tears welled in my eyes. “I never want to go through that pain again. I've answered your five goddamn questions. Answer mine."
"I love you. I always have. Will you wait?"
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I nodded. “Come back to me alive. Don't make me regret this."
He pulled me close and kissed me hard.
"Twenty,” my patient hollered over the growing womp-womp-womp noise.
My captor abruptly pulled away. “Do you trust me?"
"Yes. You know I do."
"Good. I'm going to test you on that,” he said, pulling a syringe out of his pocket and uncapping the needle.
I shook my head. “No—"
"Trust me, Brenna."
Fuck!
"You are
so
going to make this up to me,” I hissed, offering my arm. The moment I felt the pinch, I knew I had maybe ten seconds of consciousness left.
The air grew turbulent and dust began kicking up.
Wrapping his arms around me, he leaned in and pressed his lips against my ear. “I will. I promise, my love."
"Hey, Doc Bee."
I opened my eyes.
"Welcome back,” Corporal Mollina said, taking a seat on the end of my hospital bed.
"Yeah, Sergeant Mathews, we missed you,” PFC Michaels added, coming up beside the corporal.
God, I really wasn't in the mood for visitors. Though my stomach was much more settled now, the last bout of vomiting had done a number on me.
"What are you all doing here?” I croaked.
"Sergeant Jackson told us you were here,” Big M explained. “We'd thought we'd check up on ya and see how you were feeling. He said you were sick because of some adverse reaction to some medication you took."
I guess you could say that...
"It's sweet of you to visit,” I mumbled. “And I'm glad to see your leg is better."
He looked down. “Yeah, I am too."
It was odd to be having a conversation with these soldiers. Though I had gotten to know them very well over the months I had spent here before my abduction, I might as well have not known them at all. The situation felt surreal to me. Like I had been thrown into someone else's life where I knew all the details, and just had to act the part until the real person returned.
"Where did you go?” Mollina asked. “You just up and disappeared one day."
I was wide awake now.
"What do you mean?” My breath hitched. “Was I reported missing or something?"
He chuckled. “No, but you
have
been gone like a month and half."
"So you all saw my orders for this mission?"
"Shit no,” he exclaimed. “Personnel said your paperwork was sealed up tight in an envelope with a big red stamp on it. All they could say was that you were forward deployed."
"I heard a rumor that when they opened the envelope, everything on the order was blacked out,” Big M added.
"So give up the 4-1-1. Where did you go, Doc?"
"Um ... somewhere in Al Anbar,” I offered hesitantly.
Perhaps I shouldn't be saying...
"Fallujah? Ramadi? Abu Ghraib?” Big M listed.
"I—I don't know.” I tried to rub the tension out of my temples. “They never said."
He
never said.
My heart began aching again. I missed him so much.
"You didn't know where you were? Mollina laughed. “What unit were you with?"
I shrugged. “I don't know."
"Were they Army?"
The conversation I had with my captor about why he couldn't tell me anything played in my mind. I smiled sadly at the recollection and how well he knew human nature.
"I don't know."
"Damn, Bee. Don't you know anything?” Mollina exasperated.
"Watch yourself, Corporal,” Jackson rebuked as he entered and approached the bed. “You best remember who you're talking to. Last I recall, Mathews is a sergeant who outranks your ass."
Mollina nodded. “Sorry. I meant no disrespect."
The squad leader sat beside me. “How are you feeling?” he asked softly.
I don't know if it was the time I spent away, or how much I had changed as a person during that time, but I saw Sergeant Jackson in a whole new light. I used to find him an annoying necessary evil, someone I had to deal with to do my job, a job that he gave me hell about because I was a woman in a combat zone. But as he stared at me now with something akin to relief in his eyes, I realized that he was sincerely worried about me, and always had been. It was his responsibility to keep me safe and he took that task very seriously. Though I would never say I agreed with all his views, or his lectures, what mattered was that he cared.
I awarded him with a smile. “I'm good. Thanks."
He grinned “Did you miss us?"
"Yeah, I guess I did.”
You played the voice of reason during my adventure.
"I guess we missed you too,” he admitted, looking at the other two soldiers before turning back to me. “And we'll miss you still when you leave us again."
"What do you mean?"
He placed a large envelope in my hands. “I thought I'd drop these off to you personally."
"What is it,” I asked, running my nail under the seam.
"Orders."
My heart leapt in excitement. “I'm going on another, um, mission?"
Jackson shook his head. “You're going home. Once you're released from the hospital, you're on the first plane out."
I glanced at the official documents.
"No, I don't want to leave.” I tried to hand him back the envelope. He wouldn't take it.
"It's not up to you, or me. Orders are orders. We go when and where they say."
No. I couldn't leave Iraq. That was a whole ocean away. At least if I stayed here, there was the small chance I might see
him
again.
I took a deep breath to calm myself. It would do no good breaking into tears. Anyway, my captor wouldn't have asked me to wait if he didn't intend to see me again. It's not like he wouldn't know where to find me if I did return home. The man knew everything about me.
"I have no clothes,” I whispered. I had left everything back at the flat.
"You're bags arrived,” Jackson said. “Came this morning."
"Really?"
He nodded.
Ha. They must have won the battle.
I had worked an extra long shift at the hospital and was exhausted, but I forced myself to walk toward the small pub anyway. It had become a habit of mine, a tradition of sorts. Something I did every night before I went back to my lonely apartment and crawled into an empty bed.
Though it was only one drink, I needed it, couldn't cope without it, couldn't sleep without it, couldn't dull the pain without it.
The ritual had come along because I refused to take medicine for my mild depression, which was the result of a broken heart that would not heal, which was brought on by meeting and falling for
him.
Three months. Not one phone call, not one letter, not even a postcard.
Bastard.
I hoped he'd rot in hell.
I had to stay angry. I had to force myself to think these things—to hate him. If I didn't, I would succumb to the constant threat of tears that resided just behind my eyes. They had been there every day since I boarded the plane home. And if I let those tears out, I would be forced to acknowledge the weak person I had truly become. One month with one person, and I was left in utter emotional ruin.
He had
ruined
me.
I tried to volunteer for another tour in Iraq, but for some unknown reason, I had been flagged as non-deployable. And it was a status that went across the board. I couldn't even get orders to Afghanistan.
I was sure
he
had something to do with that.
Asshole.
Strangely enough, no one could tell me why my records showed this status.
Some special identifier, its meaning unknown, but locked in.
It was just there, and no one seemed to have the authority to change it. Not from lack of trying. Personnel even tried to delete my records and put the information back in. But once they hit the ‘save’ button, the code popped back up.
Computer glitch, they tried to say. We'll call you when it's resolved, they assured me.
I didn't know why my captor felt the need to do that. If he didn't want to risk the possibility of running into me again, he should just make sure I didn't end up wherever he was. Why fuck me over so thoroughly? Why would he care if I went to another part of Iraq? Or deployed to Afghanistan—a whole different fucking country!
The little sliver of traitorous hope deep inside always answered that, though he couldn't contact me, he was still looking out for me, that he loved me and didn't want me risking my life in a combat zone.
Fuck that.
Fuck him.
Sometimes, I thought about putting my wealth to some use, quitting my job and moving my ass permanently to Iraq, just to spite him.
But even if I did set my
willful
plan in motion, I had a feeling I'd never make it past the US airport customs to board the plane.
He knew me well. And I knew him well enough to know he had covered all the bases. I probably wouldn't even be able to obtain a visa.
Pissed at the interference, albeit indirect and well intentioned, I swung open the door to the small pub and ran smack into a hard chest.
Strong hands caught me before I fell back on my ass.
"Sorry,” I mumbled. “My bad."
The bear of the man nodded and released my arms.
He was handsome in an all-American football hero sort of way with his cropped hair, clean-shaven face and gentle eyes.
Familiarity tugged at me.
"Have we met before?” I asked.
He shook his head.
"Are you sure? Maybe you've been to the emergency room at Northside Hospital. I work there."
He smiled and shook his head again, then walked out onto the sidewalk, holding the entrance door open so that I could go in.
How thoughtful.
“Thanks,” I offered over my shoulder as I passed over the threshold.
He winked.
Damn, I swear I knew him from somewhere.
"Doctor!” Abe called out.
I looked over at the old bar keeper. “Hey."
"You want the usual?"
"Sure,” I said. “I'll be there in a moment."
I turned back, but found nothing but a closing door. The man was gone.
Oh well, I wasn't interested in making new friends anyway.
I took my regular seat at the bar just as Abe placed the glass of Jack and Coke in front of me.
"Kind of empty tonight,” I remarked, noting only a few people scattered here and there.
"Yeah, Monday, the end of the month,” Abe muttered. “And a bad economy to boot. Everyone saves their money for the weekends."
I raised my glass and took a sip. “No matter how bad the economy gets, I'll still come here.” I had no choice. He was the closest bar in walking distance to my apartment.