Read Online Cain's Blood by Geoffrey Girard - Free Book Online Page A

either. The first
two psychologists he’d worked with kept piling on the pills. had figured
if they’d kept him a zombie another forty years, he’d get over the torture and the fact that the army had decided he should be pinned with a
bouquet of shiny medals and then retired at age thirty-three as swiftly
and quietly as possible. It hadn’t gone well. he’d even punched out one
of the guys during a session.
Then came Doctor kristin romano. Captain romano. Kristin.
She’d stopped his prescriptions immediately, her methods more
connected to activities like journaling, art therapy, meditation and even,
eventually, more woo-woo exercises in things like astral projection and
channeling.
To start, however, she’d simply invited him to spend the week
camping with nine other vets somewhere in the Adirondacks for a
bunch of touchy-feely Oprah bullshit. Sit around the campfire and talk
about your feelings like a gaggle of pussies. he’d said six words the first
two days, and none of the other guys had been much better. The third
night, she’d set up an actual sweat lodge miles from their cabins and left
the ten men completely alone for the rest of the night. he couldn’t remember who’d started it, but they’d started. Talking. first one guy, then
the next. Things they’d seen, done. Most of it was things they should have done. They took turns crying and screaming and laughing. It had
been midmorning the next day before anyone realized they’d been cold
and there had been no more firewood. Ten brothers now. Ten singular
experiences had become only one. Group talks continued the rest of the
week. At the end, she’d given each man a copy of The Odyssey and said,
“It took Greece’s greatest soldier ten years to finally make his way home
after the Trojan War. Give yourselves a fucking break.”
he’d read the book religiously ever since, meditated on and memorized passages each night, Odysseus’s adventures suddenly a very real
allegory for every returning soldier. each week, he and Dr. romano
had discussed what he’d read. They’d discussed more easily than ever
before what he’d done and witnessed in the army. his kills. his capture.
The torture. Some of the boy, of Shaya. They’d eventually gotten to
his childhood and future plans. Then hers . And then love. Or lust. Or
both. But it had happened. And the fact that she’d been married and
had a young daughter made the eventual ending even worse. When he’d
vanished on her, it had been quick and clean. Like an execution, as if
the whole affair had been nothing but ten months of fucking to pass the
time. hell, he half remembered implying that. Maybe to make her hate
him, make it easier. But in the end, he’d left for one reason: he loved
her.
Worse: She knew it.
“It’s Castillo,” he said.
Silence.
“Been awhile, I know.” he could feel himself scrambling, like a man
desperate to deploy a parachute in the last few thousand feet. “how . . .
how are things?”
“What can I do for you, Captain?”
It was the voice of a total stranger. Fine. That’s what he needed
to hear. he was safely on the ground again. Almost . “Not a captain
anymore,” he said. Doubtless, she’d already heard that. As far as he
knew, her notes on him had been applied as part of the procedure. “Discharged ten months ago. I need your help.”
her voice changed. “have you had—”
“No, no. Nothing like that. I’m fine. you cured me, remember?”
She laughed softly. It sounded forced but was still familiar enough.
he thought he’d somehow already forgotten it. “you were never ‘sick,’”
she said, and he heard a more genuine smile. “What can I do for you?”
The stranger’s voice returning some.
“Nothing,” he said. Waited. Thought again of hanging up. “I don’t
know.”
“Articulate as always.”
Castillo absently straightened some of the papers on Jacobson’s
desk. Thinking. Thinking, Why the hell did I call her? Saying,