and Michael."
Aaron shut his mouth and didn't open it again until a nurse appeared, pushing Wes in a wheelchair. At that point, Aaron turned it on again, pretending to appear emotionally wrought about Wes's gaunt appearance.
"Oh, my God," he said softly, then walked past the doctor and dropped to his knees beside Wes's chair.
"Wes? Brother? It's me, Aaron. I've come to take you home."
It was all Wes could do to stay still. He closed his mind's eye to everything except the scent of antiseptic permeating the hallway. He hadn't seen Aaron Clancy since his mother's funeral, but the smarmy little bastard didn't appear to have changed all that much. From the brief look Wes managed when no one was paying attention, Aaron appeared to have less hair and more gut than he remembered, but then, it had been years. He took a slow breath, then shifted mental gears, forcing all thought out of his mind for fear that his emotional disgust might be evident.
Aaron shuddered, then stood, for the first time realizing what he was taking on.
"Say...Dr. Milam, is he safe? I mean...he won't... uh, go psycho and hurt anyone if I put him on a plane?"
Marshall Milam felt sick. He didn't trust this man to see to Colonel Holden's best interests, and wished with everything he was that he could stop this from happening, but orders had been given and paperwork had been processed.
"He has given us no indication of any kind of violent behavior," Milam said. "In fact, it's been just the contrary. He does not communicate at all. However, I trust you will see to his continuing treatment as soon as possible."
Aaron looked nervously at Wes and then nodded.
"Absolutely," he said.
Milam sighed. There was little else he could do.
"I've taken the liberty of arranging a car to drive you and your brother directly to the airport."
Aaron looked relieved. "Thank you, Dr. Milam. I appreciate that." Then he looked at his watch. "I guess we'd better be going."
Wes felt a moment of panic as he was wheeled out of the hospital and into the sunshine. Still locked into the pretense of unawareness, it was all he could do not to lift his face to the sun and breathe in the fresh air. He let himself be led to the waiting car, then seated in the back seat. When his stepbrother shut the door and got in the front seat with the driver, he relaxed, but the relief was only momentary.
At Aaron's request, the driver took them right by the sight of where the commissary bombing had occurred. Unless he was willing to give himself away, Wes was helpless to do anything but ride. So he gritted his teeth,
closed his eyes and refused to look as the car moved past. But as hard as he tried, he couldn't block out the sound of the driver's voice.
"Terrorist... car bomb...bodies every where... wearing a bomb."
His heart started pounding, and he broke out in a cold sweat. Every memory he had of the smells and the sounds came flooding back. He heard screams and sirens, felt the crunch of broken glass beneath his shoes as he stumbled through the debris inside the commissary, searching for his wife and child. He saw her foot, then her leg, then the damage that had been done to her face.
The blood. There had been so much blood. And Mikey. So small. So still. So far gone.
Then the driver added one last bit of info that, if Wes had known, he'd forgotten.
"Colonel Holden...one shot...right between the eyes. Saved us all."
He felt Aaron turn and stare at him, but he never acknowledged the motion. He never knew when they left the base, but the exodus was monumental, just the same, wiping out the last bit of his identity. After the bombing, his life as a husband and father had come to an end, and now he was no longer a soldier, either.
Colonel Wes Holden was finally dead, as he'd intended to be all along, but the shell of a man still existed. It remained to be seen if he would bother to refill the
Aaron shut his mouth and didn't open it again until a nurse appeared, pushing Wes in a wheelchair. At that point, Aaron turned it on again, pretending to appear emotionally wrought about Wes's gaunt appearance.
"Oh, my God," he said softly, then walked past the doctor and dropped to his knees beside Wes's chair.
"Wes? Brother? It's me, Aaron. I've come to take you home."
It was all Wes could do to stay still. He closed his mind's eye to everything except the scent of antiseptic permeating the hallway. He hadn't seen Aaron Clancy since his mother's funeral, but the smarmy little bastard didn't appear to have changed all that much. From the brief look Wes managed when no one was paying attention, Aaron appeared to have less hair and more gut than he remembered, but then, it had been years. He took a slow breath, then shifted mental gears, forcing all thought out of his mind for fear that his emotional disgust might be evident.
Aaron shuddered, then stood, for the first time realizing what he was taking on.
"Say...Dr. Milam, is he safe? I mean...he won't... uh, go psycho and hurt anyone if I put him on a plane?"
Marshall Milam felt sick. He didn't trust this man to see to Colonel Holden's best interests, and wished with everything he was that he could stop this from happening, but orders had been given and paperwork had been processed.
"He has given us no indication of any kind of violent behavior," Milam said. "In fact, it's been just the contrary. He does not communicate at all. However, I trust you will see to his continuing treatment as soon as possible."
Aaron looked nervously at Wes and then nodded.
"Absolutely," he said.
Milam sighed. There was little else he could do.
"I've taken the liberty of arranging a car to drive you and your brother directly to the airport."
Aaron looked relieved. "Thank you, Dr. Milam. I appreciate that." Then he looked at his watch. "I guess we'd better be going."
Wes felt a moment of panic as he was wheeled out of the hospital and into the sunshine. Still locked into the pretense of unawareness, it was all he could do not to lift his face to the sun and breathe in the fresh air. He let himself be led to the waiting car, then seated in the back seat. When his stepbrother shut the door and got in the front seat with the driver, he relaxed, but the relief was only momentary.
At Aaron's request, the driver took them right by the sight of where the commissary bombing had occurred. Unless he was willing to give himself away, Wes was helpless to do anything but ride. So he gritted his teeth,
closed his eyes and refused to look as the car moved past. But as hard as he tried, he couldn't block out the sound of the driver's voice.
"Terrorist... car bomb...bodies every where... wearing a bomb."
His heart started pounding, and he broke out in a cold sweat. Every memory he had of the smells and the sounds came flooding back. He heard screams and sirens, felt the crunch of broken glass beneath his shoes as he stumbled through the debris inside the commissary, searching for his wife and child. He saw her foot, then her leg, then the damage that had been done to her face.
The blood. There had been so much blood. And Mikey. So small. So still. So far gone.
Then the driver added one last bit of info that, if Wes had known, he'd forgotten.
"Colonel Holden...one shot...right between the eyes. Saved us all."
He felt Aaron turn and stare at him, but he never acknowledged the motion. He never knew when they left the base, but the exodus was monumental, just the same, wiping out the last bit of his identity. After the bombing, his life as a husband and father had come to an end, and now he was no longer a soldier, either.
Colonel Wes Holden was finally dead, as he'd intended to be all along, but the shell of a man still existed. It remained to be seen if he would bother to refill the
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