Good Day In Hell (14 page)

Stan started to unwrap it. “God damn it,” Roy yelled. “Get going!” Stan stomped on the gas and wheeled out of the parking lot. “Down to the ramp,” Roy ordered. “Head south.” Stan obeyed.

When they were on the main highway, Laurel threw back her head and whooped out loud. “Fuck, that was great!” she yelled, laughter bubbling in her voice. “God, Roy, I love this. I fuckin’ love it. Stan, baby, you have got to try this. It’s such a rush.”

Stan swallowed. “I want to,” he said. “Next time, I want to…I want to do more than drive.”

Laurel reached over and squeezed his knee. Roy didn’t answer, but Stan could feel the older man’s eyes on him from the backseat.

“You think you’re up to it?” he said quietly.

“Oh, he can do it, Roy,” Laurel bubbled. “I know he …”

“Shut up,” Roy said. “I’m asking him.”

“Yeah,” Stan said. “I’m up to it.”

“Eat your doughnut,” Roy said.

Stan looked down. The napkin-wrapped object was still in his lap. He unwrapped it with one hand, the other on the wheel. “There’s blood on it,” he said.

“Yeah,” Roy said. The challenge in his voice was unmistakable. Stan looked in the rearview mirror. Roy was looking back into his eyes.

Stan’s voice trembled slightly. “I don’t wanna…I don’t wanna get AIDS or something,” he said.

“Everybody dies of something, Stan,” Roy said.

Stan’s eyes flicked back and forth from the road unrolling under their wheels to the minor. Roy’s eyes were still there. Laurel was silent, looking uncertainly back
and forth between them. A police cruiser careened by, going in the opposite direction, light bar flashing. Stan took a bite.

The ring of the telephone startled Keller out of his reverie. He picked it up. “Hello?”

“How’s it going, Keller?” a deep bass voice replied.

“Lucas,” Keller said. “Marie called you.”

“Haven’t lost that keen sense of deduction, I see.”

Keller gritted his teeth and didn’t answer.

“Don’t be mad at her, son,” Dr. Lucas Berry said. “She cares about you. And I am your doctor.”

“I’m okay,” Keller said. “I had a flashback.”

“All right,” Berry said. “I’ll ignore the contradiction in those two statements right now. Tell me what you saw.”

Keller closed his eyes. “I was back with the marines.”

“The ones who picked you up.”

“Right. We came on an Iraqi position. They moved in on it, but everyone there was already dead. There were bodies…” He stopped for a moment. It was suddenly hard to breathe. “There were bodies everywhere. They were scattered around. And then the choppers came.”

“You remember the helicopters,” Berry said. “Interesting.”

“Why is that interesting?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute,” Berry said. “Go on. What happened with the helicopters?”

“I, ah, I started freaking out,” Keller said. “I started shooting at them.”

“Yeah, you did,” Berry said. “It took four Marines to take the weapon away from you. And what happened then?”

“That was it,” Keller said. “I was holding a glass in my hand. It broke.”

“You cut yourself?”

“Yeah,” Keller said. “It’s not serious. I bandaged it up.”

“Mmmm,” Berry said. “Now what’s interesting to me about that flashback is that it’s the first time you’ve actually remembered what happened at the berm. Even when I first started treating you in the army, you’d blocked that out.”

“I know,” Keller said. “What does it mean?”

“Damned if I know,” Berry said. “It could be a major breakthrough. It could mean you’re about to crack up completely.”

“Great.”

“Don’t worry, son,” Berry said. “If I thought you were in danger, I’d be signing commitment papers right now.”

“You’re a real pal.”

“No,” Berry said. “I’m your doctor. So tell me, what was the trigger? What were you doing at the time?”

“I was watching TV,” Keller said. “There was a story on the news about the church massacre.”

“Ah,” Berry said. “The pictures. The ones the killers took.”

“Killers?”

“Yeah. I’ve been watching it, too. They talked with some of the survivors. The cops think there were at least two. A man and a woman. So that was probably the trigger. Anything else you can think of?”

“Well,” Keller said. “I got shot tonight.” There was a long pause.

“Yes,” Berry said in a dry voice. “That might very well have a bearing on things. You want to tell me about it?”

“This is privileged, right? Even though it’s not your regular job?” While Berry had been treating Keller off and on for years, both in the army and afterwards, his primary practice since his retirement was running a drug-and-alcohol treatment center.

“Yeah,” Berry said.

“Okay,” said Keller. “I was checking out a trailer where I thought a jumper might be holed up. I, ah, kind of gained entry.”

“You broke in.”

“Yeah. Anyway. They’d set a trap-gun. A shotgun wired to the door. But I was wearing a Kevlar vest. I just got some bruised ribs.”

“This is why it’s so much fun treating you for post-traumatic stress disorder, Keller. Most of my patients try to avoid life-threatening situations.” He sighed. “Okay. Well, the first thing I can tell you is don’t be watching the news anymore right now. They’re showing those damn pictures every ten minutes. Second, come see me tomorrow. At the center.”

“I’m feeling better,” Keller said. “Besides, I’m still after this jumper. I’ve got some work to do.”

Berry sighed. “Then there’s no use trying to talk you out of it. I know that much. Well, you’ve got my number.”

There was a flash of headlights through the window. Someone was pulling up in the yard outside.

“Somebody’s here,” Keller said.

“Probably Angela,” Berry said. “Marie said she was calling her, too.”

“Damn it…”

“People care about you, Keller,” Berry said. “You might as well get used to that. It has certain advantages.”

“Okay,” he said. “Okay.”

He got up to answer the door.

“I’m writing you a prescription, Keller. You don’t have to take it, but I’m recommending it.”

“I don’t—”

“I know, I know. You don’t like meds. But if you change your mind, call. I can phone it in. It’s there if you want it.”

“Yeah, okay,” Keller said. “Thanks, Lucas.”

He opened the door as Berry broke the connection. Angela was standing on the front steps, a plastic bag in her hand. Oscar Sanchez was behind her, leaning on his cane. There was a paper bag in his free hand.

“I figured you wouldn’t be getting any sleep,” Angela said, holding up the plastic bag. “So I brought videos. No war movies, though.”

“And I brought beer. And the makings for empenadas,” Sanchez said. “If you are hungry.”

Keller leaned in the doorway. “You guys don’t have to do this,” he said.

“I know we don’t,” Angela said. “Now invite us in.”

They sat together in the living room, eating, drinking, and watching movies, Angela or Keller occasionally piping up to explain some Americanism to Sanchez or crack a joke about some particularly absurd plot point. Gradually, as the night wore on into the early morning, the intense jittery feeling that Keller often had after a flashback subsided. He stopped seeing the images behind his eyelids whenever he closed his eyes. He noticed that Oscar was yawning and stretching. “Oscar,” Keller said. “Why don’t you crash in the spare bedroom?”

“I am all right,” Sanchez insisted. “I want to help.”

“You have, buddy,” Keller said. “The food was great.”

“Go on, Oscar,” Angela said. “Grab a couple hours. Somebody has to be awake when we open tomorrow.”

When he looked doubtful, she said, “I’ll be in to join you in a little bit.”

He smiled at that. “Okay,” he said. “Good night, Jack.”

“G’night, Oscar,” Keller said. “And thanks again.”

As the door closed behind Sanchez, Keller looked over at Angela and cocked an eyebrow.

“Don’t start, Keller,” she warned.

“What?” he said innocently. “I’m glad you two are, um… ”

She sighed. “We’re not, actually. I mean, we’re sleeping together, but we’re not, you know, sleeping together.”

“Wow,” Keller said. “I knew he was a good guy, but…”

“He’s so sweet,” Angela said. “And I’m so… I don’t know.” She took a pull on her beer. “I haven’t been with a man since …since my husband.” She gave a short, harsh laugh. “I’m not sure I remember how.”

“I think it’ll come back to you.”

“You’re a funny man, you are,” she said. “Plus, there’s…” She trailed off.

“The scars.”

She nodded. “He says he doesn’t mind. He’s…well, he’s seen some of them. And God knows, I’m used to them. But I don’t know if a man can ever look at me…that way again. I’m afraid.”

“Afraid he’ll be…” He let the words trail off.

She nodded again. Neither of them said anything for a long time. Finally Keller said, “I guess you’ll never know ‘til you try.” He took a drink. “I’ve been there, too. I was afraid no one was ever going to care about me because I was so fucked up inside. Sometimes I’m still afraid. But there were people who took their chances on me. You. Then Marie. They took their chances with you, you need to take yours. If that makes any sense.”

She smiled. “A little.”

He smiled back. “I’m starting to ramble.”

She laughed then. “A little. Maybe you’re tired enough to sleep.”

He stood up. “Maybe. But first I need to make a phone call.”

She stood up as well. “Okay,” she said. “Sleep well.”

“You too.” He went into his room and locked the door. He pulled out his cell phone and hit the speed dial. Marie answered after two rings.

“How’s it going?” he said.

“Total cluster-fuck,” she said. “There’s been another multiple shooting. A diner up on 1-95. They’ve called every officer in. But nobody seems to have thought much beyond that.”

“I thought after 9/11 everyone had a plan for stuff like this.”

“They do. It’s in a big binder and everything. But the binder’s locked in a cabinet, and no one can find the guy who has the key.” Her voice softened. “How are you?”

“Better,” he said.

“I thought you were fine before,” she said. There was an edge to her voice.

“Thanks for knowing better than that,” he said. “And thanks for calling Lucas. And Angela. She and Oscar are here.” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I shut you out.”

“Just quit doing it, okay?” she said.

“Okay,” he said. “Be careful.”

“I will. Love you.”

“I love you, too,” he said and broke the connection. He took off his boots and lay on the bed staring up at the ceiling. After a while he drifted off to sleep.

CHAPTER NINE

The sun was rising when they got back to the trailer. “Something’s wrong,” Roy said as they pulled up.

“What?” Stan said. He was feeling sick and shaky again. He wanted some more of the meth. It took the place of the adrenaline rush. He thought he could still taste the blood in his mouth, but maybe it was his imagination.

Laurel poked her head up front. “Shit,” she said. “The door’s open.” She pulled the .45 out and racked the slide before reaching back and handing one of the rifles to Roy.

“Stay here, Stan,” Roy said as Stan took the other rifle from Laurel’s hands. “Cover us,” Stan opened the van door and trained the rifle on the half-opened trailer door as Roy and Laurel got out of the van. They approached the trailer slowly, warily. Roy gently nudged the door the rest of the way open with the barrel of the M-14. Stan could see the remains of the silver wire dangling from the doorknob. Roy went inside. Laurel followed.

Stan didn’t know what to do. It seemed as if there was no one there. But Roy had ordered him to stay. Had they forgotten him? Stan fidgeted for a moment. Fuck it, he finally thought. He got out and went inside.

The faint sharp stench of gunpowder greeted Stan as he walked in. He saw the shotgun still strapped to the chair, but the chair was lying on its side. There was no one in the living room. There were holes in the wall that hadn’t been there before. Bullet holes, Stan realized. “Roy?” he called out softly. “Laurel?” he raised the rifle and walked down the hall into Roy’s bedroom.

Roy was kneeling on the floor, crouched over in almost a fetal position. He had his face hidden in his hands. The knuckles were white with strain. Laurel knelt beside him, her arm around him. There was a panicked expression on her face. “What’s wrong?” Stan asked frantically.

“He has these spells, sometimes,” Laurel said. “Headaches, like, but worse than a regular one. It happens more often when he gets real stressed.”

“Oh, great,” Stan said. “And we were letting him drive?”

“Hey,” Laurel said. “Show some fuckin’ compassion. The man’s in pain here.”

Roy looked up. His face was gaunt and lined with pain. He suddenly looked a hundred years old to Stan. “I’ll be okay,” he croaked in a ghastly voice. “It’ll pass in a few minutes.” He staggered to his feet. “Somebody triggered the gun,” Stan said. “And there’s bullet holes in the wall. But there’s no blood.”