The Final Line (24 page)

“Corey, stop and take a breath,” Sean said sharply.

Corey gasped, finally refilling his lungs with precious oxygen. “Sorry.”

“You’re running, Corey,” Sean said. “You’re trying to make it sound like you’re doing me a favor, but you’re running. You promised me, Corey. Now stop it.”

Corey couldn’t remember anyone ever throwing the bullshit flag on him like this. “You’re right. Okay. You said you didn’t know what this thing was or where it was going. But do you really want
this
? Is this the direction you really want to go in?”

“Yes,” Sean answered without hesitation.

“I guess I don’t understand why.” Corey’s confession twisted his gut. He couldn’t figure out why Sean would even put up with this shit, but he was grateful Sean seemed to want to stick around.

“I can’t believe you just said that,” Sean muttered, his annoyance palpable. “Corey, tell me about your goddamn nightmare, and don’t clean the story up thinking you’re protecting me. I want the unvarnished truth.”

Corey gave an exaggerated growl. “I’m gonna be so pissed off if this keeps me from getting laid again.”

Sean huffed a quiet laugh. “Stubbornness is what’s going to keep you from getting laid,” he said quietly.

Corey actually chuckled at that. He paused to take several swallows of water before relating the events of the dream to Sean.

The soft strains of guitar music drifted through the connection. Corey let the notes settle over him and soothe him. It made telling the story easier, at least until he reached the end. Reliving the memory of the slaughtered women and children brought back the pain in his chest.

“Fuck, I want a drink so bad right now,” he admitted quietly, running a hand over the bristles of his hair. He realized he needed it cut.

He heard Sean’s sharp intake of breath. “No,” Sean said gently.

Corey chuckled darkly. “Don’t worry. There’s nothing here. I tossed it out a while ago.”

“Good. I’m proud of you.” The affection in Sean’s voice warmed Corey. “So, what’s the worst thing that can happen to you when you talk about your nightmare?” he surprised Corey by asking.

“Nothing,” he answered. Remembering the images that scared the shit out of him.

“Exactly.”

The word hung between them as the only sound was Sean strumming his guitar.

Taking a deep breath, Corey asked, “You don’t think what I do is ugly and violent?”

“Of course I do,” Sean replied quickly. “But I don’t think
you’re
ugly and violent.”

Corey was struck dumb. After a moment he asked, “Even if I said I don’t think it’s just a dream?”

“I’m sure there are pieces of real memory mixed in,” Sean said softly. “But if you mean what I think you mean, you should call your counselor.”

Corey sighed, not ready to agree yet. “Well, thanks for listening,” he said, stifling a yawn.

“It’s my pleasure, and you know that.” Sean took a deep breath. “So, about tomorrow night…”

Corey braced himself.

“I was offered a part in a television show at the last minute. I have a nighttime call tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Corey was glad Sean couldn’t see the way his face flamed in shame. He reminded himself that everything wasn’t always about him. “That’s great.” Sean’s words sank in fully. “That’s fucking fantastic! Good for you. Is this one of those things you auditioned for?”

“No, actually. My agent just submitted me for the part and the director of this episode has worked with me before, so he just hired me.” Sean sounded pleased and proud. “It’s actually a three-episode arc and I get to play the villain.”

“That’s okay, I like bad boys,” Corey said playfully, grateful for something pleasant to focus on.

Sean laughed in response. “So, I’ll be working tomorrow night. If you need to call and I don’t answer, leave a message. There is a lot of down time and standing around on these things, so I’ll be able to call you back.”

“You don’t need me interrupting your work.” Maybe not, but Corey hoped Sean
wanted
him to interrupt.

“Did you hear what I just said?” Sean asked, his annoyance rising once again.

Corey laughed at his own obstinacy. “All right. If I need you, I’ll call.”

“You can call me if you just want me.” Sean’s voice was low and suggestive.

“We’d never get off the phone.” Fuck it. Why keep fighting it?

“Some night we’ll have to get off
on
the phone,” Sean quickly replied with a naughty laugh.

When they finally ended the call and Corey settled down to try to sleep again, he realized he was more than just relieved and relaxed. Corey couldn’t remember when it had happened, but somewhere along the way, he’d become happy.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Corey stood behind the five Marines who were his responsibility today. They were holding sniper training and in addition to instructing, Corey was serving as Assistant Range Master. He had to monitor readiness and safety on the firing line, and notify the Master Sergeant when everyone was ready to commence fire.

Some of these Marines had already attended Sniper School and today was remedial for them. As a Recon Marine, even those who weren’t qualified as Snipers might someday have to act as a sharp shooter. Today, Corey and his fellow instructors were ensuring these Marines would be able to do that.

“Ready on the right?” Whitfield shouted.

Corey watched as the instructors on the right hand side of the range each lifted a fist into the air and replied, “Ready on the right.”

One last time, Corey looked over his five Marines to make sure all weapons were unloaded and muzzles were aimed down range.

“Ready on the left?” came the next shout.

Corey lifted his fist and replied, “Ready on the left!”

“All ready on the firing line,” Whitfield called. “Shooters, load your weapons.”

There was a loud cacophony of magazines being inserted and bolts sliding forward.

“The firing line is hot.” Whitfield shouted the next command. “All ready on the right? All ready on the left?” Corey still held his fist in the air. He would drop it only if he saw a safety violation or when firing began. “Commence fire,” Whitfield ordered.

Dozens of rifles fired simultaneously and Corey nearly jumped out of his skin. He’d been on the range more times than he could count. He’d expected the loud gunfire. He had no reason to startle.

Corey focused on his five Marine charges. He glassed the targets downrange with the optics around his neck. He had one Marine dropping points left and right. He’d wait and see if the Marine could dial it in on his own.

He paced the firing line, sweat rolling down his back and chest, despite the coolness of the morning. Corey breathed in and out, counting to eight like Sean always encouraged him. It was hard to do with a racing heart.

His palms were sweaty as he lifted his optics again and glassed the targets. The lieutenant was still missing the center ring on nearly every shot. Corey watched him make adjustments to his windage and elevation. His next round was high and right. Sighing, Corey carefully approached the officer’s position from the rear. At this level, the LT should know better than to jerk the trigger.

Corey knelt beside the lieutenant’s right hip. “Ceasefire, Marine,” he ordered quietly, not wanting to disrupt anyone else on the firing line.

The lieutenant removed his finger from the trigger and rested it against the guard.

“Take a couple of deep breaths and relax,” Corey instructed. “Now line up your shot. Take a breath and let it out. You should be dead center through the sight. Are you there?”

“Yes, Staff Sergeant.” The officer’s response was muffled by his cheek pressed to the rifle stock.

“Good.” Corey struggled to block out the sound of the gunfire that surrounded him. “Now this time, when you take your shot, squeeze the trigger slowly. Don’t jerk it. Relax your hand around the grip so that only your trigger finger moves and draw it backward, slow and steady.”

Corey jumped, adrenaline flooding his body when the lieutenant’s rifle roared to life. Standing abruptly, Corey glassed the target. The officer’s shot had just winged the ten-ring.

“Nice job, Marine,” Corey said encouragingly. “Now adjust your sights as needed, just remember to squeeze instead of jerk.”

The lieutenant resumed firing and Corey quickly backed away from the line. He forced himself to look at the Marines in his charge to make sure all was well. He kept backing away, glancing around the range, looking for threats.

Corey’s heartbeat was nearly as loud as the gunfire. His chest heaved and he couldn’t slow it. He ran the back of a hand over his forehead, wiping away a film of sweat. He needed to take cover. Corey was out in the open in a kill zone and he had to take cover.

“Yarwood, man, you don’t look good.” Sergeant Spencer appeared at his side and Corey had to pull his punch. “What the fuck?”

“It’s too loud,” Corey said as he looked around for a place to take cover.

“You need to square yourself away, Staff Sergeant,” Spencer said, grabbing Corey’s bicep.

Yanking his arm free, Corey started toward one of the sheds behind them.

“Yarwood, come on, chill the fuck out.” Staff Sergeant Norris was suddenly beside him. “If the Master Sergeant sees you away from your post he’ll bust you down.”

Corey pressed his hands over his ears. It didn’t block the sounds of the battle that raged around him.

“Get back up to the line,” one of the other instructors said. “Come on, man, you need to get your shit together.”

“Yarwood, hey.” Someone waved a hand in front of his face and Corey was able to focus on it. “Come on, Corey, knock this shit off.”

They nudged Corey toward the firing line. “Just ignore everything else. Block it out. Just worry about what’s important.”

Corey stepped back in place behind his Marines. His fingers and toes tingled but his brain was numb. Spencer and Norris quickly resumed their own positions along the firing line.

“Cease fire! Cease fire! Cease all fire on the firing line!” Whitfield shouted.

Immediately, all gunfire stopped.

“The firing line is cold,” the Master Sergeant called. “Make and show safe.”

The Marines all removed their magazines, ejected chambered rounds and stepped back from the firing line, leaving their weapons in place.

Staff Sergeant Norris was back at Corey’s side. “Pull it together, Yarwood,” he said harshly.

Corey nodded. Now that the gunfire had stopped he could breathe. The need to take cover was easing.

“You’re a Marine, man, you’re fucking Recon,” Norris continued. “We’ve all been through some shit, but we don’t go losing it in the middle of a training class. You’re better than that. If the Master Sergeant finds out, you’ll be riding a desk.”

Corey nodded his understanding. If Norris would just go the fuck away, Corey could slip a Xanax and get himself squared away.

It was surprisingly easy to hide behind a Humvee with a bottle of water and swallow the tiny pill. It was like none of his fellow instructors
wanted
to know what he was up to. Corey almost pulled out his cell phone to call the counseling office. He couldn’t be losing his shit in the middle of training.

Norris’ words echoed in his head. Corey pocketed his phone. He was a fucking Recon Marine. He had to be strong enough to deal with this shit on his own.

Thank God the fucking Xanax worked fast. During the second relay, Corey was still jumpy and his palms were sweaty, but this time he kept his shit together. It was a long motherfucking day.

Corey was grateful when instruction ended and testing began. Master Sergeant Whitfield ran a single relay of ten Marines, one he could manage himself, the rest of instructors lending a hand as needed. Corey stood well back from the firing line, hoping to minimize his exposure to the loud sounds that part of his brain obviously still associated with combat situations. Mostly, he just tried to keep Whitfield from noticing he was slowly falling apart.

Despite Corey’s best efforts, the lieutenant who kept shooting high and right failed the sniper test by a full five points. It put him in danger of failing out of BRC. Corey gnawed on a hangnail, consumed with guilt. If he weren’t so fucked up, he might have been able to help the LT better than he had.

As he tossed his ruck into the Humvee for the drive back to BRC HQ, the Marines who rode with him began to climb into the victor. Spencer was suddenly at his side.

“Dude, a bunch of us are going to the SMP thing over at Margarita tonight. You should come with.”

Corey used to do a lot of shit with the Single Marine Program. Not just the meal and movie events, but he used to go on the excursions and camping trips. Hell, he’d even volunteered at the base animal shelter. Since he’d been back, he hadn’t done shit.

“Nah. Thanks, man.” Corey wondered if it was too early to try calling Sean.

“Seriously, man. Norris says you’re fucking belt fed today.” Spencer glanced around, gauging who might overhear. “They’re serving beer. You need to loosen the fuck up, Corey.”

Rage spiked through Corey and he turned on Spencer menacingly. “I don’t need to loosen the fuck up. I need you, and Norris, and fucking
Nygaard
to quit telling me how the fuck
you
think I should be acting. I got Nygaard telling me I gotta lie for him so he doesn’t have to man up about beating a woman to death with his bare hands. I got the fucking DOD telling me I gotta tell the truth about the bad shit a bunch of Marines are lying about doing. I got you telling me I gotta get drunk to stop being a tight ass, and I got better men than you telling me I gotta stay sober. How ’bout I make my own goddamn decisions about what I gotta do?”

Corey clenched his jaw, breathing harshly through his nose. His fists clenched at his sides. Spencer looked stunned, his face flushing. Corey didn’t know if it was embarrassment or anger and he didn’t give a fuck.

“Okay, so things are fucked up for you,” Spencer retorted angrily. “Maybe having a few beers and getting it off your chest will keep you from taking it out on your fellow instructors. You know, this Nygaard asshole is talking shit about the whole Corps. You might find sympathy easy to come by if you bothered to talk about it.”