Fade to Black - Proof (14 page)

*   *   *

Jack’s dark mood
and deep confusion lifted instantly when he walked through the door of his home.
The smell of the house, the scattered toys, the sight of his wife, all combined
to melt away the pain of the last few hours. He felt his shoulders drop as his
tension evaporated.

Pam sat on the
couch, legs tucked up underneath her. As he came through the door, her face lit
up and her eyes pulled away from the TV and whatever the gang was making on
HGTV. Jack felt a surge of guilt as he saw that she was eating peanut butter
toast off a paper napkin.

“Hey, baby,”
she said, reaching a hand out to him without getting up. Her face looked so
beautiful, smiling as she was. Jack took her hand, then leaned over and kissed
her. Peanut butter. He felt bad again. “I tried to wait for you, sweetheart,
but I got too hungry.”

“That’s ok,
Pam,” Jack said, plopping onto the couch next to her. “I’m sorry I took so long.
I had to sort out some of the things we talked about in the session. I grabbed
a bite downtown.” He looked at his wife, who still looked happy to see him.
“Sorry I didn’t call you,” he added.

“Don’t be
silly,” Pam said, shaking her head. “Claire Bear is napping.” She slid up
closer to him, wrapping her arms tightly around his and leaning against his
shoulder. “How did it go, Jack? How do you feel?”

Jack
considered a moment. How much should he tell her about the restaurant? What
would she think about the recruiter visit? It didn’t matter, Jack realized. He
would tell her everything. Telling her all the missing details the other
morning had set him free somehow, or given him strength. She was there for him,
as he would be for her whenever she might need him, and he wasn’t going to lose
that.  Jack squeezed her arm and kissed her cheek.

“Well, it’s
been an interesting day,” he began.

He told her
every detail of his morning and early afternoon, and felt the bond he shared with
his wife as he spoke. His worries that she would judge him or be frightened drained
away, and he wanted her to be with him for wherever this was taking them. He
started with his session with Lewellyn, and shared with her his surprise and
fear over the idea of confronting his “images.”

Pam held him
tightly during this, her arms wrapped around him.

“Do you think it
would help you, Jack? Do you think you could do it?” she asked. “You have to
admit, it kind of makes a lot of sense.”

“I don’t
know,” Jack answered honestly, his head leaning against hers. “It seems kind of
flaky, talking to a hallucination.”

“But wouldn’t
you really be just listening to yourself?” she asked, turning to look him in
the eyes. “I mean, isn’t that sort of what Dr. Lewellyn is saying?”

“Yes,” he
replied, feeling himself tense up a bit. Pam had an uncanny way of seeing right
to the heart of the matter. “But it’s still scary. I mean there is a part of me
that still feels it’s all so real. And these images,” Jack shuddered unconsciously,
but his wife felt it and hugged him tighter. “Well, they can be pretty
horrifying.”

Pam leaned
against his arm again and said nothing. Jack continued, talking briefly about
the review of his childhood and then told her of their conversation about her.
How they had fallen in love in college, and most importantly, how she and
Claire meant everything to him. She sighed at that part; a content and happy
sigh. Then he talked about their conversation about the Marine Corps at the
deli one Saturday during college.

“Do you
remember that?” he asked, his voice hesitant.

Pam thought a
minute. “Sort of,” she answered. “You talked about it a lot during college.”

“I did?” Jack
asked, surprised. Pam seemed confused by his reaction.

“Sure, Jack,”
she said. “You talked a lot about serving your country and giving something
back, that sort of thing. You still talk about it sometimes.” She had laid her
head back on his shoulder. “What else did you guys talk about?”

Jack
hesitated. Why could he not remember that he had talked often about the
military? In his mind he remembered mostly that it was an opportunity to help
earn money for college. His memories of them when they were dating revolved
mostly around his burning desire to be with her always, to have a family and
grow old together. Well, and to get in her pants—they had been nineteen at the
time, after all.

“Well, the
thing that bothered me the most was how, I don’t know, sort of fragmented my
memories are after that. It’s like I only remember big picture stuff.” Jack
closed his eyes, picturing some of those images that he treasured. “You holding
Claire, her birthday, how beautiful you were at our wedding, that sort of
thing. But it’s sort of disjointed or something.” Jack sighed heavily. “I don’t
know, baby. It’s like somewhere in there is the answer and I can’t get to it.”

“Or you’re
afraid of it,” Pam finished for him without looking up.

“Yeah,” Jack
said then paused. What on earth was in there that scared him so? How could he
lose such blocks of their life? And why did Pam seem so okay with that?

Jack shook the
weird, ominous feeling off and continued. He told her of his lunch and the
mistake with the waiter. By now he felt relaxed and comfortable, and when he
told her of the “image” of Commander Hoag in the booth, he wasn’t even aware
that he no longer hesitated or thought at all that the story would make Pam
pull away from him. He told her of yelling at the empty booth on his way out
the door.

“That must
have been a sight,” she said with a smile and hugged him again. He heard no
worry or fear in her voice. If she was concerned about her husband’s sanity,
she was doing a helluva job concealing it, Jack thought.

“Then I did
something that may have been stupid,” he said, and pulled back from her so he
could see her face and gauge her reaction. “Or at least I think it would make Lewellyn
mad,” he said, but of course he was really only worried that it would upset
her.

“What’s that, baby?”
Jack thought he saw a glimmer of concern in her eyes.

“Well,” he
began. “It was kind of impulsive. There was a recruiting station on the corner
downtown, and I guess I kind of went there.” He paused again and studied her
face.

“You went to a
recruiter, Jack?” There was a mix of confusion and worry in her face now. “What
on earth would you do that for?” Pam still held his arm, but she pulled back to
see him more clearly.

“I don’t
know,” Jack said, embarrassed now. What the hell had he hoped he would get from
Staff Sergeant Perry? “I think I just needed to see if the details that my mind
keeps telling me about the Marines were just made up, or if I really do know
this shit. I mean why would I know these things, Pam?” Jack realized the
question was in no way rhetorical. He really needed to hear her thoughts on
this.

“Jack,” Pam
said softly, holding his hand now, a patient parent with a slow child. “You
read dozens of brochures about the Marine Corps a few years ago. You devoured
information about the military when you thought it might be a career choice for
you. You know how you are, baby. You learn everything about things that
interest you. You haven’t thought about these things in years, but those things
are still rattling around up there.” She tapped his temple gently. “Then, when
whatever it is about this goddamn war grabbed you like it has, it came back to
you.”

It seemed so
simple the way she said it, so obvious. Jack looked at the floor and thought
hard for a moment. That wouldn’t really explain knowing who the commanding general
of First MEF was, though. But, Jack supposed, he could have just picked that up
from the news, maybe, and tucked it into his memory without knowing it. Pam
could be right. He wanted to believe that, wanted desperately to believe
anything that meant he wasn’t crazy. Or worse, trapped in a very real but
horrifying world, where dead buddies visited you in a dreamed reality you
created for yourself. Yes, Pam had to be right, but of course, none of it
explained why he was having nightmares and hallucinations in the first place.

“So what did you
find out, Jack? What did Sergeant Perry tell you?”

Jack snapped
out of his thoughts. What had she said?  Sergeant Perry? Jack was sure he hadn’t
told Pam his name. He didn’t think he had told her any detail of the visit yet,
in fact he knew he hadn’t. What the fuck? Jack felt his anxiety grow, and a
fear he couldn’t understand. Something was very wrong here. Very fucking wrong!
Pam’s reactions were too perfect, too controlled. How could she not be upset by
the things he was telling her? He had talked to a fucking ghost in a crowded
fucking restaurant for Christ’s sake! If she had told him that, he would have
been mad with worry. And fear, too, probably. Not for himself, but for the
woman he loved, and maybe for their child. Jack was gripped even tighter now by
fear and the feeling that this, all of this, was somehow very wrong.

“Jack?”

Jack looked
up, almost sure he would find himself holding hands with Simmons, his faceless
grin and bloody gums staring back at him.

Come back
Sar’n!

But it was
Pam, her face full of worry now, her eyes clouded.

“Jack, what is
it? What’s wrong, baby?” She was holding both of his hands now and her voice
trembled.

“I…I…uh…” Jack
stammered. This was insane! He was paranoid as hell and now he was letting it
hurt Pam. He gripped her hands tightly and closed his eyes, squeezing them
until there were white flashes in his vision.

Stop it, goddamnit!
Stop this shit right now!

He opened his
eyes and looked at his wife, the most real thing he had ever had in his life.
Then he smiled at her tightly.

“I’m sorry, baby,”
and he kissed her cheek. “Just another flash of something. I’m so sorry.” Jack
leaned over and took his wife in his arms, her head on his shoulder, and rocked
her gently. Pam clung to him.

“Everything is
ok, Jack,” she said, the tremor gone from her voice. “I love you so much, baby.
I am so proud of you and I love you so much.”

He held her
like that for a long time, neither saying a word, their eyes closed. Jack had
no idea where to go from here.
God, please let Lewellyn have some ideas
tomorrow.
Then Pam broke the embrace and stood up.

 She still held
his hand, but stood beside him now. The light from the kitchen silhouetted her
from behind, and Jack had the distinct feeling again that he was looking at an angel.
His angel. God, how he loved this woman. Jack felt a lump in his throat.

“Jack,” she
said, her voice soft and soothing, her hand warm in his.

“Yes?” he
said.

Please, say
something that will make the fear go away. Please, help me.

“Claire will
be napping for another hour or so, sweetheart.” Her eyes seemed almost glowing.
“Will you come upstairs with me? Will you lie with me and let me take you away
from all of this for a while?” She squeezed his hand.

Jack rose and
hugged his wife tightly, feeling her arms around him, breathing in her scent
again. What on earth could possibly be in his mind that would take him away from
this woman and all her love? Jack broke the hug and kissed his wife deeply, his
tongue exploring her mouth as she pressed against him. And again, the feel of
her and the love in her eyes took all of the nightmare far, far away; back to
some deep recess in his hurting mind.

“Lead the way,
honey,” he said. “I place myself in your very capable hands.”

Together they
nearly ran up the stairs, hand in hand, to their bed and sanctuary from his
madness.

Chapter

16

The afternoon gave Jack a
renewed sense of hope. It was not just the lovemaking (though that was
fantastic) and the closeness and vivid sense of reality it had brought. It was
just as much the simple things that the day provided. The time spent playing
with Claire in their bed. The walk to the playground hand in hand, their little
girl pointing at squirrels from her stroller, squealing with delight. It had
been the trip to the grocery store with all three of them together (though he
wondered briefly if Pam was afraid to let him go out alone, and had to shake
the feeling off). It had been laughing and teasing each other while they made
dinner together, Claire looking at picture books in her high chair. It had been
sipping wine over a simple spaghetti dinner, and cleaning Claire’s spaghetti
sauce clown face off while they all laughed. When Claire was asleep again in
her crib, after Jack read her stories (“Rainbow fish went into a scary cave”), they
had cuddled on the couch together. They finished their bottle of Shiraz and
talked about the future, neither even trying to follow the senseless sitcoms on
the TV. Jack had not felt at all afraid. He had been full of hope.

Now, lying in
bed beside his wife, her sleeping head on his shoulder and her soft arm across
his chest, Jack fought desperately to hang on to those feelings. His mind kept
pulling him to the fears of his day and doubts about the future they had
planned on the couch. It was hard not to be haunted by thoughts of tomorrow and
what it would bring, with his looming session with Lewellyn and all the burning
questions his mind tried to raise. The things Pam had said earlier about his
knowledge of the Marine Corps made perfect sense, but still seemed off somehow
for reasons that were hazy, like shadows in the dark.

Jack yawned a
deep and tired yawn. He had taken his magic pills and sleep was pulling at him.
He allowed himself to collapse and to give in to his exhaustion. He would think
about these things tomorrow. He kissed Pam lightly on the lips.

“I love you, baby,”
he said, and let his heavy eyes close.

“Mmmmm,” Pam
replied.

In moments he
was fast asleep beside her.

*   *   *

Jack dreamed,
despite the medicine that Lewellyn and Barton had given him, but this time he
dreamed without fear.

Jack walked
along the sand berm in his tennis shoes and jeans, shivering slightly in the
cool desert air. Despite the night, the half‐moon made it surprisingly easy to
see, and Jack maneuvered along the berm towards the hushed voices farther up
the large wall of sand and rock. Just over the berm, Jack could see a rim of
light in the distance.

Fallujah.

He kind of
expected to feel a rush of fear or anxiety. He felt nothing but calm. Maybe it
was because he knew he was dreaming. Or maybe because in this dream he was
himself, Jack, instead of a dying Marine sergeant who couldn’t get enough air
into his bleeding lungs. He knew his beautiful wife slept beside him seven
thousand miles away and that their daughter slept just a few steps up the hall
in her nursery. They were both safe. Or maybe the medicine, the Effexor, did
something after all. Maybe that was what made it all tolerable. Whatever the
reason, he actually felt pretty damn good, a new feeling but he sure as hell
liked it. Jack smiled a little in the dark.

As Jack got
closer to the hushed voices they became more discernible, more like talk than
just noise, and he could see a group of young men huddled together against the
berm, leaning back, legs stretched out in the dirt. A few orange cat eyes
bobbed around the group, glowing ash from lit cigarettes that a few of the Marines
smoked as they talked and laughed in hushed whispers. When Jack got a few feet
from them, he stopped, and sat cross-legged (
criss-cross apple sauce,
Claire
giggled in his mind) in the dirt and listened to the young men.

“Rich, you
would eat the ass out of dead rhino,” a voice cracked. That had to be Bennet,
Tex to his Marine buddies (like every Texan in every Marine platoon, Jack
thought).

“Fuck you,
man,” Simmons answered, his neutral upstate New York accent contrasting sharply
with Bennet’s slow drawl. “I’m telling you this shit is good. This is the best
MRE they give us.”

“God, Rich,
you say that about every fuckin’ MRE meal.” Jack wasn’t sure at first if he
could place the voice, but then realized it sounded like Ballard, a lanky kid
with bad acne from Ohio. Probably the best shot in the platoon. Jack (Casey)
had taken him off the SAW, the M249 machine gun, and put him back on an M16A,
but with a laser scope, early in the deployment. “You even said that about that
‘Captain’s Country Chicken’ shit, remember Mac?”

“Yeah, I
remember,” McIver answered. “That Yankee will eat any goddamn thing.”

“Captain’s
Chicken is ok,” Simmons defended, “You guys just don’t crush up the crackers
and add hot sauce.”

“Captain’s
Chicken don’t come with friggin’ crackers,” an unknown voice said.

“Bullshit it
don’t,” Simmons answered.

“Hey, Rich if
you’ll eat anything, why don’t you crawl over here and eat me?”

“Fuck off,
Tex,” Simmons laughed. “Anyway, I’m too hungry for that little snack.”

They all
laughed.

“Noise
discipline, guys,” a familiar voice said. Then Jack caught his breath as he
realized why it was familiar. It was his voice.

“Sorry, Sar’n,”
Simmons said, his voice now a lower whisper. “Casey, don’t that chicken thing
come with crackers?”

“Shit, Rich, I
don’t know,” Stillman answered in Jack’s voice. “But I’ll tell you guys one
thing.” There was a pause.

“What’s that,
Sar’n?” Kindrich asked with his Tennessee accent.

“Simmons will
eat about any goddamn thing!”

And they all
laughed in hushed giggles.

Jack listened
as his men continued to tease each other, smoking in the moonlight—except
Simmons who was still eating, and McIver who was dipping Skoal and spitting
onto the sand berm. He still felt pretty content, if anything.

“Good bunch of
kids,” a voice said behind him. Jack didn’t jump. He had expected the voice.
Why not? It was just a dream, right? His dream. And he felt, for the first
time, very much in control.

“Yeah, they
are,” he answered and turned slowly to look over his shoulder, already knowing
that Commander Hoag would be there. “I think I love them all,” he said. Then he
considered the statement and added, “Or I would, if they were real.”

Commander Hoag
sported his clean digital desert cammies and dirty desert boots again. He sat
down beside Jack in the dirt, groaning as he did, like all middle-aged men
eventually come to do. He looked at Jack in the moonlight.

“What makes
you think they aren’t real?” Hoag asked with a patience that reminded Jack of
Dr. Lewellyn. Jack smiled. Not this time. He was in control here. It was his
mind who created Hoag, and his decision to summon him here for some reason.

Listen to what
your mind is asking you
.

“Well,” he
said leaning in towards the Navy chaplain, “For one thing, I’m dreaming.”

“I see,” Hoag
answered, looking up at the moon, as if he were thinking that one over. “And
because you are dreaming, this can’t be real?”

“Well, it’s
real in one sense, I guess,” Jack answered. He leaned back now on his
outstretched arm, content to play the game. “I mean, my mind is real, my
thoughts are real. I came here to this place in my mind, this dream, to find
some answers, I suppose. Answers to some real questions about some real
problems I’m having. Those guys,” Jack gestured in the direction of Casey
Stillman and his squad of Marines, “are from my nightmares. They’re real to me,
I guess. Sometimes too fucking real,” he laughed. “But they exist only here, in
my mind.” He tapped his temple like Pam had done and felt very satisfied with
the answer.

“You’re sure?”
Hoag asked quietly. “Sure that this place is the dream?”

Jack felt
anxious at that question. Wasn’t that the real question he had been asking
himself all along? Wasn’t that the crux of his deepest fear, that this was real
and his home, his life and job, his girls, were the dream? “I’m sure,” he lied.

Hoag shifted
in the sand, lying back against the berm, and gazed up at the moon. “Then what
are you doing here?” he asked.

Jack thought a
long moment before answering. The question implied he came here of his own free
will; that his nightmares and hallucinations were things he had created on
purpose. Was that true? He supposed that in a sense it had to be. His mind
created them somehow, to force him to face something that bothered him, something
that frightened him terribly. But what?

“I’m looking
for some answers, I guess,” he said, watching the commander carefully. For a
long time the chaplain said nothing, just stared at the sky and the bright half‐moon
overhead.

“Maybe you’re asking
the wrong questions,” he said simply.

Jack said
nothing. But the simple statement bothered the shit out of him, though he
didn’t know why. What was the question he was asking? He just wanted to know he
wasn’t crazy, he thought. And to try and figure out what was haunting his mind so
viciously that he could have created such horrible visions in his dreams. What
connected him to these Marines, these young men who stretched out now in the
sand, resting up to go into battle in a dusty little city, thousands of miles
from their homes? Some of them would die there tomorrow, at least in his
nightmare. He didn’t know how to feel about that, or if he should feel
anything. His mind was telling him a story, and he was just following along,
trying to catch the hidden meaning. Wasn’t that what Dr. Lewellyn wanted him to
believe? Jack lay back in the sand beside the Navy chaplain, another creation
of his troubled mind. He felt very tired now. He was done with this dream.

Time to go
home.

“I’d love to
stay and chat, sir,” Jack said, turning to the chaplain in the sand beside him,
“but I think I’m done for tonight.” He yawned and closed his eyes.

“Did you find
any answers here?”  Commander Hoag asked softly.

“Not yet,”
Jack answered tiredly.

“Tomorrow I
think we should talk about death, Casey. I think we should start asking the
questions that will unlock your fears, okay?”

“My name is
Jack,” Jack answered without knowing why.

*   *   *

He didn’t
start awake. He didn’t scream or tear at his throat. He actually felt kind of
peaceful. He simply opened his eyes and found himself looking at the ceiling of
their bedroom, the fan turning slowly in the moonlight from the window, without
much surprise.

Jack let his
mind wander over the conversation with Hoag, and searched for the deeper
meaning that his inner voice must be trying to help him find. It no longer
seemed that finding out whether Casey Stillman and his Marines had ever been
real was the most important thing. There was something else. Something those
nightmares represented.

Jack rolled
over and wrapped his arms around Pam, hugging her tightly. He hoped tomorrow
that Lewellyn would help him find the questions. Then maybe he could work on
the answers.

He kissed
Pam’s hair, closed his eyes, and slipped into a dreamless sleep.

Finally the
damn medicine was starting to work.