Fade to Black - Proof (3 page)

“What do you
mean?” Jack shifted uneasily and felt his mouth go dry. What was this guy’s
name? Chad?

“Lunch room is
this way, pal.” He looked stern. Jack stood still, unsure what to do. Then the
man laughed and strode over, wrapping an arm around Jack’s shoulder. “I thought
you quit smokin’, dude!”

Jack relaxed
and let out his breath.

“Yeah, I did.
Just habit I guess.” Jack didn’t remember ever smoking. He turned and walked in
the other direction with his friend.

“You bring
lunch or are we scoring burgers?”

“No…uh…I
didn’t bring anything,” Jack answered.

“Sweet!”  his
friend replied, rubbing his palms together. “Finally took a stand against Pam’s
healthy life plan, huh?”

“Yeah,” Jack
laughed. That felt right somehow. Salad and dressing in separate Tupperware. He
relaxed again.

“Shapin’ the
young minds, pal?” his friend asked as they walked through the double doors
into the noisy lunch room. Young teens laughed and talked loudly at the round
institutional tables spread out around the room. Jack scanned the colorful
homemade posters scattered randomly on the walls, telling of upcoming club
meetings and a dance next Friday.

“Doing my
part, Chad,” Jack replied easily. They grabbed trays and slid them down the
twin metal bars, past prepackaged salad and little bowls of Jell-O. Chad
stopped in front of the grill. A middle‐aged woman stared back at them with a
wry smile from under her blue, net-covered grey hair.

“Two cheeseburgers,
Sheila, but you can put ‘em both on one bun,” Chad ordered.

“You know I’m
not supposed to do that,” Sheila said with an insider’s smile.

“Yeah, yeah.
Come on, sweetie. And extra fries with that, ok?”

Sheila sighed
and turned to Jack.

He smiled.
“Same,” he said.

Jack followed
Chad out of the line with his tray, and the two wound their way through the
scattered tables to the exit. Several yards down the hallway, Chad led them
through a door marked Faculty Lounge. Inside several other teachers chatted at
one of the two tables and Chad set his tray on the other.

“Soda?” Chad
asked, reaching into the large refrigerator.

“Sure,” Jack
replied.  Chad tossed his friend a diet Coke underhand, which Jack caught
easily. On a TV in the corner the CNN headline news reporter, clearly chosen
for bouncy, blonde good looks and full lips—a decision highlighted by her low‐cut
blouse—droned on about stock market trends. Jack slid into a chair and took a
big bite of his double cheeseburger.

“Mmmmm.” He
hadn’t realized how hungry he was until that first bite.

Chad took a
huge bite of his own dietary sin and rolled his eyes in delight.

“Yeah,” he
exclaimed with a full mouth. “Being bad tastes pretty damn good, eh, Jack?”

Jack smiled
his reply and twisted the top off his Coke. Then something the TV blonde was
saying caught his attention—something about Fallujah—and he turned quickly
towards the screen. The picture was file footage of Marines advancing through
the streets of a war torn and dusty town.

…for the town
of Al Fallujah. The fierce fighting continued yesterday, but not without
casualties on….

“I think we
ought to talk to Anderson about…”

“Quiet!” Jack
ordered sharply, his hand outstretched towards Chad. The curt command caused
Chad to stop in midsentence, his mouth open, and then he followed Jack’s gaze
towards the TV.

…numbering
perhaps as high as 50 killed and hundreds wounded or captured according to
several military sources. Coalition forces suffered yesterday as well, with
three Marines reportedly killed and another seriously wounded during a brutal
firefight in the city’s war-ravaged streets. The names of the killed and
injured Marines were not released, pending notification of families here at
home. Although military authorities report that coalition forces now control
nearly half of the city, they caution that the violence there is far from over.
Elsewhere in Iraq, a car bomb has reportedly killed one soldier while four others
were wounded in an attack near the town…

Jack’s face
paled and a cool sweat spread over his whole body. His throat tightened, and he
could hear his pulse pounding in his ears.

“Kindrich from
Tennessee, Bennett from Texas…” he muttered. Their faces were vividly clear
from his dream. And who else? Who was the third? He knew who the wounded Marine
was—Sgt. Stillman…Casey.

Jack felt the
room closing in on him, and thought he might suffocate if he didn’t get
somewhere with more air. His throat burned low down, but he didn’t have any
saliva to swallow. He rose and pushed his chair back from the table so abruptly
that it tipped over backwards and crashed to the floor. Then he bolted for the
door. His stomach churned as he stumbled into the hall.

“Jack! What
the hell?”

“Excuse me,”
Jack choked out over his shoulder as he went rapidly down the hall, towards the
light from the glass door at the end. As he got closer to the door, the hallway
began to tilt and far off he could hear the sound of gunfire. He was only
vaguely aware of someone calling out his name as he pushed through the door and
into the cool air outside. Jack sucked in a deep breath as he leaned back against
the wall, then he fell forward as vomit rose in the back of his throat. He dry
heaved twice, managed to keep the bite of Sheila’s secret double cheeseburger
safely in his stomach, and spit the bile taste out of his mouth onto the
flowers planted beside the school wall.

Just then a
shadow passed over him, and the
thump, thump
of a UH-60 Blackhawk
helicopter broke the stillness of the air. He turned his head upward towards
the sound, his eyes wide with panic—but the blue sky was empty and silent. A
hand on his shoulder made him reel around on one heel, his left hand up
defensively, his right reaching behind his hip for his M16A rifle, but he
fumbled about grabbing only air.

“Jesus, Jack!
Are you ok? What the fuck is going on?” Chad’s face was concerned and
frightened.

“Mr. Keller?”
Two young girls stood a few yards away, their fourth‐period books clasped
tightly to their chests.

“Everything is
fine here, ladies. Get on to class now,” Chad said without looking over at them,
his voice cracking. The girls shuffled around the two popular teachers and
slipped through the door into the school without speaking.

Jack steadied
under Chad’s firm grip on his shoulders. Then he stepped back gently out of
Chad’s awkward embrace.

“Sorry, man...I,
uh…” Jack felt his mind begin to clear a bit. “Man, those burgers must have
been laced with
E. coli
or something. I suddenly got overwhelmingly
nauseated. I just about barfed once I got out here. Sorry about all that.” Jack
managed an awkward smile.

“Sick?” Chad
looked unconvinced.

“Yeah…man, I
still feel like I might puke,” Jack replied, the charade more convincing as it
took on a comfortable shape.

Chad stepped
back without thinking, as folks often do when they think they might get hurled
on.

“You do look
kinda sick, actually. Jesus, you’re pale as shit.” Chad seemed to relax a bit.
“Maybe you should go home. We’ll get one of the subs for you.”

Jack shook his
head and took a deep breath. He felt better, his face warmer.

“No,” he
replied. “I think I’m all right. Man, it just hit me all of the sudden.” Jack
wiped the last of the sweat from his forehead. “Just give me a second.”

“Sure, sure,”
Chad answered. “Take what you need. You want me to hang here with you?”

“No, I’m good
now. Get back to your lunch. I’ll be in, in a minute.”

“Ok,” Chad
agreed. Then he laughed. “You really scared the shit out of me, man. I thought
you knew someone from the news. God, you should have seen old Ms. Foster. I
think you might have made her pee herself a little.” Chad went back through the
door. “Come get me if you need me.”

Jack nodded
and smiled as the door closed. Then he leaned back against the wall again.

Kindrich,
Bennett, and someone else. Why would he know that? What was going on? Jack
settled on the only reasonable explanation.

He was losing
his fucking mind.

Chapter

3

The rest of the day remained a
haze in the background of his thoughts as Jack drove home. Twice during the
afternoon periods he had floated off in midsentence, his thoughts in a place
that, as far as he knew, he had never been. These had been followed by awkward
silence as he drifted back into reality, only to find himself gazing out over a
sea of confused young faces—his students, who whispered and giggled
uncomfortably.

Fifth period
was his free period and he spent the entire fifty minutes in the faculty
lounge, flipping through the channels to find more information about the Marine
deaths in Fallujah. Names. He especially, desperately, needed names. If only
the names would be released, he could prove to himself he knew nothing of this
place or these people, that his dream and the report were a frightening
coincidence. Perhaps he had even heard the story the evening before, and it had
rooted in his unconsciousness, coming out as the terrible fantasy later in his
sleep.

But the news
reports barely even mentioned the battle, the loss of three Marines apparently
less interesting to America than how the coming Christmas season might affect stock
market trends, a huge fire in an empty warehouse in some South Carolina town,
and a story run three times about a girl in New Jersey who dumped her newborn
in a trash can (the baby survived, the girl was sorry, but was still being
charged). The radio on the ride home provided no more help.

Jack was
frightened, but unsure of what. Perhaps the idea of being crazy? Wasn’t that
what you were when you had no control over your own thoughts? He found the
returning sense that the world around him was less real than his nightmare—that
his whole life felt made up—even more concerning. Try as he might, he couldn’t
conjure up any emotional details of his life.

He had tested
himself with curtain colors and the closet door last night, but now those
victories seemed more like easily rectified props than evidence of a solidity.
Shit, even a thought like that made him feel his loose hold on sanity might be
slipping away. He simply couldn’t break from the force that pulled him to some
sort of connection with Sergeant Casey Stillman, young leader of Marines.

“Jack?” He
startled back to reality to the sound of a tap on the window of the grey Volvo.
No, green—his Volvo was green.

Jack looked up
to see Pam standing by the car, her arms crossed for warmth. The sun had nearly
set, the last haze of autumn pink fading rapidly. He realized the Volvo was
still running.

Kenny sang
gently on the radio, reminding Jack that there were songs that took him to
other places. He grimaced and shut off the ignition and opened the door,
grabbing his briefcase.

“What’s wrong,
Jack? I was calling you from the porch.” Pam grabbed Jack by the arm as they
walked towards the house. “You’ve been out here for fifteen minutes, baby.”

Jack patted her
cold hand.

“Sorry, honey.
Really weird day at work. I was just trying to sort things out in my head I
guess.”

“Well, you can
tell me about it over dinner. It’s getting cold.” They walked into the house
where Jack was met with the comfort of warmth and the smell of food. His
stomach growled, and he realized he hadn’t eaten since breakfast—the nearly
puked burger bite not counting really.

“Claire is
sleeping already. She didn’t really nap today and I think she might have a
little bug. She was a little fussy all day.”

Pam continued
on, telling Jack about her day, but he was having trouble concentrating. The
grumbling in his stomach grew rapidly, and he felt himself salivate at the
smell of a home-cooked meal.

Better than
cold MREs behind a sand berm in the dark, that’s for fuckin’ sure.

Jack ate,
nodding and asking questions at the appropriate times, guilty that he had no
idea what his wife was talking about. His mind dissected the events of the day
and the feelings that he couldn’t quite shake. He also debated just how much to
tell Pam about his bizarre feelings and his fears about losing his marbles.

“Jack?”

“Huh?” Jack
looked up from his nearly empty second plate of ham, mac and cheese, and green
beans.

“I said tell
me what is up with you today. I’m really worried about you, baby.”

“Just that
damn nightmare, sweetheart. It haunted me all day long. I just can’t shake it.”
He felt a pang of guilt for not sharing his deeper fears and haunting thoughts
with the woman who shared his life.

Pam rose from
her seat and sat on her husband’s lap. Jack wrapped his arms around her as she
caressed his face. Pam kissed him.

“It’s just an
awful dream, Jack. You’re such a sensitive man.” She kissed his throat and Jack
closed his eyes. “It’s just a terrible nightmare in response to the horrible
things going on over there. Now,” she licked lightly on his earlobe, her breath
warm and sexy on his neck. Her voice fell to a whisper. “How can I take your
mind off of it?”

Jack felt her
hands unbuttoning his shirt as she kissed him deeply this time. His body
responded and he kissed her back, his own hands running over her skin. Then she
stood up and pulled him by the hand towards the stairs.

They made love
slowly, passionately. Her touch was warm and gentle, and Jack felt all of his
anxiety disappear into oblivion. He lost himself in the wonderful—and more
importantly, familiar—feel of his wife’s body moving against his. He felt right
for the first time since the dream.

Afterwards he
checked on Claire. He watched her sleep for several minutes before he picked
her up gently. They sat in the glide rocker beside her bed and he rocked her
slowly as she slept on his bare chest. The feel of her little hands on his
shoulder, the sound of her slow and gentle breathing, comforted him as much as
his embrace seemed to soothe her. His heart was so full of love for her that he
thought it might burst. After she settled again into a deep sleep, he placed
her softly back in her crib. His big girl. Soon she would be ready for a
toddler bed. He kissed her lightly on her warm cheek. He stroked her red hair
and then pulled her yellow Pooh Bear blanket up over her shoulders.

“Love you,
Bear,” he whispered.

As he crawled
into bed, Pam propped herself up on one elbow and stroked his hair, the sheet
falling off her bare shoulder.

“She’s fine,”
Jack said. “Sleeping.”

He wrapped his
arm around his wife’s waist and kissed her.

“Good,” she
said, her hand finding her way between them and pulling at the drawstring of
his pajama bottoms. She leaned in and kissed him deeply again.

They made love
again, more urgently this time. Then they fell asleep, wrapped around each
other, legs entwined. Jack felt completely at peace. As he slipped into sleep
he wondered how he could ever have doubted this reality.