Radioman (A 2/19th Spinoff) - Complete

Army Lessons Learned

It was still dark and cold out when I walked out of the field and stood next to the drainage culvert to stare at my house. The tarp wasn't flapping any more, which meant my neighbor had tacked it down or someone had figured they had loosened it when they climbed inside my house.

It didn't matter. If they were in my house, I would kill them.

The ice was thick as I crossed the ditch, my boots crunching the frozen cattails and other reeds as I crossed the culvert and then climbed up next to the road. A semi went by, logs on it, heading for the mill when I'd worked. That massive oak tree in my back yard was decorated by ice and snow, looking like a post card or painting.

The snow was over ankle deep as I walked across the street in the cold dark night.

I could handle the cold. The darkness held nothing I might fear. The lightning in the clouds and the thunder making the snowflakes dance was nothing for me to worry about. The snow was just snow.

though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I shall fear no evil, for I am the baddest motherfucker in the valley

The snow crunched under my boots as I walked across my front lawn, pulling my keys out of my pocket. I glanced into the car, checking to see if anyone was inside it, then kept walking up to my door. It opened easily and closed silently behind me, the lock clicking in the silence.

The switch clicked on the lamp and the dim yellow light tried to beat back the darkness, largely failing, but giving me enough light to see by.

I moved over to the bearskin rug in front of the fireplace, looking down.

Aine's blood had stained the bear fur and the carpet both.

I knelt down and touched it with two fingertip, feeling the light crush of dried blood, that unique half tacky half crunchy feel only dried blood gets. I don't know what I expected. Maybe a spark of something, maybe, I don't know, just a faint impression of her.

Instead the emptiness deepened.

I got up, walking down the dark hall to the bathroom. It still smelled of apples from Aine's bath, a lingering scent of her on the towels.

A rock.

A goddamn rock.

I'd seen her bayoneted through the gut, seen her shot, she survived when Atlas had exploded.

And some junkie threw a rock and bashed in her skull.

The emptiness sang, like I had flicked a fingertip against pure Bavarian crystal.

I turned on the light above the mirror, staring at myself.

My hair was wet, plastered down, wet black that seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it. I kept it short, a half inch, in regulation. My eyes were shadowed, the blue dark, with dark circles under my eyes. I'd shaved in the morning and now along my jaw was dark. I ran my hand over my skin and heard the bristles snarl.

I turned away, walking back into the bedroom and looking around. Aine's gingham dress and the sash were folded neatly on the dresser, her hair clip with jeweled butterflies on it on top of them. Her little makeup box of tin decorated with brass, was next to her jewelry box, a hand carved cherry wood that Stillwater had made her in Junior High.

This was her room more than mine without her. It was our room when she was here, but now, there was nothing here that I was looking for.

Whatever that was.

When I walked back down the hallway I could smell them. Cheap aftershave and shaving cream, cigarettes, cheap beer, whiskey, and body odor.

"You sure he's here?" A voice said. Unfamiliar.