Chapter 12

Holly sighed as she pulled into the parking space of the apartment complex. Rarely did she actually find a spot in the parking lot, so getting one put her in a happy mood. Gathering her three bags of Taco Bell, she hoped she could get her older brother, Billy, to eat something tonight. It seemed as if he wasted away before her very eyes.

She climbed the stairs to the second floor apartment they shared, wishing they could afford something a little bit nicer. They could if Billy got a job, but in his current state, he couldn’t.

Just like her, he’d followed in their father’s and grandfather’s footsteps and entered the military at the age of eighteen. He’d seen a lot of combat in his tours in the Middle East, and at the ripe old age of thirty, he’d been medically discharged with severe PTSD and depression. Despite the medicine and his weekly visits with the counselors at the Veteran’s Hospital, he didn’t seem to improve. Every now and then, she’d catch a glimpse of progress, like when he slept more than two hours at a time, or didn’t wake in a cold sweat, screaming at the top of his lungs.

The doctors had been trying different medications on him, and the counselor worked relentlessly to get him back to living his life, but in her heart, Holly knew he’d simply given up.

He went through the motions of taking his pills and going to his weekly meetings with the therapist, but he had no interest in living. The only thing he seemed to enjoy was online gambling. If she put her foot down and told him to stop, they could use his pension and live a little better, but she couldn’t find it in her heart to take away the one thing that made him smile.

She unlocked the door and flicked on the light. Billy preferred to be in the dark, and he sat in front of the television with the shades drawn all day long. Sometimes, he watched TV; sometimes, he just stared into space.

She wrinkled her nose as the scent of body odor assaulted her. Billy lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling.

“Hi, Billy. How was your day?”

“Fine.”

She walked into the kitchen and noted a dirty plate in the sink. At least, he’d eaten something during the day.

Pulling out two other plates, she loaded his up with tacos and nachos. “I brought home Taco Bell.”

“Great.”

He sounded as excited as if she’d just announced she had a wart.

Sighing, she brought the plates over to him.

“Sit up so I can sit down, please,” she grumbled, giving his leg a nudge.

Slowly, he brought his thin frame to a sitting position on the ratty, brown couch. She recalled a time when he packed on almost two hundred pounds of solid muscle on his five-foot-ten body, and now, she wondered if he even hit one-fifty on the scales.

Grabbing the remote, she turned on the television and flipped channels until the news came on. Half-listening, she contemplated her situation.

Billy’s therapist said she had become his enabler by allowing him to wallow in his self-pity and depression. Dr. Teller had told her that she needed to practice some tough love with Billy in order to get him on the road to recovery.

Glancing over at him, she thought about the past two years since his last tour. They’d lost both parents to cancer within the two year’s time, which had only seemed to send Billy spiraling down even farther into the dark abyss. The past two years had been horrible for both of them, and she grinned at him, thankful that they sat together on the couch. Sometimes, it seemed like it was just the two of them against the world, and at the age of twenty-five, she felt much older than her years.

Their mother’s diagnosis had come first as her parents tried to help Billy and cared for him. Holly had stepped in and driven her mother to chemo, helped around the house, and tried to comfort her father all while holding down her job in the military.

Her father discovered he had advanced pancreatic cancer a year later. Despite the chemo and radiation, he’d been gone within four months. As she’d tried to comfort her mother, help take care of Billy, and figure out the household finances her mother had never been privy to, she had felt as though her appreciation for life drained away a little bit each day.

When her mother passed, the pressure of her life had weighed on her, almost crippling her. It had been up to her to deal with her parent’s meager estate, make sure Billy got to his appointments on time and took his medicine. At times, it seemed she’d been given a child as Billy slid farther and farther into depression. Maybe she did enable him, but in her point of view, the last two years had been about nothing but surviving. Somehow, they’d finally reached a place where she felt like she could breathe most of the time. She didn’t excel as his caretaker, but she did the best she could. Most of the time, she looked around their crappy apartment and wanted to give him more, but right now, she didn’t have the energy or resources to do so. That led to guilt, an emotion she tried to ignore.

Finishing her taco, she crumpled up the paper and decided she needed to move. She stood. “I’m going for a run. Do you want to go?”

Billy didn’t bother to look at her, but simply shook his head. His blond hair that had once been cut in a short, military style now hung to his shoulders in greasy strands. He didn’t like beards, so he at least shaved every couple of days. His dull eyes stared at the television.

“Billy, I need you to take a shower while I’m gone, okay?”

He said nothing, and she moved into his line of sight and repeated herself.

“All right. I will.”

“Thank you,” she said with a grin, and kissed his forehead. “I’ll be back in about an hour.”

After changing, she checked on him once again. His head lay to the left, his eyes shut, and she realized he hadn’t eaten anything on his plate. Soft snores emanated from his lips, and she sighed as she shut the door behind her. Maybe he did need to go into some type of mental facility. She’d mentioned it more than once to his counselor, who had brushed off her concerns.

Taking a deep breath, she started off at a jog. They lived in downtown Phoenix so that they remained close to the VA Hospital. After a couple of blocks, she picked up the pace.

Glancing around, she jumped to the top of the garbage can and flew through the air to grab a tree branch. She swung, then landed on the cement, rolling as she hit the ground on her shoulder and continued on her way, her heart pounding, a smile on her face as the endorphins raced through her body.

She’d discovered Parkour shortly after her mother’s diagnosis. One night when she’d drunk a bottle of wine and aimlessly trolled the internet, she’d come across a video of women who used the cityscape as their own personal playgrounds. They’d jumped from rooftop to rooftop, scaled fire escapes, done flips from raised flowerbeds, and run like the wind.

Tears had streamed down her face as she’d watched the videos. The women had looked so free, so happy, so unafraid. She’d wanted that, and the next day, she had signed up for a Parkour class.

“Welcome to your urban playground!” the woman in charge had yelled. “For those new to the class, follow along. The only rules are to be safe and have fun!”

Holly had stayed behind the pack of ten women, watching and learning as they’d moved through the city, using everything they could to jump and climb. She’d copied a couple of them as they’d hurdled from benches and bounced off bus stop shelters. Then they’d moved to the rooftops.

“The cops hate this,” the instructor had said. “So watch your footing, keep quiet, and be careful!”

As she’d flown from rooftop to rooftop, then scaled down a fire escape, she’d known she’d found her own way of getting away from her life, even if only for an hour or so a day.

Tonight, she ran hard, making sure to stay off the main streets where the police would be patrolling. They hated the anarchist look of Parkour and usually gave warning to those they caught. A small voice inside her head reminded her of the rise of unsolved murders in the city, but she couldn’t stop. She figured those being murdered had been docile, not swinging from a flagpole and flipping to the ground.

She also pushed aside the surprise she’d had at the bunker earlier. Who had those men been? What were their names? Lieutenant Justice and … what had the other guy’s name been? She couldn’t remember. However, Justice’s face seemed to be burned into her memory. That inky-black skin, his full lips, and dark eyes had definitely made an impression on her. His mannerisms and huge, hard body had screamed sex and power, and for a brief second, she’d wondered what it would be like to be with a man like him, someone with such confidence. Quickly, she pushed the though aside. She had no business imagining rolling around naked with a damn military lieu.

Had they told her the truth about why they were there? She had her doubts, but right now, it didn’t matter.

She concentrated on the pavement before her. She needed this freedom and the exertion like she needed the blood pumping through her body or the air she breathed. It kept her alive. No, her life definitely didn’t consist of roses and kittens, but as she powered through the city, alert to anyway she could soar through the air, it felt like it, even if for a short time.