part0013

J eremiah sat in a Denny’s restaurant and stared at nothing as the day’s events spooled in his head. His ribs ached and his wrist felt as if it were sprained, at least.

He blinked and dragged his gaze from its million-mile stare to the young woman who stood beside him. She wore a waitress’ uniform and carried a pot of what was hopefully freshly brewed coffee. Although she was small, she had the look of someone who carried herself and others through the sheer force of her good mood. She also seemed to be the kind of person who didn’t mind being that kind of person.

“I’m sorry, I must have zoned out,” he said and managed a sheepish smile. “What were you saying?”

“Well, I asked if you needed a top-up,” she replied with a smile that seemed both natural and practiced. “And when you didn’t answer, I asked if you felt all right. And that’s when you came back to us.”

Jeremiah chuckled. “I could do with a top-up, yeah.”

She smiled again and poured the steaming black stuff into his mug. “Are you having a rough day?”

He shook his head. “Not rough. Merely long. Well, maybe a little rough, but I’ve had rougher.”

“So have we all, mister,” she replied and despite the humor in her tone, he somehow believed she meant it. “It don’t take away from the toughness, though. I hope your day gets better.”

“Thanks,” he replied and sipped the brew appreciatively. He had mostly demolished the steak and was halfway through the fries. Actually, he even toyed with the idea of eating the salad. This was supposed to be a cheat day, after all, but he didn’t feel very hungry at the moment. It was common in soldiers right after combat. The adrenaline wore off and they developed jitters in their hands and experienced a loss of appetite and drowsiness. He knew the effects of it almost too well, and it never stopped sucking balls.

Jeremiah selected one of the fries, dipped it in ketchup, and took a bite. It tasted like ash, tomatoes, and sugar, with a hint of potato mixed in. Potatoes didn’t have much of a taste, anyway.

He threw the unfinished fry down on his plate and sighed. This was what he hated. He detested the whole downer feeling that he experienced every time he went into combat. At a rough guess, it was most likely his body acclimating to the heightened state of focus and prowess that came with an overdose of adrenaline pumping through his veins. When it faded, something that felt very much like a hangover inevitably took its place.

After a deep breath, he finished his coffee and left half of the fries and the salad for someone else to finish or throw out, as people did around there. He had to furtively check the other diners to see what the acceptable tip amount was, and he tipped precisely that, no more and no less. There was no need to make anyone any more aware of him than they already were.

It was funny, he supposed. Jeremiah Johnson was dead, and from that point onward, he needed to act the part. He would have to be a ghost, whether he liked it or not.

The thought rattled around in his head as he made his way out of the diner and pulled his jacket on. This shit wasn’t acceptable. He had a new life, wasn’t paying alimony anymore, and had a lot of money to fall back on and many skills that would be in high demand if he wanted to market them. He was free and clear if he wanted to be.

And yet…something about this whole situation didn’t appeal to him. What was he supposed to do with his life now? For so long, it had been all about serving his country first, getting his boys in and out of their hardcore missions alive and well—for the most part—and then helping to raise his baby girl into troublesome adulthood.

Before the divorce, his priorities had been a little different. He had spent more time at home, taken his daughter to school, and…hell, was she still going to soccer practice?

After he and Jules had parted ways, she had told him that he could be as involved as he liked. Over the first few months, he’d tried, he really had. Then, she started dating Andy, and Mr. I’m-a-lawyer-and-I-have-regular-hours was actually a decent person and genuinely cared for both Jules and Abigail.

No, Jeremiah didn’t hate Andy, and for the life of him, he couldn’t understand why. But as it turned out, he was the jealous type, and watching the love of his life fall in love with another man had made him regress into the kind of person the US government had invested millions into making him be. He’d picked up another tour and gotten the hell out of Dodge. While he’d made it back a couple of times for Abigail’s bigger moments, other than that, he’d avoided going home.

Abby seemed to understand. He hated that, but she was happy when he visited, sad when he had to leave, and never once tried to play the guilt card to push him away or bring him closer. She simply wasn’t the manipulative type. As it turned out, Andy was a good influence on her life. That rat bastard.

He pulled the Toyota up to his dingy motel room and stared at the aquamarine-colored door. “Fuck,” he growled as he reached the door of his room and patted his jacket for his keys. “I need to get laid.”

“Well, I don’t think I can help you with that,” Anja said through the earpiece. “Although I can direct you to some of the best places where you can find someone who takes cash and doesn’t ask questions on short notice.”

“Yeah, that would be great,” he said with a chuckle. “I don’t think I’m in any kind of shape to get laid, though.”

“How are you feeling?” she asked and sounded a little less playful than she had all day. “You doled out a real beating, but I can’t imagine that you didn’t take some punishment yourself.”

Jeremiah sighed as he moved into his room, locked the door behind him, and removed his jacket. He groaned softly and probed his side tentatively.

“Bruised ribs,” he said and hauled his shirt off to inspect the place where one of the men had actually landed a punch. He winced as he leaned to the side and grimaced at the dark-purple bruising that definitely explained the pain. “My arm and wrist are a little sore, my knuckles are bruised, and my muscles feel like shit. Fuck, I’m out of shape.”

“You seemed in shape to me. Just saying,” she said.

“Well, comparatively speaking,” he replied as he bound his ribs with some tape. He winced at the immediate pain that came from it but sighed as the anesthetic in the tape took immediate effect. He was finally a little more comfortable. “Wait, you can see me?”

“Of course not,” she said with a chuckle. “But I do have footage from the fight. And the sprinting up the stairs. And seriously, I hang around people who stay in combat shape all the time, and I don’t think any of them could keep up with what you did.”

“Well, yeah, obviously,” Jeremiah said with a chuckle. “They pick the best and brightest to join the 75th, and it only gets harder from there. All respect to the Marines that they probably have scouring that Zoo place—and if I’m honest, they probably have more balls than I do by running around there, but…”

“What?” Anja asked as his voice trailed off.

“I…army guys make it a habit to trash everyone who isn’t army,” Jeremiah said with a chuckle. “I mean, that’s the same with most of the branches. They trash everyone who isn’t them, but there’s always respect between the boys in the service. We all put our lives on the line for our country. Except I’m not one of the boys anymore. I’m a dead man, and all my ties to any of my service died with me.”

“Sorry,” he said and dragged in a deep breath. “I’m bringing the mood down. I…kind of…uh, have to be alone right now.”

“No worries,” she said quickly. “Take the earpiece out of your ear and it’ll disconnect you.”

“Thanks for all your help today, Anja,” he said softly. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Duh,” she said with a chuckle. “Rest well, Jer. You have a long day tomorrow. I need a couple of hours to decrypt all this junk from Carlson’s phone anyway.”

He made no answer and instead, removed the earpiece and placed it on the bedside table. Having someone in the fight with him was all that he could really ask for, but he still felt like shit.

While he still had the energy, he applied the same tape that he’d put around his ribs to his knuckles and growled softly as it squeezed and felt more painful than the ribs had. Once the pain subsided, he lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. Despite the drowsiness, he still felt wired. It seemed very clear that he wouldn’t drift off to sleep, despite the lateness of the hour. He had taken a shower, had a decent meal, and now, he was supposed to sleep the adrenaline hangover off.

It was the coffee. He shouldn’t have drunk the damned coffee.

Irritated, Jeremiah rolled over to the side of the bed and picked up the burner that he’d left on the table beside it. He flipped it open and took a moment to familiarize himself with the controls of the cheap, old device.

He found the numeric pad, and after a few seconds of internal debate, he entered a telephone number. One of the downsides of having a memory as good as his was the knowledge that he would never be able to forget the number that he’d made himself delete from all his phones and all his databases. Of course, he didn’t actually have those phones anymore, so it was a moot point.

The phone rang and he pressed it to his ear. The call was across the country, so he was sure that it would bite deeply into the prepaid minutes on this phone. That was fine, of course. He didn’t need to make any other calls, so it wasn’t like the minutes would be missed. It was only a way for Anderson to contact him when he needed something.

Jeremiah stared as the phone continued to ring, and as he waited, he began to question whether or not this was a good idea. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that it was terrible.

At the eighth ring, the dial faded at the press of a button on the other side.

“Hello?” A woman’s voice answered. He opened his mouth, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. Jules had been to his funeral. She’d met with all his old army buddies who were there to tell her what a hero he’d been and that his memory would live on. Abigail needed to have her normal life with Andy as her dad. Sure, she would feel sad that he was gone, but there was already someone there to take his place. He’d already been obsolete, and they both knew it. There wasn’t much to say that would change that. He was a relic from a life that she’d already left behind.

Him calling in a moment of stupidity wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t make anything better. It would only complicate her life—and his. There was no way that would all end without pain for everyone involved, including him.

“Hello?” she said and sounded frustrated. “Look, I can hear you breathing, asshole, so don’t think that I won’t pass this number on to the cops. I don’t need this kind of harassment.”

Thankfully, he knew her well enough to feel confident that she wouldn’t follow up on that threat. She’d simply vent her frustration and ignore it for now—as long as he wasn’t stupid enough to pull the same trick more than once. Even twice was once too many. For sure, she’d call out the cavalry if he made another dumbass attempt to hear her voice.

Still, a few more seconds passed before he could actually bring himself to press the button that cut the connection. Warm tears trickled down his cheeks as he placed the phone on the bed. The device slipped from his numb fingers.

Jeremiah Johnson was dead. He wouldn’t come back, and he wouldn’t reconnect with his family. Jules wouldn’t see him across a crowded room and jump into his arms. Abigail wouldn’t come over and hug him and be happy that Mommy and Daddy were together again. That simply wasn’t how the world worked. He needed to get that information through his thick skull. There was no coming back from the dead for him. Not today, not tomorrow, and not ever.

He lay back on his bed and stared at the ceiling. The tears fell for a short while, but after a few minutes, they stopped and something that definitely resembled peace filled his mind. Closing that door in his life for good, while painful, was something that he hadn’t looked forward to doing at all. He knew that it needed to be done, even if he had courted the idea that he could somehow slide away from the inevitable.

That didn’t mean that it might not happen one day. He could always circle back in a couple of years in the future and meet his daughter, have a coffee, and maybe crack some joke about actually being a zombie—provided he survived that long. Considering the day that he’d had, it wasn’t a given that he would be around for a few more years. Things would only get worse from here on in.

No. He shook his head firmly and had a mental conversation with himself. Jeremiah Johnson would be a dead man from this point forward. There was no daughter, no ex-wife, no detestably likable new boyfriend—or fiancé, rather. Jeremiah Johnson was dead.

Jeremiah Savage was who remained, and he wouldn’t live in the past or be chained by futile longings that would only bring more pain to everyone concerned. He had a job to do, one that would save the lives of the men and women whom he cared for. He could do that in the guy’s honor.

His muscles gradually relaxed as he looked at the ceiling. Releasing that part of him felt…pleasant. Like he no longer carried a heavy load and he could actually start to live his life. From here on out, he could live free from all entanglements and from everything that had held him back before.