Author's Note: As I was reading through this story, I noticed so many mistakes it made my head spin. So, I decided to re-write it (again) and fix the problems. I also added some extra parts in to evoke stronger emotions. Please be aware that because this is an alternate universe, Danny does not have ghost powers.
IMPORTANT: This story is a war story. It has one torture scene and quite a few death scenes. The death scenes, while not incredibly graphic, are intended to help you feel the agony Sam feels. For this reason, it is rated "M."
Disclaimer: This story is based on an independent film I once saw at the Sundance Film Festival. The plot belongs solely to the director of that film (his name escapes me). The storyline in its entirety is his. I own nothing. Characters belong to Mr. Hartman.
Broken Soldier
A young woman, no older than thirty, walks into her bedroom. She is of medium height and build, with straight, shoulder-length black hair. Her eyes are red and swollen, as if she has recently been crying. Yet, she holds back her tears, instead taking comfort in the quiet and peace of the room.
This is Sam.
Bright, warm sunlight filters in through the gaps in the curtains, casting dark shadows to play across her walls. Sam walks over to the window and brushes apart the curtains. For a minute, she stands there, staring out into the sunny September day. Birds chirp happily. Three small children laugh as they run around, playing with what looks like a new soccer ball. It seems incredible to her that there is still happiness in the world, joy and laughter. There shouldn't be. Not after what just happened.
Sam steps back, letting the curtains fall back into place. She turns around and collapses onto her bed, barely holding back a sob. She blinks quickly, stopping the flow of tears she knows is coming.
On the nightstand in front of her is a picture of a man in full military uniform. He is older, probably in his late fifties. Sam reaches out and with the hand that is not wrapped around the pillow, picks up the picture. She stares at it, feeling a dark hole in her heart. Again, the tears threaten to spill, and again, she stops them.
She turns the picture around. Written on the back in neat, cursive writing is:
Jeremy Smith Manson
Purple Heart Recipient: Iran 1984
Sam lets the picture fall out of her hand and back on to the nightstand. Her eyes are burning, and her vision has gone blurry. The air is dry and thick. She gasps, trying to fill her lungs with air. The world is crushing her, weighing down upon her.
The empty glass of water at the edge of her nightstand wobbles. The picture lands beside it, and the gentle whoosh of air is enough to knock it down. It lands on the remote and bounces off, rolling somewhere underneath the bed. The remote blinks red as the glass presses the POWER button. Suddenly the TV is on.
Sam looks up. The image on the TV is the North Tower of the World Trade Center. The entire top half of the North Tower is obscured by the smoke rising from it. BREAKING NEWS flashes across the bottom of the screen as the reporter's voice talks about the chaos gripping New York.
Sam watches, and suddenly, the tears she had been so determined to stop come flowing out, staining her skin as they flow down her cheeks. She makes no attempt to stop them.
Sam sits on a chair in an office. At the desk before her is a recruitment officer. The man seems to be in his late forties. His graying hair is cropped short. He wears a white shirt, from which you can see the outline of muscles. His eyes have bags under them, as though he has been sleeping poorly. This man's name is Greg.
"Yeah, since the World Trade Center and Pentagon attacks we've had a good number of recruits such as yourself," Greg speaks. "Just sign that there and you'll be ready to go," he says, pushing a stack of papers towards her.
Sam looks at him, then down to the papers, then back at him. She makes no motion to sign them.
"I tell you what," Greg continues, "I wish I could be out there instead of sitting here. Friend of mine out of Saudi Arabia told me a few weeks ago that he was investigating a bombing on the Riyadh compound with a few other people. Good stories."
Greg stops and looks up at Sam. For a minute he seems uncomfortable.
"Is something wrong?"
Sam shakes her head and picks up the pen.
"No."
She lowers the pen and begins to write her name. Greg relaxes.
"Yeah, since nine-eleven those boys have been out doing their thing. Sometimes I wish I was there—I'd love to blow those Saudi terrorists to hell."
"I guess."
Greg smiles at her. "Don't worry. You're making the right choice."
Sam flips over to the next page. This page is full of questions. She reads one of them aloud.
"Reason for wanting to join the US Army."
She thinks for a moment, then scribbles in her answer: Purpose.
Sam smiles softly to herself. If this were any other world, and if she were living any other life, she probably wouldn't be here. But here, there isn't any other option. It's the only thing left to do. Her father would have been proud.
A long clump of black hair hits the cold tile floor. Sam closes her eyes, feeling the razor glide over her head. She grits her teeth, willing it to be over soon. Tears prick her eyes. In a moment, the angry buzz of the razor falls silent, and Sam slowly opens her eyes. She is terrified.
Staring back at her from the mirror is Sam with a crew cut. She reaches a hand up, slowly, and touches her hair. She runs a hand across the top of her head and shivers. It's as soft as peach fuzz. She blinks, and her eyes widen. She would have never chosen this cut if she'd had a choice.
The barber lady clicks her tongue, impatient. Sam quickly slides out of her seat. The woman turns the razor back on.
"Next," she calls out.
Sam walks out of the barracks with the other cadets—Danny and Tucker. These two are her crew members, and they all laugh and joke around, enjoying their time on base together.
"Nice job kicking Tuck's ass in training today," Danny says. "I wish I had a camera."
Tucker's cheeks turn a bright shade of red. "She did not kick my ass."
Sam laughs. Danny smiles. "I'd whip you too Tuck, if Sarge gave me a chance." He scowls. "The man won't even let me go to the bathroom without notifying him first."
"She did not kick my ass."
Sam raises an eyebrow. "Can you blame him? You look like the type of guy who would detonate this whole camp for fun."
Danny waves airily. "Looks can be deceiving. Take Tucker for example."
"She did not kick my ass! Is anyone even listening to me?"
Sam lies on her stomach, holding a powerful rifle out in front of her. Up in the distance is a target, begging for a bullet. Sam grips the trigger. A drill sergeant is calling out to the recruitments. What is he saying? Sam focuses, and the drill sergeant's voice rings clearly.
"Set your sight!"
Sam looks into the scope and focuses. She can see the target more clearly now. At this moment, there is nothing left on the world except her, her gun, and the target. She licks her lips. In the distance, the sound of a whistle cuts through the cold air like a knife. Shots are heard around her as her fellow recruitments fire. Sam unloads her bullets into the target. Each hit is clean and precise. The sergeant smiles.
The sky outside is dark. Stars twinkle overhead, sending soft light down on the grass. Only the way the sky is lightening on the east indicates dawn is approaching.
Another sergeant stands before the cadets, visually inspecting each one of them. His gaze lingers a moment longer on Sam before moving on. In a second, he is done and is blowing his whistle. There's a scuffle of movement as each cadet lunges forward, ready to take on the obstacle course.
Sam rushes forward, reaching a line of barbed wire. She gets down on her knees and starts crawling. The cadet in front of her kicks back, sending a cloud of dirt into her eyes. Her eyes watering, she blinks and continues crawling. She can't see. In the distance she can hear the sergeant's voice.
"Come on! Move it! You can do it better than that! Faster! Keep moving! Do it again!"
Her vision obscured, she doesn't see it, but she feels it the moment the cadet's strong boot smashes into her face. A sharp pain whips her jaw as the boot makes contact. He doesn't notice. Sam slows for a moment, the pain in her jaw spreading like wildfire. She moves it gingerly, making sure nothing is broken.
The sergeant notices her lag instantly. "Manson! The hell do you think you're doing?"
Sam races forward. "I'm sorry, sir," she says, ignoring the sharp pain that makes her blink back dots. Her vision has started to go a little fuzzy at the edges, but she wills herself to stay alert. She reaches the end of the barbed wire and stands up, proud of herself despite the sharp pain throbbing through her jaw. She looks up at the wall looming in front of her, a rope hanging down. She smiles, the movement sending a twinge of pain through her. If only her dad could see her now.
Sam, Danny, and Tuck sit together at a bar. Sam is watching one of the dancers, mild interest in her eyes, while Tucker is flirting with one of the bartenders. Danny is playing with his beer, tracing the mouth of the bottle with his finger. He seems distant. Suddenly, he talks.
"Next week, next week."
Tucker nods and turns to him, giving the bartender he was flirting with the perfect opportunity to leave. "I know! Can you believe we're actually moving up? Sarge even gave me half a smile today. He must know I'm done for."
Sam laughs. "I doubt it's the end of the world, Tuck. Though, I hear our base is a good one."
Danny shrugs but nods. Tucker stares at him. Danny stares back.
"Uh, Tuck? Why are you staring at me like that?"
Tucker blinks and shakes his head. "Yeah, I can't take it anymore. I can't stand looking at your bald head for one more minute. Sorry dude. It's not you, it's me."
Sam rolls her eyes. "Get real, Tuck."
Tucker laughs and dodges the beer cap Sam throws. "Whatever. I'm tired, so I'm gonna go hit the hay. Talk to you guys later."
Sam and Danny murmur a good night as Tucker stands up and leaves. Danny looks down at the half-full beer in his hand. He the bottle back and takes a big gulp. The other bartender, the male one, comes over and refills Sam's empty shot glass. As he leaves, Danny notices the bartender give a quick glance at Sam. He tips his head back and looks at Sam.
"He's been checking you out, Sammie," Danny says, purposely using the name he knows Sam hates. Sam narrows her eyes at him. "Don't be an idiot."
"No, I mean it."
"Right. Because all guys love bald chicks."
Danny leans in close to Sam. "It's hot."
Sam pushes him back. Danny laughs. He finishes his beer and stands to leave. "Kidding, Sam," he says. He smiles. "I'm tired too, so I'm gone. See you." He leaves.
Sam watches him go, smiling faintly. Her jaw has healed nicely. She turns back to the counter, surprised to see the male bartender standing there. He pours her another shot, never taking his eyes off her. Sam blushes in spite of herself. He finishes and offers the shot glass back to her.
"I'm Ethan," he says.
Sam nods, taking the glass. "Sam."
Sam and Ethan sit at a coffee house. Soft, new-age music flows from the speakers, the smell of coffee and chocolate wafting from behind the counter. Ethan smiles at Sam across the table.
"Is this really what you wanted to do on your last night here?"
Sam nods. She takes a deep breath and inhales the scent of coffee. "Yes. It's perfect."
There's a comfortable silence. Finally,
"Will I see you again?"
Sam takes a sip of the hot, foamy chocolate in front of her. "Yes." She pauses for a minute, studying Ethan. Then, almost as if embarrassed by the words, she looks down and says, "You better wait."
Ethan laughs, nearly choking on his caramel mocha. "Wait? Of course I'll wait. I have to see you with hair sooner or later, right?"
Sam rolls her eyes and smiles. "Of course."
"Oh hey, I got you something," Ethan says suddenly. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small, green army man toy. He hands it to her.
"Keep it with you. It'll keep you safe."
Sam smiles and takes the army man from him, touched by his thoughtfulness. "Okay."
They stand and throw their trash away. As they leave the coffee house Sam wraps her arm around his waist. Ethan wraps his arm around her shoulder. Sam rests her head on his chest as they walk, feeling completely content. Ethan smiles. He leans down and kisses her head.
It's four in the afternoon. Helicopters fly around, making the air thick with dust. Soldiers run back and forth, carrying guns pointed at the floor. More dust is kicked up by their footsteps. Body bags litter the floor. Sam touches one, nearly caressing it. A single tear drops from her eye. She quickly stands up and salutes the corpse, self-conscious that someone saw her emotion.
"Mother fucking bastard! Rot in hell, you crazy son of a bitch!"
Sam turns around, surprised. One of her fellow soldiers spits at a man as the man is being forced into a tent. The man is dirty and ragged. He shows no reaction to the soldier's act, but merely glances away. His cheeks are gaunt, as though he hasn't been eating lately. Sam watches him. He is clearly a POW.
Sam shakes her head and walks away.
Three military vehicles patrol a town. In the third car is Sam's team. Sam and Danny sit in the bed of the closed-cover truck, while Tucker drives. Sam's hair is longer now. Her bangs cover her face, her hair tied back into a messy ponytail, which reaches past her shoulders. Danny's hair is also longer. It covers his eyes, which have bags under them. He holds a sniper rifle by his side. Both look exhausted.
Sam looks out the window. They pass a few cars with shattered windows and dents. Here and there are crooked street signs that lead the way into town. Two small children play with a ragged soccer ball. Beside them, other boys patrol with AK-47s as though they were men. A mother is hanging laundry outside. She holds her baby in one arm. Behind them, some older gentlemen sit smoking.
Sam glances back and watches as Danny's fingers tighten around his gun. His eyes narrow in distaste. Apparently he has seen the little kids with guns too.
Sam turns her attention back outside. How can something be so barren? she wonders. The streets and buildings have no color. It's as if all the life has been sucked away from this dusty town.
The truck suddenly jolts to the right, throwing Danny and Sam around a bit. As if second nature, Sam points her rifle out the window. Her eyes scan the streets. Nothing.
"Switch to decaf, Sam," Danny says. She can hear the smile in his voice.
"Shut up."
Tucker's voice suddenly crackles to life through the speaker mounted at the front of the bed.
"You guys okay back there?"
Danny presses a button on the speaker, switching two-way communication on. "Well, besides the fact that Sam just about shit herself, we're fine."
Sam glares at him. "I said shut it."
Tucker laughs. Danny speaks into the speaker again.
"How long until we're back at base, Tuck?"
"About twenty miles."
The citizens outside suddenly stiffen, as if they know something the soldiers don't. The woman hanging the laundry drops the sheet she was about to hang, holding her baby to her chest. The old gentlemen puff out dark billows of smoke from their pipes, watching the vehicles in anticipation. Sam doesn't notice.
She smiles at the speaker. "Good. Because I need a shower."
Tucker's voice sounds. "I think we all need a—" his voice is suddenly drowned out as a loud detonation rips through the vehicle in front of them. Sharp pieces of metal and shrapnel fly everywhere as the convoy explodes. The people on the street run screaming indoors. Tucker hits the brakes and their truck skids sideways to a halt. Sam and Danny are propelled forward. They crash into the thick, bullet-proof glass separating the bed and the truck and slide down.
"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!" Tucker screams through the speaker.
Before anyone can answer though, Sam hears a soft whoosh. She slowly turns her head to the side, looking out the window, and her eyes widen as she sees the missile coming right at them.
"GET OUT OF THE CAR!" She screams into the speaker. She grabs a handheld walkie-talkie with one hand, using the other to grab Danny's arm and pull him out of the truck. She opens the back and jumps out, falling ungraciously to the floor. Danny lands beside her with a grunt, his gun cradled against his chest.
The missile hits their convoy and the truck explodes. The sound wave is so powerful Sam can feel the earth rumble beneath them. One of her eardrums bursts from the sound of the explosion and all of a sudden all Sam can hear is the muffled hum of silence. Shrapnel is flying inches above her face. A piece of glass stabs her right leg. She bites her lip to keep from crying out and covers her ears protectively. She can feel a trail of warm blood matting her hair as it drips from her injured ear.
After a few seconds, Sam slowly gets up. Danny follows, trembling slightly. Sam pulls the sharp shard of glass from her leg and throws it on the floor. She looks around. Tucker is lying under what's left of the armored truck. Billows of smoke rise from both destroyed vehicles.
Danny runs over to Tucker and grabs him under the armpits, dragging him toward the first vehicle, where the remaining soldiers are shooting at some unknown enemy and using the truck as a shield.
What's happening? Sam suddenly snaps back to reality as she feels the hand held in her hand. Fumbling, she turns it on and calls base.
"Team AI 1684, 1597, and 128b under attack near city square! I repeat, we're under attack!" Sam screams into the walkie-talkie. Static crackles on the other end. She throws the hand held to the floor and raises her gun up. She begins firing blindly into the air, kicking up a cloud of dust for cover.
She runs over to Danny, who is dragging Tucker to safety with one arm, and shooting his gun with the other.
Sam looks down at Tucker. His legs are bloody and mangled. She can see bone fragments peeking out through his charred skin. The scent of burning flesh stings her nostrils.
Tucker appears to be unconscious. Fury grips her and she yells as she fires her gun without mercy. Bullets whizz past their heads as both soldiers run past the second vehicle. They're nearly there. Only ten more yards and they'll be safe...
A stray bullet rushes past their heads, grazing the tip of Sam's good ear. It strikes Danny directly in the middle of his forehead, and for a moment, he seems surprised. Then he drops to knees and collapses on the floor. The blood gushing out of the wound can only mean one thing.
"NOOO!" Sam drops her gun and bends down. She desperately searches Danny for a vital sign, a breath, something. She bites her lip. He's dead. She reaches over and checks Tucker. He's awake now, and his eyes are wide with fear.
"There, there, Tuck," Sam whispers. She cradles his head in her arms. Tears spill from her eyes. "Don't worry, you're going to be okay."
Tucker tries to talk but instead makes an odd gurgling sound, choking on his own blood. The way it's dribbling down his chin leads Sam to think his lungs are filling with blood. If that's the case, he doesn't have much time. He's also holding his stomach. His uniform is red from the amount of blood he's losing. The truck must have fallen on him waist down.
"Tucker, please," Sam pleads. "You'll make it! Just fight it!"
Tucker makes that odd gurgling noise again. He looks up at Sam, his eyes wide. Then, the shimmer in his eyes dull out. His head lolls to the side. He's dead. And there's so much blood.
Sam chokes out a sob, still cradling Tucker's head in her lap. Tears stain her cheeks. "No, no, no!" She's wailing. How is this possible?
She stands up. She takes one last look at Danny and Tucker, then rushes back to her gun. She feels something inside her break. Her agony and grief turn to anger and hatred. She picks up her gun and fires into the dust, hoping to hit someone, anyone. They all deserve to die. Every last one of them. They took away Danny and Tucker, her only true friends.
A bullet flies through the air and slams into her chest. She stumbles backward from the impact, dropping her gun. She can feel the cold metal of the bullet sinking deep into her flesh. It burns her as it goes inside, and she screams. She falls to her knees. She hears the sounds of footsteps as soldiers from the first vehicle spot her. Close by, she can hear the sound of a helicopter. More shouts. The gunshots grow alarmingly loud, pulsing through her head and threatening to break open her skull. She reaches over for her gun from her spot on the floor, but it's too far away. Her eyes grow heavy and start to close. Her vision begins to go blurry. And the noises. She wishes they would just stop, it's too loud, too loud...
The noises have stopped.
It's the first thing she notices as she wakes with a start in a cold, dark room. She panics as she notices she is strapped to a chair. She can feel the rough material of cloth around her upper torso. A bandage, most likely. She wants to call out, but her mouth is covered with duct tape. Images of Danny and Tucker swim through her head. Danny's blood is caked dry on her face.
As her eyes adjust to the low light, she can make out the soldier who spotted her sitting in front of her. He is tied up as well, and his right eye is swollen and black. He appears to have been severely beaten. His eyes are terrified.
Sam hears voices. She turns her head and sees two men arguing with each other near the back of the room. One of them holds a gun. The one without the gun points at the beaten soldier and yells something at his partner in an unknown tongue. The one with the gun is exasperated, waving his gun around.
The man with the gun finally sighs. He walks over and places his gun on the beat up soldier's left temple. The soldier whimpers and begins to shake uncontrollably. Without warning, the man fires. Sam screams, but the duct tape covers her mouth. Part of the soldier's head is splattered against the wall, and through her tears, Sam can see a mixture of blood and brains. What's left of the soldier's head slumps down lifelessly.
The man with the gun suddenly realizes Sam is awake. He shouts something to the other man in the foreign tongue, then walks over to Sam. He grins at her with mossy teeth.
"Hello," he says with a thick Arabian accent. Sam looks at him, fear overtaking her. She's paralyzed. She hears the sound of footsteps, then a door opening. The second man has left.
This man steps forward, and it's then that Sam realizes she doesn't have her shoes on. Her feet are bare and on the floor. The man walks up to her, stepping on her toes. He is wearing heavy, steel-toed combat boots. A quiet crunching sound echoes around the room. Sam clenches her eyes as hoarse, ragged breaths escape from her nostrils.
The man finally steps off her toes and Sam's body relaxes. The man walks away, staining the cold concrete floor with bloody half footprints. The front soles of his shoes are stained with Sam's fresh blood.
For a moment, she thinks that's all he meant to do and a wild sort of relief overtakes her. But the man doesn't leave. Instead, he stops at a table, picking up some shadowed objects she can't see. He pivots on his heel and walks back, holding a light bulb and hammer in one hand. When he reaches her, he grabs her right hand. Sam's eyes go wide as she frantically tries to pull away, but she's restricted by the straps holding her to the chair. The man frowns at her unwillingness to cooperate. Wordlessly, he raises the hand with the gun and slaps Sam across the face. The impact causes her head to snap back and her eyes to loll around her head. Her hand relaxes.
The man smiles his terrifying smile and takes the opportunity to take her hand. He places the light bulb in it.
In a moment of panic-stricken delirium, Sam sees her torturer change. His features twist and become savage and wild. And suddenly, it's not a man at all. It's her.
Prisoner Sam's screams are muffled by the tape, and she thrashes around wildly, trying to get away from Torturer Sam. Torturer Sam raises the hammer and swings down. The sound of shattering glass is drowned out by a hysterical muffled scream. Then the moment is gone, and her torturer is the Arabian man again.
The man smiles down at Sam and again turns and walks back to the table. Sam's breaths come out through her nose quickly. Her head snaps back up to attention as her torturer returns. He carries a long piece of cloth. He steps around behind her and ties the cloth around her eyes, obscuring her view. She can only see darkness now. The sound of a power drill sounds, and Sam begins to cry. He pulls the trigger, and Sam can hear the hollow sound of wood snapping. Everything grows louder, the sickening, pulsing sound of the drill filling her mind. She begins to lose consciousness. Her broken mind screams for mercy and her soul weeps.
Suddenly, there's a crash and through the black cloth covering her eyes, Sam can make out a faint light. She's not sure what's going on. It's impossible to pay attention to anything outside her world of pain. She blocks out the muffled shouts, the gunshots, and the sound of a bullet as it hits a target behind her. None of that matters. There is only pain.
Someone suddenly rips the cloth off her eyes, and Sam can see an American soldier standing there.
"Don't worry. You're safe now," the soldier says, but it sounds strange. His voice is muffled, yet somehow too loud for her one good ear.
The room begins to spin and Sam blacks out.
A month later, Sam lies in bed at a hospital. The leg that was victim to shrapnel is wrapped in bandages. Her face is bruised. Another large bandage covers her damaged ear. Deep scratches line her arms from the multitude of needles and syringes that have been used on her. Her toes are covered in a cast and elevated above the bed. A constant supply of blood and oxygen feeds into her from a tube. The monitor beside her bed beeps steadily, reading her heartbeat.
A nurse suddenly walks into the room. She smiles warmly down at Sam.
"I brought you this," she says, placing a Styrofoam cup with a yellow rose down on the table beside her bed. "I thought you might like it. Yellow signifies happiness and joy."
Sam glances down at the rose, but says nothing.
"Oh," the nurse continues, "when they brought you in here they told me that you kept murmuring something about a toy soldier. So I looked through some of you stuff and found this."
The nurse holds out the little green army man that Ethan gave her. The base is melted, and the arms are bent, as though it was crushed beneath her gear.
"I hope it helps you feel more at home." The nurse says softly. She places the little toy next to the rose and leaves. Sam looks at the rose, then the toy. Her reaction softens at the toy and she reaches over, picking up the little army man. She gently caresses the toy. "To keep you safe," she murmurs.
A man suddenly walks into her line of vision. How long has he been there? He wears a military uniform. He smiles at Sam.
"Glad you're awake, soldier. We wanted to honor you for being so brave. From all of us back at base, and from your country which you so valiantly served, here's a medallion that proves your strength."
He hands her a shining medallion, salutes her, and walks out. Sam looks at the medallion. For a second, her stomach drops. She knows what this means. In a flash, her grief turns to anger. How dare they? Why should she get praised for seeing her best friends die? For being a prisoner of war and getting tortured?
She looks down at the green army toy she has in one hand. Her anger rises. It didn't protect her. It didn't protect Danny or Tucker. It didn't do a fucking thing! Seething, she crushes the army man in her hand. She hears the satisfying crunch as the toy's plastic breaks. With her other hand, she grips the silver medallion and hurls it across the room into the wastebasket.
The plump gun shop owner stands behind the counter. He pushes a gun toward her.
"This one's beautiful, she is," the man says.
Sam picks the gun up. It's a shotgun. It's pretty light. She fingers it, studying the way it moves against her fingers. She likes the way it feels.
"Yes ma'am, if you want to feel safe at home, this one's your gal." He pauses, then adds, "Rounds are cheap as well. Having a sale."
Sam ignores him, looking at the gun intently. She strokes the double barrels. She looks back up to ask the shop owner a question and nearly drops the gun. The plump gun shop owner is no longer there. Instead, it's Danny. She blinks, and she sees fire, destruction, smoke. Danny is dead. Tucker is dead. So why is Danny standing right there?
The Danny behind the counter pulls out a cigarette and lights it.
"Beautiful work of art," he says through a puff of smoke. "Hey, when did you say you got back?"
Smoke. Sam sees smoke. Plumes of it, darkening the sky. The sound of gunshots echo in her memory. Danny is smoking behind the counter. Sam's fingers tighten around the trigger. She raises her gun and fires. The man behind the counter slams back against the wall. He slides down, leaving a bloody trail in his wake. His coffee brown eyes are wide. He's not Danny.
Danny is dead.
Sam sits on a park bench a few weeks later. Across the street is the coffee shop. Inside, she can see a man. Ethan. Sam smiles as she remembers the last words Ethan said to her before she left for the army—"Come back safe to me, my love."
She's about to stand and walk over there when she sees a perky blond come up behind Ethan. The blond wraps her arms around his waist from behind. Ethan turns around in mock surprise and the blond giggles. Ethan lowers his head and he and the blond share a deep kiss.
Sam's amethyst eyes harden into diamonds.
The doorbell rings. Sam stands waiting outside the house, propped against the shotgun she stole. The door opens. The blond Sam had seen at the coffee shop earlier steps out. She immediately eyes the gun in surprise.
"Yes?"
Sam straightens and picks up the shotgun. She points it to the floor. "Is Ethan here?"
"Yes, but he's taking a shower at the moment. Can I take a message?" The blond rocks on her heels, obviously uneasy. "Hey, is that real?"
Sam raises her gun and shoots.
The blond crumples to the floor, a giant hole in the side of her head. Gore is splatted all across the carpet.
Sam steps over her and walks into the bedroom of her former lover. She can hear the shower running. She opens the bathroom door and steps in. Ethan is washing his hair. A trace of movement catches his eye and he turns around. Before he can say a word, the sound of a gunshot is heard. The first shot breaks the glass door of the shower. The glass rains down around him, and Ethan screams, covering his head with his arms. The second shot does not miss. Ethan falls with a sickening thump. The water turns a deep red.
Sam closes the door behind her as she steps out of the house. She stands on the sidewalk for a moment, unsure of what to do next. The sound of laughter causes her to turn her head around. Two young boys are playing soccer in an alley. Sam blinks. She can see Danny slumped over, dead, beside the boys. Tucker lies close by, blood surrounding him.
Sam blinks, and the bodies of her friends disappear. She walks over to the boys playing soccer, her gun secure in her arms.
Broken shards of glass litter the floor. A dark puddle of amber colored liquid surrounds the glass. Outside, muffled shouts can be heard as policemen communicate with one another. The flashing red and blue lights shine against the blood splattered windows, casting dark shadows onto the walls. A siren can be heard dimly. Sam sits at a table. Her eyes are red and swollen, as if she has recently been crying. In her right palm, a fresh cut can be seen. Blood is flowing from the open wound. She shows no sign of pain.
Behind her, thrown carelessly around is a new soccer ball. It is covered in blood.
Suddenly, time stops. It starts again, moving backwards. The broken glass on the floor comes together to recreate a beer bottle. The amber colored liquid seeps back inside the bottle, filling it halfway. The bottle flies slowly up through the air into Sam's right hand. The cut in her right palm seals itself and the flow of blood stops. A screech of tires can be heard as the policemen reverse away from the bar. Sam stands up and walks backward away from the table, the beer bottle clutched tightly in her right hand. She reaches the counter and trades her beer for her gun. The empty shells on the floor fly up and reload themselves into the gun. The blood on the windows disappears. People who were sprawled on the floor suddenly sit up and climb into their seats once more. The bullet holes disappear from their bodies. The bar is suddenly filled with noise as the people begin to talk.
In a flash, everything changes. Shots are heard throughout the bar. People are screaming and falling down like rag dolls. Blood again splatters the windows. The screeching of tires is heard as nearby police officers rush to help. Time fast forwards and Sam is sitting back at the table, her right hand bloody from crushing the beer bottle, which lies broken at her feet.
She looks around the bar at the bodies. Her eyes are vacant and dull.
On the table in front of her is a gallon of gasoline. Sam stands up and carries the gallon across the bar, mindlessly pouring the flammable liquid over the corpses. She tosses the empty gallon to the floor and returns to the counter where her gun lies expectantly. The broken toy soldier lies next to the gun. His head is missing. Next to that is a bottle of vodka with a rag sticking out of the top.
Sam looks out the window. She expects to see outside, but instead, she sees her reflection staring back at her—tired, angry, and vengeful. Her reflection suddenly changes, and instead of looking hateful, it smiles at her.
"You're broken, Sam."
Sam takes a drink from a shot glass.
"What about the life I wanted? The life you wanted?"
Sam stares at her reflection. "That dream is over."
She takes out a lighter from her pocket and lights the cocktail. The flames dance and flicker, eating hungrily at the cloth. Sam throws the bottle. Time slows. She blinks and she can see Ethan, Danny, Tucker, Greg, the gun shop owner, the tortured male soldier, her torturer, everyone. Her eyes brim with tears.
A crash is heard. Two armed officers have broken down the door. They point their guns at her, mouthing the word, "Freeze!"
The cocktail hits the floor.