Three days.
Three days constantly on the move.
Three days without rest.
Three days without food or water.
Three days of merciless taunting.
Three days waiting for the crackle on the walkie-talkie.
Three days waiting for the next coordinates.
Three days of searching.
Three days of buried hope and mounting dread.
Three days since John Pope took my son.
To an uninformed bystander I am sure I would appear to be deranged. Hair unkempt, body unwashed, clothes wrinkled and filthy. Running into abandoned buildings and parks with ferocious energy. Busting down doors, tearing apart rooms, digging wildly in the dirt. A singular word piercing the silence, as it crashes from my mouth. . .Hal. Then after achingly long moments of intense activity and frantic searching, overcome with dejection and despair, crumbling to the ground in my agony. If someone were to witness me at this moment, what questions would surly fill their mind. Who is Hal? Why is this man searching so desperately for him? Who is the man on the other end of the radio to whom this man begs for a location? What has led to this moment?
As I sit here waiting for the next set of coordinates, these thoughts echo in my mind. Who is Hal? Hal, my brave, stubborn, loving son. My boy who in a few short years has become a man, a leader. Does he know how much I respect him? Oh god, have I ever told him, just how proud I am of the man he has become? When I find him (and it must be when, if is not an option) I must make it point to express just how much I love him. How much I value his input, and respect him as a fellow soldier and a leader. I hate to think of what he may be suffering at the hands of John Pope. That deranged lunatic! How could he betray his family in such malicious way?! And yet. . .it is difficult not to see where he is coming from. What led to this moment. . .? What led to this moment was my blindness and pride. I am to blame for Hal's current predicament. How could I not see the hypocrisy in forcing Pope to choose the greater good over his loved ones. I would never do that. I could never do that. How would I have reacted if Pope's actions had gotten Hal or Ben, or god forbid Matty killed? Even contemplating such a scenario makes me want to go off the fucking rails! So many people dead. . .because of me? Is Pope right? Do I sacrifice those around me? My solemn reverie is interrupted as my radio crackles to life.
"Enjoying our little game Tom?" Pope sneers.
"Pope!" I wish I could keep the begging out of my voice, but I am a broken man. "Pope, please. You were right. I should have tried harder to save Sarah, I should have thought of another way!"
"Little late for that now Tom! Now shut up and take down these coordinates!" Pope screams. He seems to be completely unraveling. I dread what this means for Hal.
"Please, Pope. No more games. Please tell me where my boy is. My life for his. He is innocent in this!" I hold on to the slightest hope that my words will break through to the good man inside.
"Innocent?" His tone sounds dangerous. "You mean like Lourdes? Like my precious Sarah?! . . . his innocence is the whole point. Abandoned clinic, six miles west, be there by midnight."
"Hal will be there?" Pope? Pope?!" My screams were futile. Our conversation was over.
I steeled my mind against the overwhelming emotions and began my solitary trek. My feet felt like lead, my heart was a stone that threatened to crush me. An overwhelming sense of trepidation engulfed my soul like a wave capsizing a small boat on the open seas. I somehow knew that Hal would be at this address. My quest would be over. This should have overjoyed me, but in my heart I knew that this road only ended in pain and death. As the small clinic entered my view, I resisted the urge to run in the opposite direction, and dragged my reluctant feet to it's doors.
"Hal?" I called out cautiously, fearfully. "HAL?!" My voice full of un-shed tears. I tore the place apart from top to bottom. And to my strange relief . . . I came up empty. There was still hope. Hal's journey did not end here. I still had a chance to get through to Pope. Once again, his timing ever so impeccable, Pope's eerily calm voice floods my ears.
"Tom? Are you there Tom?" his voice had taken on a sing-songy quality, like that of a puppet. . .the effect was most disconcerting. And though it seemed useless I tried again to call upon his lost humanity.
"Yes, I'm here. . . Pope . . . John. I'm begging you, please, please don't hurt my son. Please don't punish Hal for my arrogance." My sobs echoed through the empty clinic, ringing loudly in my ears.
"Pope! Pope! Please, Just tell me where Hal is." The silence that followed threatened to overtake me. The beating of my heart thundered in my ears. For a moment hope began to build. . .then three little words sent my world crashing down.
"Check the roof." Gone was the taunting, gone was the anger, gone were the unhinged rantings of a lunatic. Pope's voice was completely devoid of emotion as he delivered these words. Cold, empty, resigned.
I gathered my wits about me and ran up the stairs to the door that opened out onto the roof. I stood there, with my hand on the door knob, unable to move. I knew what I would find on the other side. I couldn't face it. How could I face it?! Finally, after an eternity, I found myself turning the knob, when I stepped out onto that roof I knew that Pope's revenge against me was complete. He had utterly destroyed me. For there on the cold hard surface of an abandoned roof lay the body of my precious son. I ran to him and frantically checked for a pulse I knew I would not find. How could this be real? As I stared at my son's cold, still body, he looked strangely at peace. I could almost imagine he was merely sleeping, if not for the single bullet hole that had pierced his temple. With one squeeze of a trigger Pope had ended my son's life and plunged my own into a dark pit of despair, from which there was no escape. I gathered my son into my arms, as I had done so often, when he was still a little boy, and held him close to my heart as I wept into the inky darkness of the night that had overtaken both the day and my life.