Disclaimer: I don't own anything, all character rights belong to S. Meyer. I am also not a doctor or trained in any medical capacity, if there are errors, my apologies.
Let this lighthouse be a beacon through the darkness
Reminding and assuring with its brightness
A safe harbor has been reached."
-Children's Memorial at Edgartown Lighthouse
The water was a clear blue and sparkling in the early sunlight. Its brilliance was almost blinding, but he couldn't bring himself to shade his eyes against its beauty. It had been so long since he had seen this view he just wanted to absorb it as long as he could. Before he had to go back to watching waves of sand instead of waves of water.
The boat shifted at someone's approach from behind him, and he tensed until he felt the soft arm curl around his lower back and the fair hair come to rest at his shoulder. He looked down smilingly at the petite woman next to him as she sensibly shaded her eyes from the glare.
"You're up early," Charlotte murmured as he shifted to wrap an arm around her affectionately.
"I only need about 4 hours of sleep now, Char-doll," he replied.
Charlotte made a small noise of disgust and snuggled deeper into his side. "That would be handy. I feel like I could use about 20 but I only get about 4." But her complaint was half-hearted as he heard the happiness underlying the words. He could see her hand absently stroking the swell of her stomach as they savored the view.
"Since you're up I'm going to put the coffee on," he excused himself. He stealthily went below deck to the small galley, and prepped the coffee pot, pointedly ignoring the large lump tucked under the bedding in the bunk next to the sink. He quietly washed mugs from the previous night and laid them out on the counter, prepping them with sugar and laying out spoons. As the aroma of the brew started to permeate the air there was a low groan from under the covers.
"Goddammit Lieutenant, why the hell are you still on Afghani time over here?"
The complaint only made him smile as the bedding shifted to reveal his brother Peter.
"You better start learning to watch your mouth, bro. Or Junior's first word is going to be 'damn' and Charlotte's going throw you out on your rear."
"Don't I know it," Peter mumbled as he scrubbed a hand over his face. "Hey, any chance one of them is for me?"
"Sure thing, man."
The stream of brew had lessened to a sporadic drip and he grabbed the handle of the carafe to pour the coffee into the prepared mugs. But, as the liquid flowed out it became thick and dark red, hurriedly filling the cups and spilling over onto the countertop, running vibrant red trails down the surface of the galley. He dropped the handle in alarm and the carafe shattered against the floor, his arms crossing in front of his face as the blood and glass flew up to meet him. Then the piercing sound of Charlotte's scream filled the air.
. . . . .
He awoke with a start. He was covered in a fine sheen of perspiration that made the sheet stick uncomfortably against his legs, and his lungs were burning as he took shallow gasps of air. His room was dark with only the ambient light filtering into his room, and the steady hum of the air conditioner invading his ears.
Reaching over he grabbed his cell phone off the side table and checked the time.
4:12 am
Scrubbing his face with his hand he debated whether he would be able to fall back asleep again, but then the fingers of white heat started to snake up his spine and he knew his chance of rest for tonight was over. He got out of bed and gingerly stretched before walking stiffly to the bathroom and snapping on the light. The harsh fluorescent blinded him momentarily and he stared into the mirror as his reflection slowly returned before shifting it open to retrieve his medication. Swallowing down the pills with tap water he then moved onto his toothbrush, and after setting that aside prepped his shave kit. The steam from the sink billowed up and spread a haze on the mirror as he maneuvered the razor over and around the scars on his face and chin. After he rinsed out and replaced his razor, he turned and inspected the silicone bandage on his back.
He finished changing and collecting his things, and drove his truck to the gym on base, using his staff ID to let himself into the deserted facility. The pool area was dim and quiet, only broken by the sounds of his footfalls, and the weight of his bag hitting the bench that lined one of the walls. He quickly disrobed save for his swim trunks, and then used the stairs to submerge himself into the pool. Letting out a slow breath, he closed his eyes and let himself sink under the surface of the water. The rush of silence filled his head and for a moment he just let himself float and absorb the stillness. He stayed under the water for two minutes before the images and memories started to pierce the edges of his consciousness. Pushing up he surfaced and began to cut through the water, letting the routine of his strokes and kicks drown out the war in his head.
He had an outpatient appointment scheduled today, so he wouldn't be starting his day off with his trainees as usual. After showering in the locker room and donning a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt he headed to the local diner to have some breakfast and pass some time until the medical facility opened. The waitress was sure to bring him a full jug of coffee and a cup when he took his seat, but today, he couldn't touch it. A quick remembrance of the ribbons of blood spilling out of the carafe had him request a glass of water instead.
As much as he tried to waste time at the diner, he was still thirty minutes early for his appointment. Sitting stiffly in the waiting room he paid halfhearted attention to the morning talk show that was broadcasting on the television mounted in the corner and instead began analyzing the room. One entrance, two windows, twenty-two chairs, one coffee table, three steel magazine racks mounted to the walls, and the TV. The chairs and table were all composed of cheap composite instead of real wood, so if he needed to take cover the best bet would probably be to rip a magazine rack from the wall to use as a shield. Or maybe jump through the sliding window to duck under the reception desk. He studied the fire exit map of the office's interior hanging on the wall as he calculated what his escape would be, and how he would manage to liberate the three civilians working behind the divider if he needed to exit through the -
The interior door to the waiting room opened to reveal a technician dressed in pale blue scrubs.
"Lieutenant? If you would just follow me sir."
Wiping his clammy palms on his sweats he rose and followed the technician back into the small exam room adjacent to the MRI.
"Same as usual, sir. Just your blood pressure and temperature and then we can get started. I trust your clothing is free of any metal so we can forego the use of the gown?"
He nodded his affirmative to the tech, who smiled slightly and made some notations in his chart before moving about the small room to retrieve the thermometer and cuff to complete the initial assessment. After removing his watch and handing it over with his wallet and cell phone to the tech he dutifully followed into the next room and lay down on the cold, slick table of the MRI. After being strapped in and the imaging started, he let his mind drift over the early stages of his dream, trying to recall and savor the peaceful beginning. Being on the boat. The brilliance of the sunshine reflecting on the water. The comfort of Charlotte, and the rough sound of his brother's sleep heavy voice.
Blood. Glass flying. The bite of the debris as it embedded into his arms and face…
The table moving tore him out of his horrific recollection, and as he emerged from the claustrophobic tube he was met with the smiling face of the technician.
"We're all done here. Lets get you back to the room so I can process the results. Oh, and I believe you missed a call while you were in there." The tech handed him back his belongings, and sure enough, the display was showing a missed call and a voicemail. Once the tech had escorted him back to the exam room and left him to his own devices he flipped open the phone and checked the incoming number. It was nothing he recognized so he hit the button to dial his voicemail instead. The message made the breath freeze in his lungs.
"This is Deputy Bohnyak of the New Hampshire State Police. I'm calling on behalf of Peter and Charlotte Whitlock. I'm afraid there has been an accident. If you could call me immediately when you get this message…"
-tbc
Thanks for reading.
