Jack sat at the edge of his bed, fingertips digging into the wooden frame. A year and a half had passed since the death of his best friend, and everyday it felt like yesterday. One hand lifted and he felt the shadow of hair on his face, the grown out blonde hair on his head. His fingers ran down the side of his face and fell to his knee where the scar of a bullet would lay forever engraved. The wound matched another in his abdomen, both a constant reminder of his last night patrol.
He sighed and cupped his face between both hands, the sounds of the explosive ringing still in his ears. He remembered being propelled back, remembered the blood trickling down his face from the cut in his eyebrow. What happened directly after was a blur. A few shots... an ambush. He remembered the bloodcurdling scream, and knew after he heard it that his worst fears had come true. He had turned his head only to see Jamie laying in a pool of his own blood, the hands of another soldier trying to stop the blood from spilling any further. It had taken everything in Jack to get up and make it to his friends side only to watch him choke and gasp for life.
Jack remembered the look on his face every night. The only thing he didn't remember was getting shot. But he did.
Jack, lost in his memories, didn't even notice the figure at his door. His mother stood watching him, her cheek pressed against the door frame, her eyes full of love and compassion for her son. He hated seeing her look at him like that. Pity. It wasn't something he wanted, or needed. He hurriedly wiped the tears that were creeping out from the corners of his eyes and struggled to stand, using the bed for support. A pain shot up his leg, and he gritted his teeth, turning his face away.
"Jack sweetheart, did you want me to drive you to your appointment, or did you want to try and walk?" His mothers voice, both sweet and kind, spoke to him from the door, breaking him of his own thoughts.
'Appointments'. He hated when they called them that. More like torture being forced to sit in a shrinks office while they went on about something called 'PTSD'.
"It's very common among soldiers." His therapist would repeat. Jack had informed him many times that it was also very common among soldiers to stick a boot up the enemies ass.
Jack's blue eyes scanned the floor until he found the item he looked for. Leaning down, he grabbed a blue sweatshirt from a pile of clothes, and ignoring the musty smell of it, slipped it on. He muttered a simple, "I'll walk.", and grabbed the wooden cane that hung from his door handle. Mindlessly, he slipped on his sneakers and left the home without another word.
Though he knew he should have been heading in the direction of his therapist, he walked the opposite way in the direction of the military cemetery.
His best friends grave was simple, and he was upset to find the lack of flowers there. Jack stood in front of the two foot tall stone that bared the message:
' Jamie Bennett '
' August 20th, 1992 - January 17th, 2012 '
' Remembered for his service to his country'
Pain shot through him, but this time in his chest. He fell to his knees letting out a cry. Jack's head fell in his hands his back shaking with sobs. It wasn't until he heard footsteps that he lifted his head.
A woman stood a few graves away, bending over to place an ornate bouquet of flowers in front of the stone. Her eyes flitted to Jacks and she gave him a quick look over. Through his tears, he couldn't help but notice her platinum white hair braided and hanging over her shoulder. Platinum like his. She was pampered by the looks of her, a baby blue silk dress hanging to her knees, hugging her curves, but flaring at the bottom. Jack looked back to his friends grave and heard the crunching of grass close to him.
"You doing okay?" He heard her say. Her voice sounded like music, light and beautiful.
He raised his head and let out a short laugh, more to himself than to her. "Yes, I'm fine. Thanks." He was sick of the constant pity from strangers, so he stood carefully, eyes shutting tightly to hide the pain shooting up his leg.
The woman didn't reply, but simply watched him with blue eyes, her arms crossing over her chest. She narrowed her eyes at him, something he couldn't help but notice.
"What?" Jack's tone became defensive. He stared at her, blue eyes looking into blue. He raised a scarred brow. Her gaze bore into him, making him feel uncomfortable.
The woman simply stepped forward to let her long pale fingers run over the letters in the stone.
"Your brother?" She said.
"Might as well have been." Jack replied.
Brothers. Jack could only imagine what having a real brother felt like, but he was sure Jamie had been the closest thing to it. He nodded towards the grave she had been at moments before.
"What about you?" He asked.
She let go of the grave, stood straight and turned her head. "Husband. Only married six months. Killed on a raid." Her voice didn't even crack. She seemed so calm. Jack could only wish he had that strength.
"I'm sorry. The good die young, you know?"
"That's what they tell me. Well, it was nice meeting you..." Her voice trailed off, fine eyebrows raised.
"Oh, Jack. Sorry." He reached out his free hand, gripping her own. She gave him a small smile.
"Jack. Strong name. It's nice to meet you. I'm Elsa." And after a firm shake, she left without another word.
Elsa's hands were shaking. She was set on believing what they were telling her was not true.
"He can't be!" She heard herself scream.
"Honey...he's not coming home." Her father replied, his strong arms gripping her to keep her from falling apart at the seams.
A knock on the door and she stood, running to it. It had to be him, she just knew it! Only...when she opened the door, it wasn't. There was a soldier standing before her, his uniform torn at the chest. His head was down, the top of his crew cut visible. She reached out a hand to him, and as she did so, the white t-shirt beneath his torn uniform began to turn red. The red spread, faster and faster. His head snapped up, and she saw a newly familiar face staring at her.
The man from the graveyard.
Elsa awoke gasping for air. With all of her might, she tried to piece together parts of her nightmare. After moments though, she rolled over and fell back to sleep, her nightmare forgotten.
