More Than a Ghost
by Philippe de la Matraque

Chapter Seven

He was being moved. Hesh had been talking about it. It was a good thing. It meant he was doing better so he didn't need the ICU any more. The IV wouldn't be needed as long as his eating kept improving. He wasn't nearly as dehydrated after the last few days here.

But Logan was nervous. Very nervous. His chest felt like it was constricting. It was getting harder to breathe. Logan kept feeling something on his neck, the rope. But when he put his hand there, there was nothing.

Dr. Harvey suggested his anxiety stemmed from his transitions during captivity. Of course, they did. He knew that. And he tried to tell himself that this was different. He was free. Hesh was there. He was feeling better every day. But the tight feeling in his chest remained. When they were alone, he wrote what he was feeling on the tablet and showed Hesh.


Hesh read the tablet and remembered what Dr. Perez had said on the plane. 'Trauma is not logical and it can't be controlled.' This must have been what he meant. Logan knew the move was a good thing, but the fear wouldn't stop anyway. Hesh wasn't sure how to counter something that wasn't logical or controllable. He couldn't just tell Logan not to be scared. The only thing he could think of was to reassure Logan that he wouldn't be alone and to stay cheerful about the move.

"I'll be with you, Logan," he told his brother, "every step of the way. They said there was even an extra bed in there. You know what that means?"

Logan glanced over to the chair Hesh was often sitting or sleeping in.

"Yep," Hesh said, smiling. "No more sleeping in that awful chair."

Logan put his left hand to his neck again and then put it back down quickly. They had done something to his neck, Hesh realized. He just didn't know what. And he didn't want to make Logan tell him right now. He wanted to help Logan to not think about that.

A tall young man entered the room, pushing a wheelchair. "I'm Eric," he said. "I'm one of the nurses on your new ward. We're ready for you. But first, we'll remove that IV." He left the chair by the bed and moved around to Logan's left side where he pulled out the IV. Logan rubbed the spot on his arm where it had been.

Eric moved back to the chair and Logan eyed it suspiciously. Hesh remembered the chair he'd seen in the cellar. Still wanting to distract Logan from those thoughts, he quickly moved to help the nurse help Logan from the bed. The door, and thus the chair, was on Logan's right side. He couldn't brace himself with that broken arm. Logan winced when his right foot hit the ground, even bandaged as thickly as it was. He was still pretty well bruised all over from the beating he must have had just before Hesh had found him. Once he was settled in the chair, Logan quickly pulled his arms away from the armrests. He closed his eyes tight as the nurse placed his feet in the stirrups.

Hesh put his hand on Logan's shoulder. "I'll push," he offered. "You lead the way, Eric."

They passed through a set of double doors then turned into a corridor to the left. Eric led them about halfway down that corridor then opened a door on the right. "Your new home away from home," he said.

It was a very nice room. There was a hospital bed in the center with a non-adjustable bed further to the left and across from the beds was a large television. There was even a couch on the left wall. There was a large mural behind it depicting Kansas City in the spring. A window of sorts, inside a cave. A door to the right of the television led to a private bathroom.

"I think you're going to like it here, Logan. We haven't had digs like this in over a decade!" Hesh looked back at Logan. Eric had helped him into the bed. He looked, well, he looked relieved.

"You guys like baseball?" Eric asked. He lifted a remote control from the table between the beds and turned on the TV. "My dad was a first baseman during the 2015 season here in Kansas City. They won the World Series that year."

There was a game on, but it wasn't Kansas City. There weren't nearly as many teams since the war had started, but America's past time was still played. Only now it was co-ed. Men and women played together.

"I wanted to follow in his footsteps," the nurse continued. "But I wasn't as good as my dad and then the war started. I figured I wanted to do something to help people. Well, I'll leave you guys to get comfortable. There's water on the table there and you can call number six on the phone there to order your meals. I understand you're on a rather particular diet, Sergeant Walker."

"That he is," Hesh said. "But I think we just might try to expand it today."

Logan's eyebrows shot up at that. Hesh looked at the table. There was a tub beside the water pitcher. Just in case.


Expanding his food repertoire had not gone as well as either Logan nor his brother had hoped. He could still handle the shakes and other liquids or sweets. But his body rejected other solid foods. The new room was an improvement though. It made him feel a bit more human but still so unlike himself. He had trouble remembering what he had felt like before he was taken. That was the real him. Not the broken thing that had been dragged out of that pit by his neck. At present, he felt like he was still in limbo, somewhere between that creature of fear and suffering and the soldier he must have been. Like his brother. He tried to remind himself that he had been strong, like Hesh. Had done all the same things Hesh could do. But he didn't feel strong or capable. He couldn't even get to the bathroom by himself.

Logan decided that last thing could change. He remembered how getting underwear had made him feel he had a tiny bit of dignity. Well, this would be a bit more. To relieve himself in a dignified manner. That was maybe something in his control.

He looked over at the other bed. Hesh was asleep there. He couldn't help. Logan felt like he wanted Hesh awake but he wanted to do this by himself at the same time. He found the controls on the side of his bed and lifted himself into a seated position. Then he moved his legs over the side on his left and used his good arm to push himself the rest of the way up.

He lowered his feet to the floor. As he put his weight onto them, tendrils of pain spread across the soles of his feet and into his ankles and shins in spite of the thick bandaging. It stopped Logan's breath until he realized he was holding it. He closed his eyes and blew out the breath slowly. It hurt. But he had managed hurt for a while now. He'd had worse. Still holding the bed with his left arm, he took a step. Then another.

He was so focused on the movement that he hadn't realized he'd gasped. Not until his brother had called his name. Logan kept his eyes on the door to the bathroom. It was only a couple yards away.

Then Hesh was by his side. But he must have understood that Logan wanted to do this himself. He just helped Logan enough to keep him on his feet so that he didn't fall. Logan made it into the doorway, and Hesh flipped the light on for him. "I'll be right outside if you need anything," he said.

Logan accomplished his goal and then flushed. He braced his weight against the counter as he washed his hands. And that was when he looked into the mirror. It was the first time he'd seen himself since the carrier. Logan didn't recognize the person in the glass. He was at the same time gaunt and somewhat swollen, his skin still colored by the bruises in yellows and greens and purples. His eyes were sunken. His beard was scraggly and he was in dire need of a haircut.

The door opened and Hesh joined him there. "It's all temporary," he said. "A haircut and a shave will take care of a lot of it. The bruises will fade. You'll gain weight. You'll look like you again. I'll still look better."

That made Logan smile. Hesh laughed a little and squeezed Logan's shoulder. "Come on. It's still dark. Let's get you back to get some sleep."

Logan let him help him more. He'd managed what he'd wanted. He could handle that part himself from now on. He'd regained a bit more dignity. He was one step closer to human now.


Hesh, at times, felt terribly spoiled. He'd gotten more sleep in the last five days than he had in the last ten years. He got to eat three square meals a day and had no responsibilities to worry about. Except Logan. And that, well, that wasn't a responsibility. That was a privilege. It was so much better than having his brother listed as MIA, or finding his brother had turned and was hunting Ghosts with Rorke. And it was way better than having to bury his brother like they'd buried their father. Remembering that brought back how short of time they'd had to grieve together. Three days really. Three days on an aircraft carrier waiting for a battle. They'd won the battle, but then he'd lost Logan. He'd lost them both in just four days.

"Any progress on finding Rorke's boss?" Hesh asked Merrick.

"Not yet," Merrick replied. "It could be the leader of the Federation or any of his top aides. The messages were encrypted. We're still trying to decrypt and trace them.

"Hesh, the reports on their 'procedures' aren't encrypted. We know what they did to him. I'm going to copy this to you, but you know you or someone else should probably get Logan to communicate it to you. He's got to get it out."

Hesh nodded. He was both anxious for and dreading those reports. Maybe having them would help Logan to tell his story.

"It's not a nice read, Hesh," Merrick went on. "Your brother is a very strong man. He held out. With or without your dad's help. He's strong. He'll get through this."

Hesh rubbed a hand over his head. "He doesn't feel strong right now. He says he's got a weight on his chest, a constant dread that something bad is going to happen. He still can't eat much of anything without getting sick."

"Speaking of that," Merrick jumped in. "Kick wanted to send you some recipes. They sneak vegetables into cookies and such."

"And peanut butter is protein," Kick chimed in from off-screen.

"Oh, we've got peanut butter," Hesh told him. "He loves Reese's."

Merrick got serious again. "You're going to help him remember he's strong, Hesh."

Hesh nodded. "I will."

Merrick closed the communication and Hesh thanked Escobar. He asked him to deliver the documents Merrick was sending to him in Logan's room.


Besides Merrick, Keegan was the only one to read those reports. He knew Rorke had been tortured until he had been turned, and he had proven very loyal to his new masters. He hadn't known he was such a sick, sadistic bastard. That Logan had been pulled from the pit by his neck was enough to learn that. That he drowned him after that was just piling on the evidence. And it went on and on. Logan had spent most of his time in captivity in the pit, starving or eating poisoned food. But the last month and a half had been one torment after another.

There were other reports though. These were about the ghost in the cellar. Some by Sanchez and even a couple by Rorke. Rorke had guessed it was Elias. He'd even commented how funny he thought it was that a Ghost had become a ghost. Elias had interrupted one torture session by killing the car battery they were shocking Logan with. But not before he stabbed one guy in the eye and shocked the other. Rorke had killed two of his own men to be sure that they feared him more than a phantom. But Rorke wasn't laughing any more. Keegan had seen the tape. Rorke had seen Elias just before he died.

He did wonder then if Rorke had become a ghost. And if he did, would he haunt his former torturers? Or would he use his newfound talents to menace his more recent enemies? Keegan rather hoped Elias would keep him at bay if the latter happened.


Hesh waited until Logan was asleep before he read the reports. He now knew why Logan had kept touching his neck before the move. He had a reason to be wary of transitions. Rorke had made each one a separate hell for Logan. He knew why Logan's feet hurt so much when he stood. Why he'd been bruised from head to toe. He knew Logan had had pneumonia and had one decent week with good food and warm air. And he knew that his father had done his part in tormenting the tormenters. Rorke even figured out it who it was. That he'd skinned two of his men to death still shocked Hesh. Rorke's underling, Sanchez, had even figured out that Logan couldn't talk but said Rorke wouldn't listen to reason on that. He read that Rorke had tried to trick Logan into thinking he'd killed Hesh and Riley and two other Ghosts. His father had likely countered those remarks. Hesh had noticed the date on the report. It was the same date as the kitchen fiasco.

Hesh tried to sleep but couldn't. His imagination kept taking pieces of the reports and showing him what it must have been like for Logan. Hesh couldn't think how Logan could have stayed sane without Dad. All those months in the pit in mud and muck, eating worms and drinking rain from his hands. How alone he must have felt. But then being drug by his neck, drowned and transported like an animal and submitted to torture sessions day after day. Hesh tried to imagine what his father did to help Logan besides tell him what was true. Then he thought about how he'd had to have helped Logan stab Rorke. He could touch Logan.

Then he felt a little better, but only a little. His father would have been a kind touch, a loving presence. Merrick was right, he'd needed someone in his corner there. And somehow, their father had been that someone. Hesh wished he could see him right then. Thank him, tell him how he'd missed him, how he loved him. He wished that he'd been able to see, touch, and hear their father the way Logan had. Even for just one moment. But he remembered the dead bodies at the airport. According to the date, that was when they were beating Logan with truncheons for hours. Dad had killed all those men and written in blood the information they needed to find Logan. It must have enraged him to be away from Logan then. It had to have been even harder for Logan to be alone. Hesh didn't begrudge his brother any time he spent with Dad.

Hesh picked up a pen and paper. He made notes to Logan's present wounds and how they had been caused so that the doctors could be clued in. Then he pulled up a chair by Logan's bed and watched him sleep. He didn't twist and turn in nightmares. He slept peacefully. Maybe he remembered Dad holding him while he slept.

That was a blessing. That was the real reason Rorke hadn't been able to turn him.


Estelle stepped off the train and climbed the stairs past granite walls. She took a door to her right and entered the grand waiting area, once again lined with benches. She passed under the enormous clock and into the main lobby of Union Station, Kansas City. Then she looked up. She loved that ceiling. The blue-framed rosettes and giant chandeliers. The station had celebrated one hundred years back in 2014. It would be one hundred and fifty in just a few more years.

She passed through the heavy glassed doors and into the parking lot. There was a jeep there with a driver holding a sign that read, "Chaplain Sawyer." She walked up to young woman in uniform. "You must be my ride."

"Private Rios, ma'am," the driver acknowledged. "I'm to take you to Kauffman Hospital." Rios held open the door to the jeep and Estelle threw her bag in before climbing into the back.

"It's good to be back," Estelle told the driver as they headed up Main Street toward Truman and the entrance to I-70 East. "I was born up in Northtown."

"I'm from KCK," Rios told her. "Other side of the river, not far from Strawberry Hill."

They rode the rest of the way in idle small talk about how Kansas City had changed since the start of the war. It was a major hub now for the military and the industrial caves around town had become vitally important to the nation's defense.

Rios dropped her off at the ambulance entrance inside one of the larger caves and another young woman met her there. "I'm Dr. Gordon," she said, introducing herself. "You're here for the Walkers?"

"Yes," Estelle told her. "I'll be staying when David's leave is up."

"His brother is doing quite well, physically," Dr. Gordon told her as she led her through the busy hospital. "His injuries were extensive but not life-threatening. Malnutrition and dehydration were a much bigger threat. We've got him well hydrated now, and Lieutenant Walker is working on the nutrition. Sergeant Walker is suffering from PTSD, and it's affecting his ability to eat most foods."

She knocked on a door in a quiet corridor and David opened it up. "Estelle!"

"Captain Merrick didn't tell you I was coming, did he?" Estelle asked. She thanked Dr. Gordon as David took her bag and led her inside.

"Logan, this is Reverend Estelle Sawyer," David said. "She's our chaplain back at our new base." Estelle followed his gaze and saw his brother for the first time. He was younger, that was obvious even through the bruises. His beard was unkempt and his dark blond hair too long for a soldier. But that was no surprise. He'd been a prisoner for months. They'd probably not prioritized good grooming. She tried to look past the hair and the bruises and thought she caught sight of a strong, handsome face. His eyes though, his eyes carried the haunted look of a soldier who'd seen too much, felt too much pain.

"It's good to finally put a face to the name," Estelle told him. "I'm so very glad to finally be able to meet you. I have prayed for you every day since I came to San Diego."

"I don't have to leave yet?" David asked. That brought a panicked look to Logan's face. His hands clenched the blanket over his lap.

Estelle sat down on the couch. "No," she reassured him. David sat on the other side of the bag. "Not for a few days. Captain Merrick felt it best that you and I were both here, seeing as Logan doesn't know me from Eve."

Estelle leaned back and crossed her right ankle over her left knee. "I just spent two days on a train. I could really use a cheeseburger. Dr. Gordon mentioned you were having some trouble with eating, Logan."

Logan looked to David. "We're working on it," David said. "We got nutrition shakes. Kick sent some recipes that Dr. Gordon baked, so we have some cookies and such. I was hoping to try some fresh fruit today."

Estelle concentrated on Logan. "Let me tell you a story. I have always been a very analytical person. I've had PSTD myself. Mainly from two things. The first one was big. It's a long story, but it's where I first noticed the irrationality of trauma. The second is a much shorter story, and it gave me really stark evidence to figure it all out.

"I was in college and my campus ministry went on a float trip down in southern Missouri. Ten miles down the Buffalo River. I got saddled with a novice canoe partner. We hit some rapids, went around a curve and ran right into a rock wall. The canoe turned over and dumped us out, and I went into total survival mode. I grabbed another passing canoe with a death-grip while the current kept banging me up against those rocks. The girls there feared I'd tip their canoe but I couldn't let go. I thought I was going to die. They finally managed to maneuver over to the shallow side of the river but I couldn't get up. The current was too strong and even though I was sitting on my rear by then, I was going under the canoe. Finally another young man stood in the current and held that canoe so I could get out from under it. My ordeal was over. I was saved."

Logan was watching her with rapt attention. She leaned forward and continued. "But you can't get off a river halfway down it. I had to get back in a canoe. Well, I did not get in the one with that novice. I was put in another with a friend and his nephew. I was in middle, no seat and no paddles. Every time that canoe so much as jiggled, my hands got a death-grip on the sides of the canoe. Five miles down that river. Every jiggle, every bump. At times I could look over and the water was so clear that I could see it was only knee-deep. And many times it was smooth and calm, no rapids at all. But still, every jiggle." She held out her fists like she was holding on to the canoe. "And I realized something. There was a disconnect between my brain, which knew there was no real danger, and my body, which was screaming 'I'm gonna die! I'm gonna die!' And the thing is, my body wouldn't listen to my brain."

Logan nodded ever so slightly. "Your body is not letting you eat because it doesn't trust the food, right?" Estelle asked him. Another nod. "Well, then we just have to figure out how to trick your body into believing the food is fine."

"Did you ever get over it?" David asked. "The trauma?"

Estelle nodded. "Both of them. The canoe didn't take as long. The next year, I signed up for the canoe trip again. I didn't want that one time to ruin something I really enjoyed. I made sure I got a seasoned partner and when we set out that fear returned. We hit a log, and I had the death-grip. But we kept going and by lunch time, I was feeling more confident. By the end of the trip, I was comfortable in that canoe, even when it jiggled and bumped.

"Trauma doesn't have to define our lives. It's something we have to heal from but there is life afterward." She focused on Logan again. "Good life. So, are you ready to try that fruit?"


Eric the nurse entered. He had a tray with a plate and single large Gala apple on it. He set tray over Logan's legs and then left. Logan stared at that apple. He wanted it. He really did. But he was worried he'd just get sick again. Like Estelle said. His body wouldn't trust it.

"David," Estelle said. "I want you to wash that apple in that tub there on the table."

Hesh did as she requested and Logan watched. He wasn't watching Estelle at all. Hesh trusted her so he decided she was okay.

"Good," she stated. "It's really hard to put poison in an apple. And now your brother has washed off any that was put on it. Okay, David, take a bite."

"Me?" Hesh asked.

"Yep," she said. "It needs to be tested."

Hesh took a bite. Logan almost laughed. Hesh didn't like apples. He made a face, then struggled to swallow his bite.

"Well?" Estelle asked.

"I hate apples," Hesh admitted.

Estelle chuckled. "But otherwise you feel fine?"

"Yes, but next time, let's try a banana."

Estelle laughed. "Okay, give the apple to Logan. Logan, it's been washed and tested. Hopefully that's enough to convince your body."

Logan took the apple in his left hand and brought it to his lips. He took a big bite. It was sweet and juicy and crisp in just the right way. He took another bite and another and soon there was only the core left. And he felt good. Better than after a shake or small cookie. It did not protest. Logan leaned back with a satisfied sigh. Hesh and Estelle high-fived. Logan lifted his tablet and drew a banana.

"We are go for banana!" Estelle cheered. "We'll get a whole fruit basket!"

Logan picked up the pad as Estelle put in the order. He wrote on it then showed it to Hesh.

"Well," Hesh said, "because David, 'ah David, he was the one to stand up to that giant with nothing but a sling and a stone.'"

Logan looked at Estelle. She was smiling. Well, she was a chaplain, after all.

"Okay, why 'Hesh?'" she asked. Logan looked to Hesh for that.

"It's what Logan called me when he was little," his brother said. "Before he lost his voice. He was two. I guess he just didn't want to call me David."

Logan shrugged. He didn't remember any of that. He didn't remember having ever spoken. Though he'd wished it quite a lot.

"I'll stick with David," Estelle said.

Hesh leaned over to Logan. "You're lucky Logan isn't a biblical name."

Logan turned back to Estelle. He wrote "Why Estelle?" on the tablet and held it up for her.

"My parents were very fond of the Lord of the Rings by JRR Tolkien. 'Estel' is a nickname for the King, Aragorn. It means 'hope' in Elvish. My mother really liked the Elves."

"Never read it," Hesh said. He looked to Logan who shook his head.

"Well, it's a good thing I brought a copy then," Estelle said as she pulled out a very thick book. "It's really a trilogy. Just the thing to while away a long hospital stay."

The fruit basket arrived and Logan forgot about the book. He was still very hungry.