Chapter 23 - Words Aren't Words

I open and close my hand, the aching of my fingers is so unbearable now that I can't write another word even if I wanted to and I do. And I want to write and purge and get every last feeling and emotion out of my god forsaken system. I want to be done with this madness and find myself again.

The words that I wrote aren't words, they are details, a memoir of sorts that exposed the most terrible days of my life. The process hasn't been an easy one, details I scantily remembered poured out of my pen so easily that I wondered how much I'd repressed. Harm called, of course he would and I barely spoke, deciding I needed to get him off the line before my thoughts scattered again. The story started with him anyway - the betrayal I felt so heavily it pushed me into an assignment with Webb that I knew would end badly.

I still can't understand why he wouldn't tell me about Loren or his beliefs that she carried Sergei's child. It made me sad to think that he couldn't trust me with that information even if it was out of fear that I would stop him from acting so crazy.

I ran. I ran because that is what I do - I run despite being strong and independent, I run away. It has been the prominent direction of my life and a saving grace at times - except for Paraguay. I fleetingly wondered if my escape was some sort of self-sabotage, an idea that I brush away because I am not entirely that cerebral.

The days that lead to our initial capture were detailed one by one including Webb's attempt to woo me by 'mistakenly' entering the bathroom as I was submerged in bubbles. He stared at me hungrily, a look that made me cringe and feel dirty which only defined what it was he really wanted from me.

I should have knocked his lights out then but did not want to show him even an inch more of my naked body. Funny how when Harm looks at me that way, I feel a thrill like the sexiest woman in the World but Clayton Webb made me feel cheap and used.

That difference made me pause for a moment and images of my past lovers flashed behind closed eyes. I never wanted anyone like I do Harm. I never needed anyone like I do him. I never felt good with any of them like I do him. Even John, who would be my second choice, doesn't hold a candle to Harmon Rabb.

Assignments with Webb always had a way of going south and this would be no different. Most of the days were spent deciphering wrong intel handled by our contact that would eventually betray us. As we sat in our hotel room waiting, the hours were filled playing card games with Webb trying to gauge just how deep my relationship with Harm ran. I was evasive because I had yet to realize how much he loved me or that in a week's time we would come together as lovers and soulmates that would etch him to Harm forever.

Learning about Diamonds was fairly easy, I have an uncanny ability to retain information that most people would find useless and learned in a short time how to decipher the differences in color. I wasn't perfect but was able to fool Garcia.

We may have made it until my concern for Gunny - a man I would not leave behind - put us in the line of fire. I was hurt from an explosion that flipped our car but Clay was far worse. He couldn't walk, his leg had been caught and when Sadik's men tore us out, they did more damage than good.

My face ached from the tiny cuts covering it when the windows shattered and rained down shards of glass. For a moment I blacked out and of all things I could have remembered, it was the crash with Eddie that came to mind. There was no cool glass against my cheek this time, no sounds of the ambulance to pull me to safety. I only heard angry yelling in a language I was familiar with but wasn't my own.

I was barely conscious when they stood me up and forced me to move, the barrel of a rifle slamming onto my spine so hard it would leave a bruise. The fake belly felt like such a burden at that moment but I couldn't help bringing my hands over it wondering if a child could have survived that wreck. Surely it would have induced labor or had me bleed out. Surely I'd be in more pain.

When the missionaries tried to care for me, I pushed them away knowing it was the beginning of my end. No woman who wanted a child would act so careless or deny the care to ensure her baby lived. As the hours passed, my hands roamed across the padding and I thought of him, of Harm - the only man in my life who had ever promised me a child.

Chris and I never spoke of kids because I was a kid myself and when one lived in a perpetual state of intoxication, pregnancy was out of the question. With Mic it was a given - a marriage and a baby - although I was not ready for either, not really. I wanted a baby with Harm.

Clay sensed the change in me, how could he not? My tough Marine veneer was broken and the screams of torture echoed across the field like a promise of what came next. He was taken and no training could have prepared him for that kind of pain. At first Clay held back because above the sounds of electric shock there was nothing else.

I thought the men were toying with him, scaring him and just maybe his cover was enough to grant him mercy - it was not.

The first scream that escaped him sounded like that of a banshee piercing through the air. The next was a howl that was muffled and choked until every single sound that Clay made was like a demon was being pulled from him.

I still hear that sound when I close my eyes and feel so helpless that I couldn't save him. Helpless and terrified because even if Webb promised he'd protect me, I knew I'd be next.

The missionary's betrayal made me question my faith in God. How could a woman of faith be so cruel? Even if her suspicions were correct, she had sentenced a pregnant woman to death all as a trade off for her own life. Their elation at impending freedom only lasted so long, two bullets later the pair lay crumpled on ground.

I hadn't the time to grieve them because minutes later Sadik Fahd entered our room demanding for truth so that Allah could save me. My experience in war torn countries taught me the cruelty of men and I knew that my gender was treated far worse than my male counterparts.

I was still surprised when he came for me with eyes so malevolent I felt the evil to the depths of my soul. I wasn't pregnant but still felt the knife slammed into my padded belly, felt the loss as if a child had been ripped from me. In that split second I knew I'd met the devil himself and fully believed I had minutes left to live.

My deception would not go unpunished as it was far worse than any secret Webb hid. He was too weak to stop them and my forced death march began with another jab at my spine so hard that it took my breath away.

Dazed and in pain, I couldn't remember the door to the shack being opened until I was thrown onto the makeshift table and the scent of torture assaulted my nostrils. Blood, urine, gasoline and other arid scents I didn't care to fixate on made my stomach turn and I swallowed down the bile that rose at the back of my throat. I wouldn't throw up or show them more weakness although my lips pleaded for them to stop.

The men were rough, wrapping the worn leather straps around my wrists and ankles without any care. They bit into my flesh and I bit back a wail of pain despite wanting to scream for help and mercy.

It's surprising how a car battery can be repurposed for so many things. How attaching jumper cables and steel wool can create an almost beautiful crackle that I was sure would permanently scar me. I thought of Harm and lamented our wasted time and the three little words I never got to tell him.