Ch. 17

A.N. Yeah, so this was meant to be a Halloween thing but I had a bad case of writer's block until basically today. Anyway, I hope the long wait was worth it. I tried…

Sorry about how long it took me to write this. I just finished this and I have not gone through it to correct the errors. I cannot believe that it took me this long to write this. I tried making the paragraphs easier to read.

Review if you want.

As I gathered my gear, Alpha 1 appeared in the doorway. When I looked up at him, he asked, "What is the op sir?"

I replied, "It is not an op. Just something I need to go do."

He replied, "Copy that. Let me grab my shotgun and we can go."

I shook my head before I said, "No, this is something I have to do alone."

He emitted a kind of grunt before he replied, "No offense sir, but blow it out your ass. I am going with you."

I knew that once my friend's mind was made up, there was little point in arguing with him. However, I did not want him to follow me into a potentially dangerous situation without knowing what he was getting into. I informed him, "Alpha 1…I am going home to confront the memory of my father. I am not going to lie to you. I honestly have no idea what is going to happen or if anything is going to happen at all. I do not want you to be put in harm's way because of my problems."

He waived off my concerns as he moved over to where he kept his gear. He retrieved his shotgun and turned to face me. Having gathered my gear, I stood and looked at him. I sighed before I said, "Alright. Let's go." I made my way out of the room and down the corridor. Alpha 1 and Alma walked on either side of me as we made our way out of the tower. It was 0300 hours so Morales, Stokes, Holiday, and Jin were all asleep. Only the Replicas were still active but most of their activities at this hour were resigned to guard duty and the occasional patrol.

As we walked past the infirmary, Foxtrot 813 approached us and saluted as he said stoically, "Good morning, sir."

I returned the salute as I said, "Good morning, Foxtrot 813."

After he dropped his hand, he said, "Sir, Bravo 2 is expected to be stable enough later today to be released from the infirmary."

I nodded before I instructed him, "When he is released, inform him that he has been transferred to Dark Signal at my request."

Foxtrot replied, "Yes, sir." He returned to his post by the infirmary door. We continued onwards.

We exited the tower and, after stopping by the supply depot to replenish our ammunition reserves, made our way over to the Dark Signal APC where she sat patiently inside one of the warehouses. As we entered the warehouse, I was startled when Morales addressed me from where he was washing the APC, "Damn Becket, you're up early man. I thought I was the only one with insomnia. So, since you're here, you mind giving me a hand?"

Calming my nerves, I replied, "Manny, I need to borrow the APC."

He laughed briefly before he said, "Yeah…how about no? I will drive you wherever you want to go though."

I groaned for a moment before I relented and said, "Fine. I need to go to 319 Silent Street."

Alma questioned, "Silent…Street?"

I laughed slightly before I said, "Yeah I asked that the first time too." Realization hit me and I asked her, "Wait, I never told you my address?"

She shook her head and explained, "Didn't need it. I just felt your presence in the city and manifested myself near you." I nodded and looked back at Manny who was returning his cleaning supplies to one of the many compartments located along the vehicle's armored hull. I did a preverbal double take as I noticed the bloody shark mouth and angry eyes painted on the front of the APC.

I questioned Morales, "I see you've added…a few things."

He laughed as he entered the vehicle and called out from the inside, "Aftermarket mods man. She has enough horsepower, armor and firepower to shame an Abrams battle tank."

As I walked over to the open hatch, I asked, "And the shark mouth?"

He waited until I had entered the interior of the APC before he replied, "It looks badass."

I laughed before I said, "Whatever you say man."

Alma commented, "There should be more blood."

I teased her, "Never thought you would have said that."

She gave me a creepy smile that made me shiver as I felt the sadistic pleasure she got from such morbid fascinations. Unnerved, I sat down in my usual seat. Alpha 1 closed the hatch before he sat down in the seat opposite from me. Alma playfully sat down in the chair to my left as she hummed to herself. I could not help but think about how I was in the same vehicle in which my life-altering assignment had started but now, I was a mere shadow of that Sgt. Becket and the two enemies that would torment me the most on that assignment were now casually sitting within arm's reach of me. I was grateful that my Delta mentor was not alive to see what I had become.

Morales interrupted my darkening thoughts as he cranked the APC. With a rumble, the massive diesel engine thundered to life. As he started maneuvering the armored vehicle out of the warehouse, Manny called out, "Attention passengers, this is the crosstown shuttle. Making stops at wherever the Hell I feel like. Please, enjoy the ride."

I had to catch myself as the APC suddenly accelerated as Morales laughed sadistically. After I resituated myself, I said, "Manny, you crazy bastard I thought we discussed switching to de-caff."

He replied, "Couldn't find any. Relax, I am only on my second cup of coffee man. It's all good." I sighed as I shook my head.

After he had settled down, my fellow Delta Operative asked, "So…what is so special about 319 Silent Street?"

I replied in a forced calm tone, "It is where I grew up."

After an awkward silence, Manny asked, "No shit?"

I replied, "Seriously."

There was another awkward silence before Morales said apologetically, "Sorry man. If I had known, I wouldn't have been screwing around so much."

I reassured him, "I know. Don't worry about it Manny." For the rest of the trip, aside from Morales's occasional comment about the warped reality of our surroundings, we sat in silence.

Finally, the APC noticeably slowed and Morales called out, "We're here." When the vehicle ceased moving forward, Manny looked back at me and asked, "You want me to go with you Becket?"

I shook my head as I replied, "No, stay with the APC."

He nodded as he turned back to look through the APC's viewing port. I sighed as I stood and walked over to the hatch. Steeling myself, I opened the hatch and exited the vehicle. The fiery, blood red sky bathed the area with an unnerving red-orange glow and the asphalt beneath my feet crunched as if it had been scorched by intense heat. I could barely contain my anger as I gazed upon the two-story colonial style house. I must have been staring at it longer than I thought because Alma suddenly grasped my empty left hand gently as she asked with a soft voice, "Are you okay?"

I snapped out of my trance and looked down at her. Her child form's cold demeanor was noticeably absent as she studied me with a concerned expression. I smiled bravely before I replied, "I'm fine. Just feels strange being back here. I swore that I would never set foot inside this place again. It's to prevent our daughter from turning into a psycho bitch that kills everyone…no offense sweetie."

From where she was in her mother's created world, my daughter replied, "None taken Daddy."

I continued, "So I guess I don't have a choice."

Even though the yard and exterior of the house were warped by my companion's anger, I could see that everything seemed run down as if no one had been taking care of the place. That struck me as odd because my father was always obsessed with keeping things kept up around the house. Hell, once he went on a rampage because I accidentally broke one of the window shades by pulling on the string too hard.

With my assault rifle slung across my back by its strap, I slowly walked up the cracked driveway and up to the faded wooden porch steps. The porch was inviting the last time I saw them but now, the peeling wooden planks looked as if they would not hold my weight if I stepped on them. Cautiously, I walked up the steps and slowly lowered my right foot onto the porch. Though the panel creaked, it held my weight so I continued up to the front door. Out of habit, I knocked on the door with my right hand and was surprised that the weathered door did not fall backwards from the impacts of my fist.

Not surprisingly, I received no response so I grasped the door handle with my right hand and twisted. The door was unlocked, which was again odd because my father was always berating everyone for not locking doors. I pushed it open and stepped inside the dark interior. Alma and Alpha 1 followed behind me and Alpha 1 closed the door. I activated my flashlight on my HUD glasses and was struck by a wave of foreboding as I glanced about the hallway.

To my left was the living room and to my right was the dining room. Both rooms connected to the kitchen. At the far corner of the dining room was the door that led to the master bedroom, which was my parent's bedroom. Just before that door was the flight of stairs that led up to the second floor. My parent's room door was uncharacteristically ajar and I was about to head towards it but movement in the living room caught my attention. Instinctively, I retrieved my rifle and slowly entered the room. As I inched forward in a crouched posture, I called out, "Hello, is anyone here? Come out of the shadows slowly with your hands raised. I have an assault rifle and I will use it."

Whatever the source of the movement was, it gave a pathetic sounding murmur in response. It sounded like a woman and, daring to risk lowering my guard, I stood and returned my rifle to my back. As I walked forward, my flashlight's beam illuminated a woman that I thought I would never see again. She was rocking back and forth in her old ornate oak rocking chair that I recalled from my childhood. Her face was ashy and she looked like she had not bathed or slept in months. Her filthy Stepford wife attire and oily brown hair made me pity her for a moment before my anger resurfaced. With a forced calm voice, I addressed her, "Hello…Mary."

My birth mother slowly turned her head and looked at me with deep sorrow in her bloodshot eyes. She asked in a broken voice, "Mi-Michael? Is that you?"

I replied gruffly, "Yeah…it's me. This place is a dump. What happened?"

She sobbed softly for a second, which caused Alma to question me, "Michael, why are you being so mean?"

I replied, "Don't be fooled, she is not a victim."

I noticed the revolver in her lap as Mary stated, "I miss your father Michael."

I reached forward with my left hand and gently grasped the revolver. As I pulled it away from her, she suddenly reached up and cupped the sides of my face with shaking, clammy, and oily hands. She whispered with a defeated voice, "Oh Michael…" I snapped and nearly backhanded the frail woman as I recoiled away from her.

As I stood with the rusted revolver in my left hand, I barked, "Stop pretending you care about me! I did not come here for you. I came here to kill the bastard. Where. Is. He?"

She looked up at me with the same sorrow filled expression for a moment before she looked vacantly forward and started rocking back and forth again. I groaned in irritation and examined the revolver. It was my father's old stainless steel Ruger Super Redhawk .44 magnum double action revolver with a custom grip. I smiled slightly as I realized that what I first thought was rust was actually just some mud that had hardened into clay. I easily removed the dried material before I pulled the pin and examined the cylinder.

All the chambers were filled with rounds and none of the primmer pins showing signs of being ignited. I pushed the cylinder back into place and holstered the weapon in place of my old sidearm. I knew my father kept a stash of ammunition in their bedroom so I did not have to worry about scavenging for more magnum rounds.

I looked back at the shell of a human being and said, "I am going to have a look around." When I did not receive a response, I shrugged and started to head for the kitchen.

As I made it halfway to the kitchen, from behind me, Mary called out in a distant tone, "It hasn't been the same since you left."

I paused for a moment before I wheeled around and told her, "Mary…it is too late. You both treated me as if I was nothing. I don't even think of you as my mother or even want to admit that we are genetically related. You want to know who raised me? This woman with me is the one who raised me and she was a damn good mother. A whole Hell of a lot better than you ever could have been. Look at me mom, your worthless son is a Delta Force operative. I turned out alright even with your incompetence."

She blankly examined Alma as if she was noticing her for the first time. After a moment, Mary said to my true mother, "I am sorry for your burden. He is always a disappointment. I should have aborted him like his father wanted…"

Alma suddenly hissed with an icy cold childish voice, "Do. Not. Ever. Talk. About. My. Baby. Like. That. Ever. Again."

Mary laughed in a creepy maniacal manner briefly before she turned back to vacantly stare at the wall as she rocked in her chair. I turned around and continued towards the kitchen. When I reached it, I was nearly overcome by the nauseating odor of the unclean dishes stacked in and around the sink as flies swarmed around the feast of uneaten food.

I dry heaved as the stench assaulted my sense of smell. I covered my nose as I retreated out the room. I gasped as I reached the relatively fresh air of the dusty living room. Alma was at my side and gently rubbing the back of my vest with her soft left hand. I stood up and weakly smiled at her in gratitude. She nodded as she returned a weak smile.

I walked back over to the rocking woman and asked, "Why haven't you been cleaning the house? You know what he will do to you if he sees the state of this place."

She paused and looked back up at me. She seemed to study me as if to determine if my question was serious before she finally replied, "Things haven't been the same since you left." She looked back at the wall.

I said, "Oh please, both of you barely acknowledged my existence when I was here."

She ignored me and continued to stare at the wall as she rocked in her chair. Realizing that I was not going to anything else out of her, I walked away from the rocking woman and into the dining room. I could not believe that the kitchen was in such a state. Father would have beaten her within an inch of her life if he had seen that.

As I made my way through the dark room, I noticed that the antique table that we used for Thanksgiving and Christmas diners was faded, dusty, and even warped in some spots from lack of attention. I shook my head as I could not help but feel disappointed by the state of the house. Everything was always in tiptop shape when I lived here.

I reached the door that led to my parent's bedroom and slowly pushed it open. The room was average sized for a bedroom. The king sized bed was in the middle with the headboard up against the wall opposite the door. The bed looked as if someone had made it up and then never used it again. The once vibrant colors of the fabric were obscured beneath the layer of powdery dust. I turned to the left to look towards the door that led to their bathroom. The door was open and on the glass of the wall-sized mirror, I saw the message written in dried blood, "I never meant to hurt you."

I cautiously moved towards the bathroom and entered it to examine it further. I saw nothing out of the ordinary other than the strange macabre message. I exited the room and went over the right side of the bed. I bent down and retrieved the large ammunition locker from underneath the bed. The locker's weight was immense so I could only drag it far enough away from the side of the bed to open it.

I unlatched the metal box and removed the lid. Inside, I saw the neatly arranged ammunition boxes of various calibers and designs. I removed the boxes of .44 magnum ammunition that roughly equaled out to be around thirty rounds of the standard unjacketed blunt nose design, around fifteen rounds of full metal jacket rounds, and twenty hollow point, or as they are sometimes referred to as: "cop killer" rounds.

I noticed a box of .40 caliber rounds was not where it was supposed to be and one of its flaps was open. Puzzled, I closed the flap and returned the box to its rightful spot. Then, I returned the lid and latched the box shut. I pushed the locker back under the bed with a bit of effort. I stood and exited the room. From where he was in the dining room, Alpha 1 informed me, "First floor clear sir."

I nodded before I turned to look up the staircase. Steeling my resolve, I marched up the stairs one step at a time. When I reached the landing, I turned to the left to look down the hallway. To the right was the bathroom that I used when I was living here. The door on the left was the door to my bedroom. The only other room up here was at the far end of the hallway and it was mostly used for storage since the house's attic was more of a crawl space than a real attic. The entire second floor looked as if it had not been disturbed since about the time I had left all those years ago. I heard whispering coming from my old bedroom that seemed to be calling for my attention.

With my assault rifle in my grasp, I slowly made my way to my old prison cell. As I stood before the yellowed door that was once eggshell white, I nearly had a panic attack from the onrush of surfacing memories. My soldier personality took charge and forced me onwards. I gripped the door handle with my left hand and, exhaling a long breath, I twisted the nob.

I pushed against the door and it opened without a fight. I entered my old room to find that everything was where I had left it. The small desk opposite my bed was still covered with my notes and findings regarding my investigation into Wade Elementary, my tiny collection of school supplies were still neatly arranged on the shelf to my left, and the broken television monitor was still lying screen down in the corner to my right.

I shouldered my rifle and walked over to my desk. As I rummaged through my old notes, I smiled slightly as I saw the underlined handwritten phrases, "in the food", "unknown supplements", "broken up by classification", "bluebirds, ladybugs, and frogs", "Armacham Technology Corporation", "psychic warfare", and finally the circled and underlined questions, "ATC is experimenting on the students…possibly to turn them into viable psychic warriors of some kind…why? To what end? What is Project Origin how is Alma related to it? What is the game Alma and Harlan are playing? Where do I fit into the picture?"

I sighed sadly as I tossed the papers back onto the desk before I said aloud, "Damn…I almost had them…so close."

Alma gently gripped my right hand with her left hand as she said, "Don't blame yourself. You were just a kid."

I sighed before I said quietly, "I guess so…"

A soft voice caused us all to turn to look in the direction of the far corner of the room. "Good…you're here." The apparition of my child form appeared out the darkness as he spoke.

I nodded as I said, "Yes, I am here." My child form walked forward until he stood only a few inches in front of me.

He instructed me, "To save the world, you must enter the Hell inside your own mind and solve the riddles that have fragmented your psyche."

Confused, I asked, "What do you mean by riddles?"

He smiled despite the obvious pain that it caused him before he replied, "You will understand once you get there."

I sighed before I asked apologetically, "I don't understand. Where do I go to enter my own Hell?"

With absolutely no emotion in his voice, my child form replied, "The next room. The truth will set you free."

Before I could question the apparition further, he dissolved into a cloud of ash. Alma commented, "I forgot how frail you looked when you were a child." I looked down at her with a questioning look. She smiled back at me as she shrugged her shoulders.

I said, "Appearances can be deceiving."

She smirked briefly at my comment before her expression returned to her iconic emotionless façade. I glanced around my old bedroom one last time before I exited the room. I had left that part of my life behind me the day I left Fairport to become a soldier. As I exited the room, Alpha 1 informed me, "Reminds me of my childhood…well what we Replicas would call our childhood. Challenged mentally and physically to the point of breaking every day and then left to recover alone in the darkness."

Stunned, I questioned him, "Alone…but I thought all Replica variants can communicate with each other. Why were you alone?"

He replied with a voice that sounded emotionless but I could hear the masked pain, "My creators weren't the only ones that believed that I was a freak, sir. Even cloned human beings have a way of alienating and belittling the individuals that the majority deems as different. Only my Heavy Trooper brothers accepted me at first. They became my family…"

He drifted off in mid-sentence and I waited for about a minute or two for him to continue. When he did not show any signs that he was going to continue, I said, "I would rather have one close and loyal confederate than a thousand individuals with questionable loyalties." He silently looked at me for a moment before he nodded slowly. I continued, "As far as I am concerned, you are family."

He replied with a grateful voice, "Thank you, sir." I smiled briefly before returning to the mission at hand.

Not wanting to stay in the house any longer than what was necessary, I exited my old bedroom and walked over to the door that led to the storage room. As I neared the door, a strange feeling of uneasiness crept into my mind. There was a pocket of very negative energy inside the room. I shivered and goose bumps erupted along my arms as my body physically reacted to the negative energy. Only Alma gave off a more negative energy signature than this pocket.

However, while Alma made a conscious effort to hide the extreme negativity of her presence, this pocket was blatantly negative to the point that it felt like ice to my senses. My first instinct was to meet the threat with the overwhelming force of a tactical breach and clear. However, my psychic senses did not detect that the energy source was hostile. Against my better judgment, I kept my weapons holstered as I grasped the door handle with my right hand. I twisted the knob and pushed the door open.

Nausea hit me as I was greeted by the unbelievably revolting sight of the twisted skeleton that hung in the center of the room with rusty barbwire intertwined repeatedly through the bones to keep it in the air. Dried blood covered by powdery dust decorated the entire room and the barbwire was so thick that I could not enter the room. Forcing the bile in my throat back down, I focused on the remains.

Even though the majority of my mind had already accepted the identity of the bloodied skeleton, my training demanded a confirmation. Studying the skeleton closer, I noticed the custom .40 caliber Glock pistol still in its right hand. I would recognize that Glock anywhere. My father had custom ordered the pistol straight from the manufacturer and he made it a point that only he was allowed to so much as look upon it. On the skeleton's knuckles, I saw the hairline cracks from repeated punches that were not straight. Though I could still be wrong, I officially accepted that this skeleton was indeed the remains of my father.

I addressed the skeleton with malice in my voice, "After all that, you did not even let me be the one who got to kill you. Even in death, you still managed to be a pain in my ass. So, where are you? I know you are still here, come out and face me you pathetic old man."

A deep growl vibrated the entire house as the barbwire suddenly erupted from the room and tore into the walls of the house. My rifle was in my grasp within a second and Alpha 1 and I were back to back as the seemingly endless amount of barbwire flew past us. Finally, when the barbwire had completely covered all the walls in the house, the skeleton stood and started walking towards us.

I aimed through my rifle's scope and unloaded an entire clip into the creature. Alpha 1 joined in and unleashed a barrage of shotgun rounds into the apparition of my father. However, our rounds did not even slow the abomination down as he neared us. Finally, with a demonic laugh, the skeleton suddenly flew through the air at us. We tried to dodge the attack, but the narrow hallway prevented us from being able to do so and the outstretched hands of the apparition struck us both as he flew past.

The impact caused me to black out and I fell onto the floor. When I awoke, I found myself in a nightmare version of my old house. The heavy distant pounding of industrial equipment filled the air and everything had been replaced by a rusted, what I could only describe as an industrialized version of itself. The floor that I laid prostrate on was a metal grate that I could see through to the floor beneath us. I pushed myself onto my feet with my rifle still in my grasp. I helped Alpha 1 to his feet and he asked, "Where are we sir?"

I replied, "If I am not mistaken, the Hell inside my mind."

Alma materialized before us with a worried look on her childish face. Upon seeing us, she smiled before she said, "There you two are. I have been trying to find you in the different versions of this house for at least an hour." She glanced around the hallway and added, "I have never been to this one before. In fact, I don't think I created this one. Michael…this one is your world."

I replied, "Yeah, I figured that."

She frowned slightly before she informed me, "That means that I am not going to be much help. I can use my abilities but I cannot alter this world like I can in the real world."

I assured her, "Don't worry, when we run into those riddles my younger self told us about, you might be able to remember things that could help solve them."

Alpha 1 had walked over the staircase only to find that the path down the steps had been blocked by a grate. He reached up and grasped the obstacle with his hands. After he pulled against the rusted grate for a few moments, he relented and turned to face me. He said, "Sir, we are trapped up here." I thought for a minute and decided to try to enter the nightmare version of my old room.

The door opened and I entered the room. The bed, desk, television monitor, and shelf were gone and instead, a pile of photographs was stacked in the center of the room. Against the back wall, there was a chalkboard with square sections running across the surface as if to show a period of events. As I neared the pile of photographs, a message written in blood manifested on the chalkboard. It read, "Who are you without your history?" When I reached the photographs, the message disappeared.

As I knelt down to examine the photos, Alma asked, "Who are you without your history…what does that mean?" As I set my rifle aside, I picked up the old fashion photographs and studied them for a moment. Several of them were of me when I was a child, some of them were of the exterior of Wade Elementary, some of them were of Alma, a few of them were of me when I was in boot camp, a large number of them were of me in my Delta Force armor, and finally, there were a few photographs of my daughter, the Replicas, and various members of ATC.

After thinking for a moment, I looked back up at the chalkboard. I said, "I think I have to arrange a series of photographs that depict my life in the correct order."

Alma remarked, "Makes sense." She knelt down and helped me go through the photographs. She picked up one that was of my parents before I was born. She asked, "So…I guess that your life begins with them right?" I nodded and took the photo from her gently.

Beside us, Alpha 1 lowered his right hand and offered, "I will place them on the board, sir." I nodded and handed him the first photo. He took it from my grasp and placed it in the first square. Surprisingly, a white light outlined the edges of the square and the photograph remained in place. After going through the pile, I located one that was of me when I was a baby. I handed it to Alpha 1 and he placed it on the board in the next square. Again, a white light outlined the photograph and it stayed in place.

Next, we put up a photograph of Wade Elementary, Alma, me leaving home, me during boot camp, me with my old Delta Force squad, and finally a picture of me with bloodied hands with a burning shantytown behind me. However, when Alpha 1 placed that photograph on the board, it fell to the ground. Puzzled, I reached forward and picked up the image. I turned it over and realized that the date on the back was wrong.

I said aloud, "The date is wrong. The date that my old squad was killed and I killed the entire village to avenge them as well as to rescue the civilian hostages was three weeks before my mission in Fairport." After quickly going through the photos, Alma handed me a similar photograph except the date on the back was correct.

I handed it to Alpha 1 and when he placed it on the board, white light surrounded it and it stayed in place. The remaining photographs were images of my mission in Fairport, the events in the amplifier, Alpha 1, Aristide with Alma before her, the image of my daughter with the correct color of her dress, me shooting the Chief of Operations, Point Man and myself during our fight, the barrage of missiles fired from the ATC submarine, our liberation of Fairport, me beating the senator to death, and various other events leading up to the moment that I entered the house. All the squares had been filled so I stood and waited to see if something would happen. The images dissolved into ash and the ash formed into a message that appeared to be a journal entry dated the day I left home.

It read,

"The little bastard left today…good riddance."

There appeared to be a smudge and then the entry continued with what seemed like a panicked hand,

"I thought I heard someone upstairs. It sounded like a little girl. I went to investigate and I thought I saw the silhouette of a young girl in the shadows when I entered his room but she disappeared before I could do anything. I went to leave the room but she appeared behind me. I started to demand for her to leave but she hurled me up against the wall somehow. While she held me there, she demanded that I 'give him back'. I told her I had no idea who she was talking about but that just made her angry. She yelled that it was my fault that her baby was gone, that she would be back the next night, and that he had better be in his room when she returned. Is she talking about Michael?"

I turned and looked at Alma who looked at me with a frightened expression. I asked her, "Is there something you want to tell me?" She started to say something but instead looked away as if she was ashamed. I knelt down and gently hugged her as I said, "Alma, I hate him. I don't care if you did something to him. Just tell me the truth."

She raised her head up and asked, "You promise you won't be mad?"

I replied, "I promise."

She said quietly, "After you left, I tried to find you. My other babies had been hidden from me after the First Synchronicity Event and I was alone without you. Your memories were erased so, most of the time, you did not recognize me but you never pushed me away. I knew what he did to you so I knew that it was because of him that you were gone. I thought he knew how to get you to come back."

She started to say more, but the metallic screech of the grate blocking the way downstairs moving interrupted her. We made our way out of the room and saw that the grate was nowhere to be found. After going down the steps, we found ourselves blocked from entering the dining room by another grate. The only way we could go was into the nightmare version of my parent's bedroom. The room was empty except for a mannequin at the center of the room that was dressed in an Operation Desert Storm era American soldier outfit.

I recognized it as being my father's from when he served in the U.S. Army. Noticing Alma's confused look, I informed her, "My father served in the 101st Airborne Division and was a decorated soldier. Mary mentioned once that he was never right in the head again after his first deployment. He was declared to be psychologically unfit to serve about the time I was born and was honorably discharged."

Alma asked, "What was wrong with him?"

I replied, "He was more soldier than man. They said he was unable to distinguish between right and wrong. He would follow any order regardless of whom it was that gave it to him or whom it endangered. He would kill anyone that he was ordered to kill. The evaluating doctor proved the point during the hearing by ordering him to terminate himself. My father immediately tried to use his sidearm to shoot himself in the head right there in the hearing room. They actually had to restrain him to prevent him from killing himself until the doctor ordered him to stand down."

She smiled before she commented, "You're just a chip off the old block then."

Appalled, I retorted, "I am nothing like my father!"

A strong and assertive voice caused me to turn back to the mannequin. "Is that so son?"

The mannequin had turned into an apparition of my father when he was in the military. The armored 101st Airborne soldier stood before me and studied my appearance for a moment. Finally, he said, "A Delta Op I see. That's rather impressive, boy."

My eyes narrowed as I replied bitterly, "I am not a boy and I did not become a Delta Force Operative to fucking impress you. You could have rotted for all I cared."

The soldier laughed before he taunted me, "They must have lowered their standards because in my day, your little bitch ass would have never made it past the first cut. That is all you will ever be Michael: a little bitch boy who cannot get out from under the shadow of your old man."

Shaking with anger, I grabbed the soldier's own combat knife from its sheath, stuck it into his chest, and then front kicked him onto the floor. As the apparition looked up at me with a surprised expression, I yelled, "My name is not Michael!"

My right hand grasped the grip of the .44 magnum as I continued, "My name…"

I retrieved the revolver from its holster and held it up near my chest as I continued, "Is…"

I cocked it and continued, "Sergeant…"

I aimed the magnum at the soldier's head as I finished, "Becket!"

I fired the revolver and the mannequin's head exploded. After twirling the revolver in my hand, I stoically returned it to its holster with a satisfied sneer. The mannequin dissolved into ash and the ash formed into another journal entry that was dated the day after the last one.

It read,

"I could not find the little shit at the bus station. He must have already left for boot camp. That little bitch should be showing up here sometime soon and I am going to have a little surprise for her. She thinks that I am someone she can frighten into doing whatever she wants…well, time to show her that there are greater things to fear in this world than her parlor tricks."

I heard the metallic screech of the metal grate outside the room as it moved and exited the room without looking back. The dining room was empty so I proceeded into the living room. There, I found Mary still rocking in her chair despite the change in her surroundings. Shaking my head, I asked her, "What are you still doing here?"

She looked at me but I stepped back a bit when I saw that her eyes had been ripped out. Blood was dripping down her cheeks and onto her Stepford wife attire. As if she was not aware of her injuries, she said, "Michael? Is that you?"

Confused, I looked back at Alma who gestured encouragingly at the woman. I sighed and turned back to talk to her. I replied, "Yes, it is me."

She said, "I never got to tell you how sorry I was for how I treated you. I was a horrible mother…I loved you so much but I never could bring myself to express it. My own son hated me…"

Fighting to keep the sadness out of my voice, I said, "I never hated you Mar…Mother."

She gasped quietly and asked, "What did you call me?" I reached forward with my right hand as I knelt down.

I placed it on her left knee as I said, "I called you Mother."

She sobbed bloody tears as she reached forward with shaking hands and hugged me gently around my neck. I reached up and returned the hug. We held each other in silence for a minute before she said in a broken voice, "I never meant to hurt you Michael."

I replied, "I know."

She begged me in a whisper, "Please, forgive me."

I fought to keep a calm voice as I said, "I got over what you did…a long time ago. I cannot forgive you, but I don't hate you. I love you Mother."

She shook in my arms as she sobbed, but this time, it was not out of sadness. She kissed me on the side of my right cheek as she started to dissolve into ash. Just as she completely dissolved, she said, "Thank you Michael. Mother loved you."

I stood and looked at the empty chair. When Alma walked up and stood beside me, I asked her, "Is that all she wanted? To know that I loved her?"

She looked at me and replied, "In their own way that is all any mother wants."

I looked back at the empty rocking chair to find that the ash had formed into the final fragment of the journal entry.

It read,

"I hear the bitch upstairs. Got my Glock and I am going to get her to leave us alone once and for all-1SG Alex Becket."

I heard a heavy metal door open in the dining room and Alpha 1 called out, "Sir, the door to the basement just opened." Concerned, I ran out the room and into the dining room. It was true: there was an open door that led to a flight of stairs that went down into darkness.

Alpha 1 said, "I didn't see that door when we first swept the house."

I explained, "Because there wasn't a basement." Retrieving my rifle, I slowly descended the stairs. As I descended, the air got hotter and the heavy thundering of machinery got louder. Finally, as the heat became almost unbearable and the sound of the machinery was nearly deafening, I came to a steel door that was molten red. I reached out and touched the doorknob with my left hand. I felt no pain as I turned the knob and pushed the door open.

I was blinded by a bright white light. When my eyesight returned, I found myself in the storage room upstairs except flames surrounded the room instead of walls. I heard cruel laughter and turned to see my father walking through the flames and into the room. I aimed my rifle and started firing rounds into the apparition. Molten red barbwire appeared out of the flames and whipped me across my face before I could activate my reflexes.

I stifled the cry of agony and continued shooting. Alpha 1 appeared beside me and started shooting the nightmare version of my father with his shotgun. Again, our rounds failed to inflict serious damage to the skeleton. Annoyed, I yelled, "What the fuck does it take to get you out of my life?!" Again, barbwire appeared and tried to whip me but this time, Alma appeared and stopped the barbwire.

The skeleton snarled, "Filthy little shit!" Beneath her feet, barbwire appeared and wrapped around her legs. She howled in pain and her cries struck a chord in my mind.

My rational side shut down as the black presence took over. Dropping my assault rifle, I said in a demonic voice, "Let. Her. Go." When the skeleton laughed, I teleported in front of him and grasped him by his neck. As my body was surrounded by a blood red aura, I projected my anger into the apparition. It flailed in pain as I held it in a vice like grip. The bones started cracking as rivers of fire filled the insides of the skeleton. As flames erupted out of the eye sockets, I growled, "You will not hurt my family!" Finally, the apparition completely burst into flames and I threw it into the flames surrounding us. I ran over to Alma's side and asked her in my normal voice, "Are you okay? He didn't hurt you did he?"

She smiled up at me before she assured me, "I am okay. It startled me more than anything." I sighed in relief. Before I could say anything, another bright light overtook my senses. When I regained my eyesight, I found myself in the upstairs hallway where I had been knocked out by the apparition of my father. I pushed myself to my feet and helped Alpha 1. When I glanced around, I noticed the house was normal again. The skeleton was not the supply room, and I did not detect anything unusual in the house. Alma materialized at the head of the stairs with a smile on her face. I slung my rifle onto my back and headed towards her.

We went downstairs and I noticed that the rocking chair in the living room was empty. Exiting the house through the front door, I walked over to the garage that sat at the end of the driveway. I used my psychic abilities to open the door and entered the garage. My mother's Cadillac CTS and my father's Hummer H1 sat parked next to each other. Alma giggled as she stood in front of the Hummer. I looked over at her from where I was at the back of the garage. She asked with a raised eyebrow, "A Hummer?"

I shrugged before I replied, "I never said that they had any taste." I located the two five gallon gasoline tanks that my father kept to run the yard equipment and two empty beer glass bottles. I found an old cotton rag and ripped it into two pieces. I filled the bottles with gasoline, soaked the two strips of cotton, and stuck the pieces of cloth into the bottles. I emptied the remaining contents of the first container into the interiors of the vehicles. I left the remaining container on the workbench against the far wall.

I handed one of the Molotov cocktails to Alpha 1 and said, "Let's burn it down." He nodded and we walked to the front of opposite vehicles. Using the butts of our weapons, we shattered the front windshields of our respective vehicle. After lighting the chords, we threw our cocktail into the interior of the vehicles. We quickly retreated from the building and ran over to the waiting APC.

Within seconds, the vehicles were ablaze. Within minutes, the fire had spread to the main building. Morales exited the APC and stood beside us. As the fire spread through the house, Manny commented, "Nicely done man."

I laughed briefly before I replied, "Thanks." We watched the house burn to the ground. By the time dawn was approaching, the house was nothing but a smoldering ruin. Though I hated to admit it, I did fell liberated in a way as Morales drove us back to the base in the harbor. More importantly, I had prevented the end of the world. Now, all that was left was Carson Salyers and the rest of ATC.