Relocation Factor

Chapter Seven: Echoes

*Author's note: Sorry this one took so long. The holidays and the month before were a really busy time for me. I'm glad to get this chapter out of the way, because now we can start getting to the meat and potatoes of the story. Thanks to all of you for your support and reviews. For a first time author, getting so many nice comments and people bookmarking my story is a real honour. Anyway, enjoy.

Bren stood and immediately turned to face Applejack. She flinched slightly upon seeing him at his full height, but she stood brave nonetheless. Taking care, he slowly stepped forward, retrieved his items and put them back on. He needed to talk. But not here.

"Outside, Applejack," he commanded, softly but with urgency. "Please." The two walked outside, Bren taking care to shut the door behind him. He took a single step to the left of the door and then sank down, placing himself against the tree trunk. "There's nothing to say. Apologies won't be enough. Just say what you have to say to me." He looked down at the ground between his legs, awaiting her harsh response.

"Bren, it's clear to me that something happened to you. Something that I don't understand." Bren buried his head further. "I know that wasn't you today. I know that's not who you are. That's someone else. But all the same…listen to me, sugar cube." Bren brought his head up and looked at her. "Twilight was right. You do need help. Now I know you think there's nopony here that can help you, but you're wrong. We all can. We all want to, and we all will."

Bren attempted to smile. He had no idea what his attempt looked like, but he took solace in the fact that the thought was there. "Thanks. But I doubt you can. It's complex. And it's all on me. No one can help you but yourself."

"I don't believe that, Bren." Applejack retorted.

"Believe it," Bren said slightly more agitated than before. "You haven't seen what I have. Bodies. Some missing parts of themselves. Just everywhere. Wounded men screaming for help. But you can't help them because if you stand up, you'll get hit or you'll step on the same thing they did." He swallowed and thought about his first brush with death years ago. His fire team partner had tripped an improvised explosive, killing him and showering Bren with hot shrapnel. "I remember getting blown up. Just feeling the life draining out of you while the world goes to hell. None of that shit goes away. You keep it with you forever. We all fight our own war against it. Today I lost." He shifted his gaze back to the ground. "I lost hard."

Applejack looked to be in a state of limbo between tears and utter shock. "Where…where do you come from?" This place he was from sounded far worse than anything Nightmare Moon could have possibly unleashed on Equestria.

"Somewhere very far away." Bren replied flatly. Without saying another word he rose and went back inside, saying not a single word to the other ponies staring at him. Grabbing the bag of soaps and towels, he headed back off to his pond and waterfall. This time he just stood under the rushing waters, hoping the force of them would strip all of the hatred, sorrow, anger and regret clean from him. He hoped the water would just strip the flesh right off of his bones and leave him to at least die somewhere peaceful. Alas, the currents of the water weren't enough to end his life or strip any of the terrible feelings from his mind. With The Dream of two nights before and now this, it seemed as though his past had its hands around his neck, and was slowly tightening the grip.

Towelling off and redressing himself, he slumped onto the surprisingly warm grass, adopting the familiar position of cradling his head in his hands. The sound of whooshing wings slowing a descent to the ground barely even warranting his attention shifting. A familiar raspy voice rang out, a few inches from his head by the sound of it.

"Bren, Twilight just told me about what happened. Are…are you okay?" Rainbow Dash asked, clearly at a loss for words.

"You tell me if I fucking look okay," retorted Bren, still staring into the abyss he had created with his arms.
The pony let out a huff. "There's no need to be rude. I was just asking if you were okay."

"You're not too good at observation, are you, Dash? I tend not to ask questions I already know the answer to." Again he refused to budge his head from its cradle.

"Look, why don't you just come back with me to Twilight's house and we can all talk about this?"
Bren growled in frustration. "I've told the lot of you a dozen fucking times that you can't fix shit like this by talking about your feelings. At best it takes years of therapy to get over. Most of the time it stays with you forever. Worst case…" he gulped. "…You end it. Blow your brains out or jump off something high." He exhaled and lifted his head slightly. "Doesn't sound like too bad an option right now."

Rainbow Dash paused. "But why?" she asked, still not fully understanding. "Why can't you just try to come and talk? What are you so afraid of, for Celestia's sake?"

Bren violently shot his head upright and pointed his finger at her like a pistol, causing her to flinch. "I…" And then his head sank. He had no answer for her. "I don't know what I'm afraid of. Besides, if I were Applejack, I'd be less than comfortable around the guy that came inches away from cutting my neck open."

He felt the familiar gesture of a hoof resting on his shoulder. "That's where you're wrong, Bren. She isn't. She told me before I came to get you that she knows it wasn't you today that attacked her. She told me she wants to help you in any way she can. So please, just come back and talk with us. For me?" She smiled a faint smile.

Bren hesitated, and then stood and dusted himself off. "Lead on," he said flatly. After a few minutes of silent walking, with Bren paying particular interest to the ground and his own boots, they arrived back at Twilight's oak tree home. He opened the door to see that all of the ponies were seated in a circle. Rarity, looking particularly distraught had joined them, and Pinkie Pie's bouncy optimism was notably absent by the stone cold look on her face. Bren unceremoniously walked up to the circle and sat down with a thud.

"Right," he said immediately. "If I have to talk, I'm going to start from the beginning. And I hate being interrupted, savvy?" The ponies nodded in agreement. "Good. Well, where do I begin? I wasn't always a soldier. I was a pretty normal kid, I guess. Mom was a bank manager, dad was a cop." He sensed a slight air of confusion, so he clarified. "Police officer. Kinda like soldiers but they only stay in their country, and rather than fighting enemies they enforce the law." He smiled fondly. "Everyone told me I was a smart kid. I always was a bit of a bookworm. Good at physics, math, chemistry, all the geeky stuff. Of course, parents are always parents. They see me bringing home good report cards and boom, they have their mind set that I'm going to be a doctor, or a lawyer or an architect or something. But I had other plans. I wanted to be a cop. I wanted to be like Dad. When I told them, midway through high school, it was a bit of a shock. Everyone tried to dissuade me, told me about the shit pay, the long hours, the lack of a social life. But I didn't listen. I knew it was just ways of changing my mind. The only one that stood by me was Dad. So I decided on the best of both worlds. I went to college, got myself a general science degree and then made straight for the Vancouver police as soon as the degree was framed on my wall.

"Dad was proud. So damned proud. Everyone else was stuck in that sort of, 'I'm happy because you're happy' and 'Well if it's what you really want then congratulations' phase, but Dad was over the moon. He knew that I'd make a good cop, and he was honoured that out of all the things I chose to do, I picked following in his footsteps. I made it through the academy, and on graduation day, Dad gave me this." He stood and walked over to his chest rig, and pulled the back-up pistol he always carried from the front. An old Colt Police Positive Special, a .38 revolver issued to law enforcement in the 1900s all the way up until the '80s. "It was Dad's old six shooter from when he was walking the beat. Of course, I never used the thing. Still to this day I only fired it at the range. The police gave me a better gun, and the army issued me more than enough. Still, I kept it close because it still felt like Dad was there." He held the gun and chuckled at the memory, before his face turned grim.

"One night I was investigating a case. A rape." Seeing further confusion, this one he refused to clarify. "A horrible crime. Worse than killing. It was a young girl, barely eighteen. I promised her parents I'd bring them justice. Anyway, we go to the suspect's house, and he takes off. My partner calls for backup to secure the scene, and he and I take off after the guy. He loses my partner, but not me. I followed him into this alley. I caught up to him and managed to get him to the ground. I was expecting him to look sad or defeated, but he just smiled. He said 'You still haven't won yet, pig,' and kept grinning at me. I knew what he meant. He knew there wouldn't be enough evidence to stick him, at least not for a long sentence like he deserved. He hires the right lawyer and gets just three years for ruining her life. I'd seen it a hundred times before. Anyway, I just…lost it. I had him there right under me, and I wanted to make him suffer. So I deck him right in the chops, but he keeps smiling. So I hit him again. I smack him a few more times before my partner caught up and yanked me off him. We tossed him in the car and the driver took him away, but he still smiled the whole time. Back at his apartment, there wasn't a whole lot of evidence. Some stuff, but nothing to really stick a case. Then my partner gets an idea.

"He says that if we move some stuff around, and plant some evidence we got at the original scene, that greaseball lawyer of his would have a way harder time. I thought about it. I really wanted to, and I almost did. But up until then, I'd been a clean cop. I'd already put the case in jeopardy by roughing him up, and I didn't want to risk getting fingered on this as well. A few weeks later at the trial, the lawyer pulls the excessive force card on me, and sure enough, there wasn't enough at the apartment to pin him. He got off with a minor assault charge and 12 months of probation. The sheriff took him out back, and he hit me with that grin again. I knew that if I had just listened to my partner…we could have nailed him. That girl's parents were at the trial. I couldn't bear to speak to them. I broke my promise. I failed." Bren hung his head. "Things went downhill after that. I only got a minor disciplinary warning. No one at the department was angry at me. Neither was the public. Hell, they told me I should have hit him harder. My folks weren't angry. Dad certainly wasn't angry. But I knew I had failed. I wanted to go somewhere else. Somewhere where there wasn't so much God damned grey. By chance, on my way home one evening, I had to take a detour and passed the army recruitment centre. I thought that would be a prime place to escape to. The next morning I filled out the paperwork and spent the next five months doing the tests. When I got accepted and got my basic training dates, I handed in my notice to leave for the cops. This time, nobody said they were happy that I was doing what I wanted. Dad just said, 'Good luck.'

"I did my training with the army. All the while, Dad's health started to go downhill. A few months later I got called to Afghanistan. A few months into the tour, I get a letter from Mom, saying that he's dying. I try to get leave, but they tell me that we're relieving a group in some backwater forward operating base for a few months. I tell Mom I can't come, and that I'll be on the first plane over once we get relieved and I can get my deployment leave. Sure enough, the time comes and I get home. Then I find out: Dad has been dead for three weeks. Mom blames me. She blames everything on me. It wasn't my fault, and I think now that deep down she knew that. But she needed something or someone to blame."

Rarity broke the silence with a melodramatic-sounding sob. Quivering with emotion, she struggled to spit out a sentence. "Bren…that's…that's the saddest story I've ever heard! Oh, you poor thing!" She flung herself onto him in a sloppy hug. Before falling on her back and sobbing some more. Fluttershy's voice broke through the crying.

"Bren. What happened to your father isn't your fault."

"She's right, sugar cube. There's nothing you could have done." Applejack said.

"So then what happened?" Asked Rainbow Dash.

"Well, from there I went back to Afghan, went home, and kept in touch with my mother through Christmas and birthday cards. But then those stopped. Then I went back to Afghan again. Got blown up. Healed. Tried out for special forces. Got in. Started working for Joson, and, well, you all know the story from there." He took a deep breath. "Sometimes I think that if I hadn't roughed that guy up, or if I'd taken the advice and planted evidence at his home, none of this would have happened. I'm sure Joson probably would have sent some saps off to find his magic box, and one would get stuck here, or get killed, or whatever. But it wouldn't have been me. And I'd never see all those horrible things. And I wouldn't have had to go through the pain of getting injured. And maybe Dad would have lived a few years more, or at least I'd have been there to say goodbye. And we'd all still be a happy family. Hell, I'd probably be pretty high up in the police by now. Maybe have settled down, with a wife, kids, who knows? Things could have been a lot different." He finally stopped and took a deep breath. He noticed Rarity had stopped sobbing, at least not as loudly. His train of thought was interrupted by Twilight, whom he saw had a large book in front of her.

"Bren, I think I know just how to help." Her horn glowed again and the book shut.

Bren was confused, and a little pissed off. "I'm sorry, you still haven't clarified exactly how you're going to help me. I spend the last ten minutes pouring out my life story, and I still feel like shit, no better than when I started. What can you possibly do to help me?"

Twilight grinned. "Oh, we can't help you. But we know just the pony who can. If you can call her that. We're taking a trip into the Everfree Forest!"

xxxxx

Bren trudged through the dense woods of the forest, closely following Twilight and the rest of the ponies. His rifle was at the low ready; when he saw the forest and heard of what sort of creatures dwelled within, he insisted on going armed. He pushed into the forest with them after grabbing his rifle and a spare magazine, leaving the rest of his kit for time's sake. He scanned the darkness of the woods, his eyes just above his EOTech sight, observing the blackness and jumping at every movement. In spite of the day's events, Fluttershy remained glued to his side, seemingly more terrified of the forest than he was. When he told her to get behind him to reassure her, she was all too glad.

Finally, they reached their destination: an oddly shaped hut deep in the bowels of the forest. Bren scanned around the house with his weapon to verify it was safe. Twilight rapped on the door, which was soon answered by a zebra with bright earrings on her ear.

"Twilight Sparkle! And her friends, I see! Tell me, what brings you here to me?" Bren recognized the accent. Definitely African. Likely Swahili.

"It's good to see you too, Zecora. This is our friend Bren MacMillan. He has a problem we think you can help with."

"Pleased to meet you, Mister Bren. A companion of these ponies shall also be my friend."

"Good to meet you too, Zecora."

"I have never before seen the species of this male. Tell me Bren, from where do you hail?"

"I'm from a place called Earth, the country of Canada," he answered nervously. He felt cheesy; it sounded like the dialogue from a bad '60s sci fi flick.

"I am not familiar with this word, and of this country I have not heard. But come inside, my new friend. I shall see if I can make your troubles end." The group entered the hut, and Twilight pulled Zecora to the side, discussing what was wrong. Bren slung his rifle and took in his surroundings. It reminded him of when he visited Bratislava with Budapest. It was like a gypsy hut. Strange cauldrons and plant life adorned the walls, and strange charms were strewn about. He heard the clop of hooves as the zebra approached him.

"Twilight has told me of your tales, and I think I can cure you of your ails." Bren nodded along, advancing through the strange rap she seemed to speak in. "Your problem is your troubled past. I will help you move past it at last. A potion, I shall create to help you atone for your troubled fate." She moved towards a large cauldron. Grabbing bizarre items and dropping them in, she outlined the alien recipe for Bren. "A pinch of Coldleaf I will add, to combat your memories so sad. A teaspoon of rock lizard heart, to soothe the conflict tearing you apart. A dash of yellow brandiwine, to give you a peace most divine. A scraping from enchanted rock, to keep your tendencies in stock. The next ingredients must come from thee. Are you prepared to give them to me?"

Bren scratched the back of his head. "Uh, sure. Go to town."

Zecora nodded and slinked behind him. "We will need a dash of blood from behind your mane, to show the potion who must be tamed." He felt a sharp sensation drag behind his ear, as Zecora came back into his field of vision, holding a pin with a drop of his blood on it, which promptly fell into the concoction. "And lastly we need something only you can give. Something you have used as long as you have lived. I need you to shirk something from your bizarre line of work. Something you have depended on, to keep you safe and strong. Something unbeknownst to us, but to keep you alive, use it you must."

Bren thought for a second. This would have been a lot easier if she didn't speak in battle rap riddles. He shifted his body, bringing his arm to his chin to think. The sway of his body caused his rifle to slam against his back. Then it hit him. "I've got it!" said Bren. He grabbed the charging handle on his rifle and racked it to the rear. A round ejected from the chamber, and Bren bent over to retrieve it. Unscrewing the bullet from the shell casing, he took a gulp and dumped the powder into the concoction, causing a small cloud of smoke to erupt. He peered into the cauldron, and rubbed his eyes in disbelief. In the murky water he could see shapes. Moving. And they almost looked like…his past. He could see Budapest get shot. Craig thrown against the wall. Dad withering away in his bed. The shrapnel from the IED ripping into him.

Zecora came over and poured the cauldron into what looked like a steel thermos, sealing it and handing it to Twilight. "Give him this and let him rest. Soon his condition will be at best." She turned to face Bren. "This will make your nightmares fade, but first through their waters you must wade. They shall be cast into the fray, but first they must be burned away. After Bren, no ill shall remain. But be warned, it shall cause you great pain."

Bren grinned. "That's fine. Pain and me are old buddies."

Twilight ushered him out of the house as he nonchalantly waved goodbye to the zebra. "I think this might help you. Zecora can fix near anything."

"I hope so, Twi." The ponies all stood in silence before heading back towards Ponyville. "Let's go," said Twilight. Bren was in no position to argue. He trudged back through the forest, a familiarly terrified Fluttershy at his side, until they reached the oak tree. Bren, not knowing what to think anymore, went inside and awaited the pony's directions. "Bren, Zecora wanted me to check and make sure you're ready for this."

"I'll be as ready as I'll ever be," said Bren.

"Well, I hope for everypony's sake that you're right. It says that you have to lie somewhere comfortable, drink it, and it will do the rest." Bren walked across the room, popped the magazine from his rifle, ejected the round in the chamber and reloaded it into the mag. He didn't want to accidentally grip the trigger and discharge during his throes of supposed pain. He removed his leg rig and laid it next to the rifle. Sighing and mentally preparing himself for whatever came next, he removed his boots, his kneepad and emptied his pockets, placing their contents on the table. A tin of chewing tobacco, his beret, the headlamp, and an assortment of pens and notepads were laid in a neat pile. With the ponies watching, he removed his tunic and laid down on the bed they made for him. Grabbing the thermos from Twilight, he unscrewed the cap and sniffed the concoction, nearly passing out in the process. It smelled like someone dumped a dead body in castor oil. Squeezing his eyes shut and pinching his nose, he downed the liquid in a few hearty gulps.

Bren nearly vomited. It was horrible. It tasted twice as bad as it smelled. Bren hacked and gagged at the awful taste. And then something happened. Bren suddenly felt drowsy. He felt his head hit the pillow and everything went dark as the six watching ponies faded from his field of vision. Again he was alone, safe for the sound of his own breathing. Then he saw colours begin to form. Simple ones, at first. Blue. Green. Red. They soon formed into more complex hues. Then they started to take shape. A man in a crisp blue uniform was talking to two others, a man and a woman. Then Bren recognized it. It was himself, years ago. He was talking to the rape victim's parents. The figures zoomed up to Bren's field of vision, where if they were any close Bren probably could have tasted them. They looked into the young Bren's eyes. And said nothing. They didn't need to. Their eyes said it all.

"Bring justice for our daughter," said the eyes of the father.

"I promise I will," said the eyes of young Bren. As the uniformed officer silently walked away, Bren screamed at the top of his lungs at the apparitions before him, as a burning pain seemed to crawl through every nerve in his body.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" he screamed in both emotion and agony. But the man and the woman just silently watched as the uniformed officer left. It burned. It burned and Bren wanted to tear up. But then their forms disappeared, wafting away like smoke. Something else started to form. This time it was a bleak landscape, marred with ancient buildings and a beige mountain range in the unreachable distance. Heat suddenly smothered Bren, as more shapes began to form. As a sudden weight burdened his frame, more men appeared in front of him, and he realised where he was: Afghanistan. He recognized the destroyed building to his left and realised it was his second tour. His eyes focused on the man in front of him, and he read the name written in Sharpie on the drag handle of his chest rig: CALDWELL. "No," he said. "Not this. Not again. Please, no." Caldwell looked back at Bren to ensure he and the rest of the patrol was still behind him. Stumbling slightly due to the uneven terrain, he stepped wide to regain his balance. A click resonated quietly, yet loud enough for every man in the patrol to hear. "Caldwell! Jamie! No!" screamed Bren at the top of his lungs.

And then fire. Caldwell was engulfed in a massive fireball. Hot shrapnel flew from the explosion, pelting Bren all across his body. The scars left by them from all those years ago seared white hot now. Every one of them. Bren was lying on his back while the patrol medic ran forward and began to tend to him. He croaked out a single word.

"Jamie," the medic just looked at the ground and continued working. And Bren wept again. The tears this time were what burned, leaving sizzling patches of flesh all down the sides of his face. This image began to fade too. Soon another one came to replace it. This one was a rifle. Held in Bren's own hands. He saw another person to his right and glanced at it. It was Craig. The smell of sterile air dried his nostrils. He looked to the front. And there stood Joson. He looked demonic this time, with cat-like eyes and a wavy form, as though it was distorted by heat waves from the fires of Hell itself. Then came that smile. That sinister, Cheshire cat smile. It stretched unnaturally from one end of his devil-like face to the other. Each tooth taunted Bren as Joson's arm reached down and pressed the button, activating STARLIGHT. The high pitched whine from the device burned Bren's ears. "You fucker! You fucking traitor! I'll gut you like a fucking pig, you hear me? I'll rip you limb from limb! You fucking liar! We trusted you! We fucking trusted you!" The whine reached it's climax, sending out a force that shot Bren into the wall. He looked over to see Craig fly against the wall across from him and slam into it hard, causing his neck to jerk violently and his head to smash against the wall with dangerous force. "Craig!" He screamed. And then everything went white.

"Stop it! Stop it all! I want to stop! I don't want to do this anymore! Make it go away! Anyone, please! Zecora! Twilight! Make it go away!" Then out of the featureless white came another shape. Again, the smell of sterile air. Bren didn't immediately recognize this place. A bed sat in the centre of the room. Then Bren knew what this place was. "Please, no. Not this. Please." He hadn't been here before, but he knew what it was all too well. An old man lay in the bed, tubes and machines connected to him. "Dad." Next to him were four seats. His mother was in the first. His uncle in the second. His wife, Bren's aunt, sat in the third. The fourth one was empty. It was to be his. His father didn't move; he was in a deep coma, heavily sedated. Bren's mother grasped his hand gently. Setting it down, she and the other family members left the room. Once the door clicked shut, his father moved his head. It lolled limply from one side of his neck to the other, and now the sedated, dead look in his comatose father's eyes stared directly at Bren. This time, no burning, no pain. Just tears.

"Dad, I'm so sorry. I wanted to come see you. I…I tried. Dad, I just want you to be proud of me. I tried my best at everything, but it wasn't good enough. I just want you to be proud. I wish you were still here, Dad. You could see how I've gotten stronger. I…I love you, Dad. Goodbye." And then the image of his father disappeared. And Bren wept. He wept for what seemed like days. Until there were no more tears to come out. And then everything felt different. Like he was in freefall. Weightless. The burning pain was gone. He saw light breaking through the darkness that filled his vision. Suddenly, there were voices. Ones he knew.

"You said something was amiss. Tell me, how long has he been like this?"

"For two full nights now. It's been terrible, Zecora. He was screaming and weeping all day and all night. None of us could get any sleep. How long does this usually take?"

"It depends on the nature of the host, but a few hours at the very most." His eyes shot wide open and met with the familiar oak roof of Twilight's home. Absentmindedly, he sat up, gaze still clumsily fixed forward. He felt different. He still remembered all the horrible things he had been through. But now, they didn't hurt anymore. Jamie was gone. The criminal had gotten away. Craig and his team were gone. Dad was gone. But it didn't hurt now. Now he just felt like he needed to keep going. He felt…free.

"Bren! You're awake!" exclaimed Twilight.

"My friend! Is there any change in you to show?" asked Zecora. Bren smiled and completed her rhyme.

"I think I've finally let it all go."