Brandon woke with a jolt, choking so hard that he felt like he couldn't breathe. When he opened his eyes to pitch darkness, the small wave of panic turned into a tsunami. He tried to take a normal breath, but it seemed that all of the air had fled from his lungs.
The man fought free from the blankets that were smothering the life out of him. Through the terror of his blindness coupled with his inability to breathe, he jerked too forcefully. Brandon felt himself falling seconds before he crashed to the floor. A shockwave of pain lit through his right arm from the way that he instinctively tried to catch himself.
In a flash, he was transported back to cold cement, the confined space, and the never-ending chills that wracked his body even when he felt too weak to shiver. Paralysis had taken over, and he was helpless to move his arm from the position in which it was trapped beneath him.
Dread leaped up in his chest as he heard the sound of the door opening. The door never meant anything good. The door could only mean freezing, or beating, or…worse.
It was impossible to steel himself for what was coming, or to ward off the impending attack. His mind was pressing him to choose fight or flight, but Brandon couldn't do either. There was no hope of fighting with or overcoming his captors, and escape was a futile dream. Instead he lay limply on the floor, waiting for whatever punishment had been dreamed up this time.
"Brandon?"
The soft voice didn't register with him at first, but then light from the hallway spilled into the bedroom, revealing the familiar form of a friend.
"Bran, what happened to your light?"
He knew it was Caleb this time, but he couldn't answer him. Air came in shallow gasps as he tried to swallow the terror that had erupted so suddenly. The bespectacled man strode into the room, and bent over Brandon as he tried to get himself under control.
"Are you okay?" Caleb refrained from touching him, but was still hovering closely enough to make Brandon feel uncomfortable.
The bronze-haired man drew in a long deep breath, refusing to make eye contact with his friend. "Yeah. I landed on my arm the wrong way, but I don't think I'm hurt."
"Your right one?" Caleb asked.
Brandon tried to sit up unsuccessfully; his muscles still felt like they were locked up.
Caleb tentatively reached to help him. Let's get you up, okay?" he offered. "We can have a look at that arm, and figure out what's wrong with your light."
Brandon's legs felt shaky as Caleb partially supported him to the side of the bed.
"Are you still experiencing any pain in your arm?
"There's some soreness, but it's not like it was before. I'm sure it's fine."
"Marcus should take a quick look to be sure, don't you think?"
Brandon began to object, but then shut his mouth. They'll badger me to no end now that I mentioned it. I have to let Marc see it. His breathing wasn't normal, but at least his chest felt like it was working. He focused solely on creating a regular rhythm while he waited for the dark-haired doctor to join them in the room that had reminded him far too much of his former cell.
He didn't raise his head until he heard someone else enter the room.
"Hey, Brandon." Marc's typically soothing voice was even more gentle than usual. "I won't make this invasive, all right? Do you mind?"
He shook his head. While the doctor was carefully probing his shoulder, Katherine slipped in from the hallway.
"Hi, Bro," she greeted him casually. "Your light bulb probably burned out. I'm just going to check that first."
Brandon nodded mutely at her, then looked at Marcus. "It doesn't really hurt. Does it feel normal to you?"
Marcus smiled reassuringly. "You're all right. You didn't hit anything else, did you?"
Brandon shook his head again, and flinched away from Marcus when he tried to rest an arm on his shoulder.
The dark-haired doctor backed up a step. "How can I help, Brandon?"
"I'm fine," he emphasized. "I just needed to catch my breath. I'm okay now."
"All right." Marcus backtracked further to the door.
The large lamp in the corner flickered back to life, and Katherine approached the side of the bed. Brandon remained motionless as the woman dropped down beside him. Though she didn't speak, he knew exactly what his sister wanted, and he felt a lump forming in his throat.
It isn't enough to have to live with this crap; I'm supposed to sing a song about it too. When will they figure out that I'll come to them when I'm ready?
"Y'know, Bran…if you keep doing the same thing, you can expect the same result. If there's any chance that you're willing to break with your pattern, I'm here," she told him finally.
Brandon gazed at the woman, hating the earnest concern in her eyes. I'm sick of being the focus of everyone else's worry. They might lay off a little if I talked, but for how long? If I unleash the flood, what happens next? When does it stop? Do I have to tell them everything? Is it okay to hold anything back? I'm not feeling this tonight. I'm really not.
"Kat, it's late," he faltered.
She shook her head. "Neither of us have anywhere to be, Brandon."
"I'm not in the right frame of mind to do this. I'm sorry. I'm not trying to push you away."
"You have to let someone in," she insisted. "It's that much harder to bear because you do it alone, Bran!"
"I'm not alone. You're all here, and I'm doing the best I can, Kat. Please don't lecture me. I don't need to hear that."
Katherine stood. "I'm not trying to lecture you; I'm trying to save you. But you can't be rescued if you don't want to be."
"I've been doing better," he said defensively. "I'll get there. Give me a chance, Kat."
"You keep saying that, Bran. I don't know why you won't just give in. It would make things easier on you."
"I don't have the energy to argue with you."
"Whatever you say, Brandon." The woman swept out of the room so quickly that it startled him.
He pursued her to the door, but stayed behind the frame when he heard someone else call out to Katherine.
"Are you all right?" he heard Jazz ask the woman.
"It's nothing less than I expected," Kat replied stiffly.
"You're doing the right thing by keeping on him."
"It doesn't feel like it. Pushing him only seems to make him retreat further."
"No, Kat. You can't back down, okay? Take it from someone who knows."
Brandon's brow creased as he allowed the door to silently shut the rest of the way.
Jazz rolled over for what felt like the hundredth time. She couldn't find a comfortable spot on the pull-out couch in the Lounge tonight. Truthfully, she preferred to be a night-owl, but interacting with people during the day meant being forced to sleep at night. How long can I stay down here, she wondered. Would it make a difference to anyone on the surface if they never saw me again? Disappearing isn't entirely a bad thing.
Jazz settled onto her back, and flopped her right arm over her head. Am I crazy for staying? Out of my mind for hiding underground with these weird people? She heaved a sigh. It's more interesting than what I was doing.
The young woman was mid-yawn when there was a knock on the door. Jazz sat up in the semi-darkness. "Who is it?"
The door opened before an answer was delivered. She was surprised to see Brandon, and the man didn't look happy. His bronze hair looked scruffier than normal with a couple of patches sticking up in places.
He's still cute when he's mad. I wonder what he's doing here. The man had yet to come and visit her inside the Lounge since she'd arrived.
"What's up, Brandon?" she asked cautiously. "Are you just gonna stand there?"
"Where do you get off giving people advice about me?" His voice was controlled, but it possessed an angry undercurrent.
Jazz hesitated as she considered a suitable answer. "It's not really advice, Brandon, more like encouragement. I'm not trying to tell anyone what to do; only to keep doing what they have been."
"It's unnecessary," he said shortly. "And it's not your business. Why do you feel like you have to say anything?"
Jazz bit her lip as she cast both legs over the side of the mattress. She pointed to the other couch against the opposite wall. "Sit down, Brandon."
"I'm asking for a straight answer."
"Man, sit down and shut up. I'm gonna answer your question, but I have to tell you a story first."
Brandon looked irritated, but followed her across the room.
"You'll have to forgive me for speaking out of place, Brandon, but there are reasons that I feel like I can't be silent." A self-conscious feeling spread over her as she exhaled. "Growing up in the Army wasn't a bad life, but it was complicated sometimes. That goes double for someone who had a difficult time fitting into new places, and there were a lot of new places. My dad was moving up in the world, and that translated into several moves.
"My older brother James was pretty much the only thing that kept me sane. He was five years older than me, but sometimes it felt more like we were twins. We were close. I wasn't the pest or the annoying kid sister. At least, he never treated me like one. All of my courage to rebel and be my own person in those days came from him."
Jazz chuckled at the mental image as a younger, blonder version of her brother entered her mind. "He was my idol. I wanted to do everything like him. I tried to be more physical because he was physical, but I didn't have the coordination for sports. He told me it was better for me to be myself than to try and be like him. I never...meshed well with normal kids. It wasn't for a lack of trying; I've just always been different, even when I was young. James was one of the only people who ever 'got' me, if you know what I'm saying. I could always count on him.
"He'd just graduated from college the same year as 9/11…and he walked away from job opportunities to enlist in the Army. He ended up getting sent to Afghanistan."
Brandon appeared to sense that the story was going somewhere. "What happened to him, Jazz?"
"About halfway through his deployment, his unit came under heavy losses. A single roadside bomb killed several men from his team. He got messed up too, but James survived. Got sent home to recover after that."
"You must have been relieved to get him back."
"I was. I thought it was a miracle that he'd made it. But it took no time at all to realize that he was different." She focused on a particular portion of the frayed rug, and said nothing for several seconds.
"Jazz?" Brandon said softly.
"I thought it was related to his physical injuries at first. My dad said he needed time to heal properly, but I was more worried about where he was mentally. James was incredibly depressed and withdrawn. He barely spoke to anyone while he was in the hospital. I thought it would be different when he came home, like he might magically come back to life.
"Of course, that didn't happen. He was just as quiet as ever, unless someone said or did the wrong thing. His temper could flare up in an instant. James was nothing like the controlled, confident, loving brother I'd grown up with. I wanted him to be normal, but I also knew it couldn't happen overnight.
"Still, as weeks turned to months, I got impatient. There were times when I felt like he was so close to turning some corner, and being my old brother. I got tired of him hiding, and I started pushing him just to get some reaction. His anger was a frightening force. It got physical enough to scare me, and my dad told me to lay off of him. So I did. I let him be, and assumed James would come around in time."
Jazz swallowed as emotion threatened, and she looked away from Brandon again.
"What happened to him? I have to know," Brandon urged.
"He left," she answered. "Packed a bag, and disappeared into Tongass National Forest in Alaska."
"But what happened to him, Jazz?"
She shook her head. "I don't know. It's been eight years since anyone has seen him, and…I gave him up as dead a couple of years ago."
"Do I remind you of him?"
"In some ways, yes." She held unflinching eye contact with him for the first time since he'd entered the room. "I wish I would have kept pushing James. I wish I wouldn't have left him to his own devices. If I could go back, if I could change it, I would."
Brandon shifted on the couch. "I'm sorry about your brother. I understand where you're coming from, but…I'm not running away. I couldn't, even if I wanted to. These guys have me chipped. Donny would track me down in a heartbeat," he said lightly.
"In all seriousness though, you're never going to start healing until you open up a little more," Jazz said bluntly.
The man sitting beside her looked defeated. "It's so much easier said than done."
"Brandon, I've seen what Post Traumatic Stress looks like, in the lives of other soldiers and my own brother. Somehow you've maintained humor and a sense of hope in spite of everything, and it really sets you apart from them."
Brandon chuckled. "If it wasn't for my family, I don't think I'd be here. They're the ones who helped me keep some shred of sanity."
"Then trust them to carry part of this burden."
"They've been carrying me. The guys already blame themselves for everything that happened. I really don't want them to deal with what I have to live with. I don't have a choice; I can't escape it." He turned away from her, but not before she saw the tears in his eyes.
"You don't have a choice," she told him. "You can't do this alone. You've got a tough family, Brandon. They can handle it. The question is, will you force yourself to unload it?"
He shook his head. "They're never going to shut up until I do," he muttered.