We're going back to Mid-World. Somehow, that feels right, like there's a part of me that really does belong there. Maybe there is. I can't help feeling like all these stacked up worlds are reflections of something truer. That doesn't mean that the reflections aren't real--I'm real, so are Carrie and that other James--but it's all connected. Perhaps that's why Ashleigh kept connecting me to the Eden who fell--because she and I are connected somehow.
It's a creepy thought.
I think the Rose is one of the true things--no, I know that it is. You just have to be near it to know that. I don't envy James--I hope that someday he can walk right up to the Rose and feel that sense of rightness. He's changed so much in the short time I've known him. Hell, we all have. But his is the longest path to walk, because he fell the furthest. I'm so glad he has Penny to give him a hand. And Carrie? Perhaps. There's something there, I feel it, but we'll see which way ka blows us.
I think we're better prepared for Mid-World this time. I hope we are. No, I won't let myself slide back into that cycle of doubt. It's too easy to get caught up in worrying about failing, so easy to look right past the things that need seeing.
I can't believe how close I was to giving up. I'm glad I talked to Carrie. I'm still worried, but I feel much clearer. Lighter. And I can see the path ahead of us. I just have to press on.
Press on for one more victory in the name of the White. Press on for the Tower, and the Rose.
For myself.
For everyone.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Saturday, April 5, 2008
You Don't Know How It Feels
Eden was restless, and she didn't know what to do about it. They'd been back in New York for only a day, but it seemed like a lifetime. After the constant pace of Mid-World, just relaxing seemed like a waste of time and energy. In her own world, she never had the time to relax. There was always something to do--extra shifts at the hospital, volunteering at clinics in the slums , or helping in the homeless shelters.
Too many of the men on the streets were men she might have served with in the war. Missing limbs, haunted eyes, and empty faces blurred, so that they all might have been one man. One man she could never really help, one man who was always hungry, always cold, always dirty.
Was that why she'd failed Fuzz? Eden had thought he was safe in the hospital, safe where he had medicine and food and shelter. He hadn't been, of course, and the doctors all told her that no one had known; they'd have put him on suicide watch, taken away the shoelaces he used to hang himself and upped the calming medicines they fed him with each meal.
But she'd told herself then the same thing she told herself now: I should have known. He was the closest thing I had to a brother, the only family I had left. I should have seen. I should have known!
These thoughts carried her to what would have been her old neighborhood. Eden could see that it was the same place, but passage between worlds and whens had made a stranger of the place she'd once called home. There was still a store on the corner, but it sold coffee instead of groceries. The apartment building she'd lived in had been replaced--if it had ever existed in this world.
Eden was entertaining thoughts of going to the Beth Moses Cemetery, to scan the gravestones for one Corporal Edward O'Reilly, when her phone rang. Penny, bless her, with an invitation to lunch. It was what Eden needed--a break from morose thoughts and time with her ka-tet.
But the restlessness did not abate as she picked at her lasagna. She listened to her tet's chatter, as Alistair fed Arthur meatballs on the sly. James had bribed the host to allow the "dog" to enter the restaurant, since the snow outside prevented patio seating. Penny chatted about her morning, mentioned missing lessons again. Eden frowned, but it wasn't her place to say anything. James was Penny's guardian. Who was she to interfere?
Eden spoke to Alice later that afternoon. For most of her adult life, Eden had been a nurse. While those skills had not disappeared, her legal ability to practice them had. She was no one in this world. Without the Tet Corporation, she wouldn't have a job, wouldn't have an apartment. She'd be one of the faceless multitudes who slipped through the cracks of society. Alice assured her that a legal identity was being created for her. It did little to reassure Eden, but she'd wait and see who the Tet Corporation had decided she would be in this world.
In the meantime, there was a place she could go to help, a homeless shelter that wouldn't ask any questions if she said she came from Tet. Washing blankets and helping in the kitchen helped her feel more a part of this world, but she couldn't help but feel like there was something else she was supposed to be doing. Did the others find it so hard to relax, to take a few days to recharge their batteries? It was almost a blessing when Carrie called her. Going to the training session was something Eden looked forward to. She was intrigued by the PK Carrie was manifesting, and she wanted to see what Carrie could do with it.
At the end of the session, Bryce dropped a hell of a bombshell revelation in their laps, but they couldn't really do much about it. Eden was disturbed by the thought of another James somewhere out there still working for the Crimson King, but she wasn't surprised. Hadn't there been another version of her? Wasn't there another version of Carrie, immortalized in a book? How many reflections, how many shadows? For all Eden knew, she was just a reflection too, a shadow of the woman who'd slipped into todash darkness.
Eden had made plans to go to the homeless shelter with Carrie, but she forgot about that completely when Carrie saw that they had only a few days to deal with the Guardian at the ruin of the Dixie Pig. She asked James to call the rest of the group. He was good at that, gathering them up and organizing them. Better than she was. He surprised her by linking the phone calls together, so that they all spoke together. It reminded her of the party line her childhood telephone had been attached to, and how her Aunt Carolyn would eavesdrop on the neighbors.
They met in one of the many conference rooms. There wasn't much to plan--they'd go the Dixie Pig, blow the horn, and fight the Guardian. Any more planning than that was useless, but Eden just wanted to make sure. She'd never forgive herself if she forgot something and it got someone hurt. Or killed.
Carrie asked her what was wrong, but Eden didn't want to talk about it. There was enough to worry about. Eden was glad when James asked Carrie to lay off--but the younger woman didn't look as if she'd let it be for long. Then it struck Eden--Carrie knew about Fuzz. Carrie'd said it many times--she'd watched their whole lives. She'd seen how Eden had let her friend kill himself.
Did Carrie think that Eden was unfit to be dinh? Who was to say that the girl wouldn't be right? The revelation that Christmas was only days away made Eden feel even worse. The decorations were everywhere, but Eden hadn't seen. The vicious cycle of her thoughts turned again, and the doubt the thinny had sown in her grew stronger.
Too many of the men on the streets were men she might have served with in the war. Missing limbs, haunted eyes, and empty faces blurred, so that they all might have been one man. One man she could never really help, one man who was always hungry, always cold, always dirty.
Was that why she'd failed Fuzz? Eden had thought he was safe in the hospital, safe where he had medicine and food and shelter. He hadn't been, of course, and the doctors all told her that no one had known; they'd have put him on suicide watch, taken away the shoelaces he used to hang himself and upped the calming medicines they fed him with each meal.
But she'd told herself then the same thing she told herself now: I should have known. He was the closest thing I had to a brother, the only family I had left. I should have seen. I should have known!
These thoughts carried her to what would have been her old neighborhood. Eden could see that it was the same place, but passage between worlds and whens had made a stranger of the place she'd once called home. There was still a store on the corner, but it sold coffee instead of groceries. The apartment building she'd lived in had been replaced--if it had ever existed in this world.
Eden was entertaining thoughts of going to the Beth Moses Cemetery, to scan the gravestones for one Corporal Edward O'Reilly, when her phone rang. Penny, bless her, with an invitation to lunch. It was what Eden needed--a break from morose thoughts and time with her ka-tet.
But the restlessness did not abate as she picked at her lasagna. She listened to her tet's chatter, as Alistair fed Arthur meatballs on the sly. James had bribed the host to allow the "dog" to enter the restaurant, since the snow outside prevented patio seating. Penny chatted about her morning, mentioned missing lessons again. Eden frowned, but it wasn't her place to say anything. James was Penny's guardian. Who was she to interfere?
Eden spoke to Alice later that afternoon. For most of her adult life, Eden had been a nurse. While those skills had not disappeared, her legal ability to practice them had. She was no one in this world. Without the Tet Corporation, she wouldn't have a job, wouldn't have an apartment. She'd be one of the faceless multitudes who slipped through the cracks of society. Alice assured her that a legal identity was being created for her. It did little to reassure Eden, but she'd wait and see who the Tet Corporation had decided she would be in this world.
In the meantime, there was a place she could go to help, a homeless shelter that wouldn't ask any questions if she said she came from Tet. Washing blankets and helping in the kitchen helped her feel more a part of this world, but she couldn't help but feel like there was something else she was supposed to be doing. Did the others find it so hard to relax, to take a few days to recharge their batteries? It was almost a blessing when Carrie called her. Going to the training session was something Eden looked forward to. She was intrigued by the PK Carrie was manifesting, and she wanted to see what Carrie could do with it.
At the end of the session, Bryce dropped a hell of a bombshell revelation in their laps, but they couldn't really do much about it. Eden was disturbed by the thought of another James somewhere out there still working for the Crimson King, but she wasn't surprised. Hadn't there been another version of her? Wasn't there another version of Carrie, immortalized in a book? How many reflections, how many shadows? For all Eden knew, she was just a reflection too, a shadow of the woman who'd slipped into todash darkness.
Eden had made plans to go to the homeless shelter with Carrie, but she forgot about that completely when Carrie saw that they had only a few days to deal with the Guardian at the ruin of the Dixie Pig. She asked James to call the rest of the group. He was good at that, gathering them up and organizing them. Better than she was. He surprised her by linking the phone calls together, so that they all spoke together. It reminded her of the party line her childhood telephone had been attached to, and how her Aunt Carolyn would eavesdrop on the neighbors.
They met in one of the many conference rooms. There wasn't much to plan--they'd go the Dixie Pig, blow the horn, and fight the Guardian. Any more planning than that was useless, but Eden just wanted to make sure. She'd never forgive herself if she forgot something and it got someone hurt. Or killed.
Carrie asked her what was wrong, but Eden didn't want to talk about it. There was enough to worry about. Eden was glad when James asked Carrie to lay off--but the younger woman didn't look as if she'd let it be for long. Then it struck Eden--Carrie knew about Fuzz. Carrie'd said it many times--she'd watched their whole lives. She'd seen how Eden had let her friend kill himself.
Did Carrie think that Eden was unfit to be dinh? Who was to say that the girl wouldn't be right? The revelation that Christmas was only days away made Eden feel even worse. The decorations were everywhere, but Eden hadn't seen. The vicious cycle of her thoughts turned again, and the doubt the thinny had sown in her grew stronger.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Bridge Over Troubled Water
It was good to be home. She had four walls around her, the city reached out to her with a thousand comforting little sounds. Eden knew that Carrie was ordering pizzas, but she couldn't help wolfing down a take-out box of mixed Chinese vegetables. The broccoli and snow peas were divine after weeks of little in the way of greens.
Eden was happy--her tet was safe, they had come back to New York--but there was a shred of her mind that clung to unrest. She didn't think the others had noticed, although it was probably only a matter of time. Secrets were hard to keep when their minds were linked in khef.
It was the thinny. When it called to her, she had gritted her teeth and moved on from the not-Alan's voice. But it had hurt her. It had planted a seed of doubt, and that seed had wormed it's way into her thoughts. Could she have made a mistake with Alan? If so... how many other mistakes had she made?
It made her think of Fuzz. Could she have saved him from killing himself? Why had she not sensed the depth of his despair? Fuzz had been one of Eden's best friends for years, and yet she'd been totally taken by surprise by his suicide.
What else hadn't she noticed? It was a bitter thought, because Eden had missed some very important things. She'd been so concerned about Carrie's withdrawals and Alastair's mental degradation that she hadn't seen that James was out of blood. He never drank in front of them, and it was too easy to forget that he was a vampire.
Eden had also failed to notice the presence in Ashleigh's mind after the thinny, and she'd nearly been killed. Some telepath she was. And she was supposed to be some kind of leader? It was probably only luck that she'd avoided getting them all killed.
It was a ridiculous line of thought, Eden knew that, but that didn't stop her from thinking it. She tried to shove it aside, to tell herself that it was a bunch of nonsense. The thinny had tried to rattle her, and she was an idiot for letting it...
And yet...
And yet...
What else would she fail to notice? Who would die because of it?
Eden was happy--her tet was safe, they had come back to New York--but there was a shred of her mind that clung to unrest. She didn't think the others had noticed, although it was probably only a matter of time. Secrets were hard to keep when their minds were linked in khef.
It was the thinny. When it called to her, she had gritted her teeth and moved on from the not-Alan's voice. But it had hurt her. It had planted a seed of doubt, and that seed had wormed it's way into her thoughts. Could she have made a mistake with Alan? If so... how many other mistakes had she made?
It made her think of Fuzz. Could she have saved him from killing himself? Why had she not sensed the depth of his despair? Fuzz had been one of Eden's best friends for years, and yet she'd been totally taken by surprise by his suicide.
What else hadn't she noticed? It was a bitter thought, because Eden had missed some very important things. She'd been so concerned about Carrie's withdrawals and Alastair's mental degradation that she hadn't seen that James was out of blood. He never drank in front of them, and it was too easy to forget that he was a vampire.
Eden had also failed to notice the presence in Ashleigh's mind after the thinny, and she'd nearly been killed. Some telepath she was. And she was supposed to be some kind of leader? It was probably only luck that she'd avoided getting them all killed.
It was a ridiculous line of thought, Eden knew that, but that didn't stop her from thinking it. She tried to shove it aside, to tell herself that it was a bunch of nonsense. The thinny had tried to rattle her, and she was an idiot for letting it...
And yet...
And yet...
What else would she fail to notice? Who would die because of it?
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Part 1, Under Pressure
Eden was standing in the foyer, her book bag suddenly so heavy that she could barely keep hold of it. The strap fell from weak fingers. The headache that had prompted her teacher to send her home hammered at the inside of her skull. She was about to call out, to see if anyone else was home, when angry voices spilled out from her father's office down the hall.
She staggered backwards, emotions striking her like a closed fist. She didn't understand what was happening; she wanted to run, but it was all she could do to her legs from collapsing. She clutched at the railing of the stairs, helpless to block the storm that raged inside her mind.
"Dammit, Carolyn, will you just let it be? I'm so tired of listening to you harp on about everything. Christ, sometimes I have no idea why I don't ask you to leave," her father's voice was saying, anger tightly constrained in his tone, but Eden could feel it, like a coiled serpent.
"Leave? Daniel, you wouldn't dare! All I want is what's best for you and that child! She's been too long without a mother, and you too long without a wife! Why, if it weren't for me, she'd have no maternal presence in her life at all. And after all I've done, you'd make me leave the only place I've ever called home?" Carolyn's voice was closer to hysteria, and it battered at the child in the foyer like a flock of panicked birds.
"All you've done? Carolyn, I never asked for your help with Eden. You just can't help poking your nose in where it's not wanted, sticking your fingers into every pie. If you hadn't been living here already when Pop passed on and left it to me, I'd never have let you in," her father retorted, his tone cold.
"No, you never asked, but you barely have time for that girl! I take her shopping! I make sure she goes to church! Without me, she'd practically be a wild child!"
Daniel laughed, but it wasn't a pleasant sound. "You're exaggerating, Carolyn. Eden's a good child, and she certainly doesn't need you hovering over her. And as for me getting remarried, I'm going to drop the subject. I hope that it never comes up in conversation again."
"Daniel, if you just looked for someone--"
"I said to drop it, Carolyn! No one can replace Evie!" At her father's sudden shout, Eden found her legs. With a small, inarticulate cry, she fled the house, door slamming behind her. She thought she could faintly hear her father calling her name, but her feet soon carried her out of earshot.
There was an open field behind the neat little row of houses that made up Peachtree Lane. An old heritage oak dominated the field, and it was here that Eden's flight took her. She sat beneath its spreading branches, the warm sun filtering through in golden dapples. It was still early enough in the season that a breeze made the air chilly; in summer, it would feel like an oven even in the shade. Likewise, the grass was still green with new growth, slightly wet with dew that never seemed to burn off if the sun didn't touch it.
Eden sat with her back against the trunk of the oak, wiping tears off on the sleeve of her pale yellow cardigan. Out here, the headache eased a little, but she felt more than a little queasy. She wondered why her father and aunt had been arguing this time. They seemed to do that more often; it started with some petty thing, and always seemed to escalate to them shouting.
She wasn't surprised they'd finally argued about her father remarrying. Aunt Carolyn always made little comments about how a man of her father's age shouldn't be alone. "The neighbors talk," Aunt Carolyn always said, as if that mattered to Daniel DeWitt--or his daughter, for that matter. But it mattered to Aunt Carolyn.
She hugged her knees, wishing that they'd stop arguing forever. She wished that her head would stop hurting, and that the awful nausea in her stomach would go away. It made her feel like a flu was coming on, except with no fever or bodyache.
Eden heard soft, crunching footsteps approaching, and knew even before she lifted her head that it was her father. She waited, warily, to see if the strange emotional barrage was going to return. It didn't. "Hey Button," he said quietly. "I'm guessing you heard at least some of that."
"You and Aunt Carolyn," Eden replied, smiling a little at the old nickname. She was 11 now, but he still called her that. When she'd first asked him why, he'd said it was because of the old saying, "cute as a button." She imagined she must have cuter as a baby, because she was a rather plain child. Sometimes she got teased for it, but she didn't mind. She knew she was beautiful in her father's eyes because he loved her. She'd decided early on that love was more important than looks.
He sat in the grass next to her. "I'm sorry you had to be there to hear any of that. Your aunt and I have never really gotten on well, not even when we were children. Sometimes I do wonder why I asked her to stay on in the house when we moved in."
"Why did you?" Eden couldn't help the childish whine in her voice. She wasn't normally a petulant child, but the headache was making her feel tired and irritable. Luckily, it just made her father chuckle.
"Because you were so tiny, and the school made so many demands of me. Carolyn offered to watch you while I was away teaching. She did help, back then, and she never held it over my head. I wish I knew what changed, and when."
"Will you make her go?"
He sighed. "No, Eden, I won't. She may be a harridan at times, but Carolyn is my sister. And she has done much for us. I could never throw her out."
"Why does she want you to get married again?"
"I don't know, Button."
"Why doesn't she get married?" Daniel laughed, and Eden flinched a little. The sound reverberated in her skull, the pain flaring for a moment. But she liked her father's laugh, and she smiled through the pain.
"That's a wonderful question, Eden, but also one I don't have the answer to. I tend to think your aunt likes being an old maid." His blue eyes, so much like her own, twinkled with amusement. Then his expression changed, turning serious.
"Eden, you look very pale. Why are you home early?" As he studied her, the pain flared again. Tears began to leak from the corners of her eyes again as she screwed up her face in pain. "Button, what's wrong?"
"My head," she said, feeling like a small, small child. "It hurts. Miss Krantz sent me home. I couldn't even read, it hurt so bad."
"Let's get you home," he said, sweeping her her slight frame up into his arms before she could protest. "I'll heat you up some soup, and you can rest for what remains of the day."
"Thank you, Papa," Eden replied, hiding her face in his shoulder.
"Hey, you're my Button. I'll do anything for you, you know that," she said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. However, his voice then dropped into a deep, worried, weary tone. "I don't know what I'd do if I lost you, too."
"Don't worry, Papa. you won't lose me," she murmured back. She'd almost forgotten about what she'd felt back in the hallway. Her father would make everything right. With her face buried in the scratchy wool of his coat, she couldn't see the startled look on his face.
She staggered backwards, emotions striking her like a closed fist. She didn't understand what was happening; she wanted to run, but it was all she could do to her legs from collapsing. She clutched at the railing of the stairs, helpless to block the storm that raged inside her mind.
"Dammit, Carolyn, will you just let it be? I'm so tired of listening to you harp on about everything. Christ, sometimes I have no idea why I don't ask you to leave," her father's voice was saying, anger tightly constrained in his tone, but Eden could feel it, like a coiled serpent.
"Leave? Daniel, you wouldn't dare! All I want is what's best for you and that child! She's been too long without a mother, and you too long without a wife! Why, if it weren't for me, she'd have no maternal presence in her life at all. And after all I've done, you'd make me leave the only place I've ever called home?" Carolyn's voice was closer to hysteria, and it battered at the child in the foyer like a flock of panicked birds.
"All you've done? Carolyn, I never asked for your help with Eden. You just can't help poking your nose in where it's not wanted, sticking your fingers into every pie. If you hadn't been living here already when Pop passed on and left it to me, I'd never have let you in," her father retorted, his tone cold.
"No, you never asked, but you barely have time for that girl! I take her shopping! I make sure she goes to church! Without me, she'd practically be a wild child!"
Daniel laughed, but it wasn't a pleasant sound. "You're exaggerating, Carolyn. Eden's a good child, and she certainly doesn't need you hovering over her. And as for me getting remarried, I'm going to drop the subject. I hope that it never comes up in conversation again."
"Daniel, if you just looked for someone--"
"I said to drop it, Carolyn! No one can replace Evie!" At her father's sudden shout, Eden found her legs. With a small, inarticulate cry, she fled the house, door slamming behind her. She thought she could faintly hear her father calling her name, but her feet soon carried her out of earshot.
There was an open field behind the neat little row of houses that made up Peachtree Lane. An old heritage oak dominated the field, and it was here that Eden's flight took her. She sat beneath its spreading branches, the warm sun filtering through in golden dapples. It was still early enough in the season that a breeze made the air chilly; in summer, it would feel like an oven even in the shade. Likewise, the grass was still green with new growth, slightly wet with dew that never seemed to burn off if the sun didn't touch it.
Eden sat with her back against the trunk of the oak, wiping tears off on the sleeve of her pale yellow cardigan. Out here, the headache eased a little, but she felt more than a little queasy. She wondered why her father and aunt had been arguing this time. They seemed to do that more often; it started with some petty thing, and always seemed to escalate to them shouting.
She wasn't surprised they'd finally argued about her father remarrying. Aunt Carolyn always made little comments about how a man of her father's age shouldn't be alone. "The neighbors talk," Aunt Carolyn always said, as if that mattered to Daniel DeWitt--or his daughter, for that matter. But it mattered to Aunt Carolyn.
She hugged her knees, wishing that they'd stop arguing forever. She wished that her head would stop hurting, and that the awful nausea in her stomach would go away. It made her feel like a flu was coming on, except with no fever or bodyache.
Eden heard soft, crunching footsteps approaching, and knew even before she lifted her head that it was her father. She waited, warily, to see if the strange emotional barrage was going to return. It didn't. "Hey Button," he said quietly. "I'm guessing you heard at least some of that."
"You and Aunt Carolyn," Eden replied, smiling a little at the old nickname. She was 11 now, but he still called her that. When she'd first asked him why, he'd said it was because of the old saying, "cute as a button." She imagined she must have cuter as a baby, because she was a rather plain child. Sometimes she got teased for it, but she didn't mind. She knew she was beautiful in her father's eyes because he loved her. She'd decided early on that love was more important than looks.
He sat in the grass next to her. "I'm sorry you had to be there to hear any of that. Your aunt and I have never really gotten on well, not even when we were children. Sometimes I do wonder why I asked her to stay on in the house when we moved in."
"Why did you?" Eden couldn't help the childish whine in her voice. She wasn't normally a petulant child, but the headache was making her feel tired and irritable. Luckily, it just made her father chuckle.
"Because you were so tiny, and the school made so many demands of me. Carolyn offered to watch you while I was away teaching. She did help, back then, and she never held it over my head. I wish I knew what changed, and when."
"Will you make her go?"
He sighed. "No, Eden, I won't. She may be a harridan at times, but Carolyn is my sister. And she has done much for us. I could never throw her out."
"Why does she want you to get married again?"
"I don't know, Button."
"Why doesn't she get married?" Daniel laughed, and Eden flinched a little. The sound reverberated in her skull, the pain flaring for a moment. But she liked her father's laugh, and she smiled through the pain.
"That's a wonderful question, Eden, but also one I don't have the answer to. I tend to think your aunt likes being an old maid." His blue eyes, so much like her own, twinkled with amusement. Then his expression changed, turning serious.
"Eden, you look very pale. Why are you home early?" As he studied her, the pain flared again. Tears began to leak from the corners of her eyes again as she screwed up her face in pain. "Button, what's wrong?"
"My head," she said, feeling like a small, small child. "It hurts. Miss Krantz sent me home. I couldn't even read, it hurt so bad."
"Let's get you home," he said, sweeping her her slight frame up into his arms before she could protest. "I'll heat you up some soup, and you can rest for what remains of the day."
"Thank you, Papa," Eden replied, hiding her face in his shoulder.
"Hey, you're my Button. I'll do anything for you, you know that," she said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. However, his voice then dropped into a deep, worried, weary tone. "I don't know what I'd do if I lost you, too."
"Don't worry, Papa. you won't lose me," she murmured back. She'd almost forgotten about what she'd felt back in the hallway. Her father would make everything right. With her face buried in the scratchy wool of his coat, she couldn't see the startled look on his face.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
We Gotta Get Out of This Place
The battle of Jericho Hill was more chaotic than anything Eden had ever experienced. The ambush in Vietnam was like a walk down 42nd. She wasn't sure of anything but her ka-tet; everything else was a blur of blue faces, a cacophony of screams and gunshots. How long it really lasted, Eden had no idea; it seemed like a lifetime or a few breaths.
She knew when it was over, though. The gunslinger Cuthbert was struck down, the Horn of Eld falling from dead fingers. Her ka-tet was there, and the Horn saved. Penny whisked them away, to hide on a ledge above the Clean Sea. Eden drove thoughts of the battle away by seeing to the wounds of the others. There was little she could do for herself, just bind her leg were the spear had struck and hope for the best.
Hours past, and little was said. Sounds of the pillaging going on above filtered down to them, not quite drowned by the roar of the waves. Eden looked at her tet-mates, and she was filled with a deep, proud love of them. It should have been impossible, yet they had saved the Horn of Eld and they had survived Jericho Hill. Together. Maybe it was ka, but ka had done a damn fine job when it threw the six of them together.
Or was it seven? When they had returned to the Hill, after they rested and struck out in a direction they hoped would take them home, Arthur had showed up. Arthur was a strange little creature, like a long-muzzled raccoon-dog with a curlicue tail. A billy bumbler, she was told, a creature of this world who could talk--or at least mimic speech. Arthur seemed attached to Alistair, and Alistair drank up that affection with a bewildered kind of cheerfulness.
They'd needed the laughter, the up-lifting of spirits that Arthur's antics brought. While bumbler showed a definite preference for Alistair, he seemed willing to accept the attention and affection of the entire group. Eden swore she even saw James smile, although it may have been more at Penny's obvious delight than Arthur's mimicry.
Eden was very glad for Arthur's presence as Carrie became more and more irritable. The last of the younger woman's heroin was gone, and withdrawals had set in. Morale was hard to keep up as the days went by without a way home; it was harder when Carrie cried or lashed out verbally. Carrie's pain hurt the heart to see. When James thought of hypnotizing Carrie to minimize the effects of withdrawals, Eden could have hugged him.
How long until they reached a way home? They'd been in Mid-World for almost two weeks. Eden couldn't tell yet, but Alistair had to be feeling the effects of being away from the Rose. Would he be able to continue leading them in the right direction? Whatever sense it was that drew him to the highways, that enabled him to navigate the passages between worlds, Eden hoped that it would not dim with time as his intelligence would.
More pressing was the thinny that lay ahead. Those who had read enough of Stephen King's books evidently knew enough that Eden could feel the trepidation that no one spoke aloud. A place where the stuff between worlds was thin. Eden kept an eye on Ashleigh as they drew closer and the maddening sound intensified. James had passed around bullets to plug their ears, and it worked muffle the sound, but she still worried about the tall, quiet Southerner.
All she wanted was get her ka-tet home safely. And she'd do everything she possibly could to achieve that.
She knew when it was over, though. The gunslinger Cuthbert was struck down, the Horn of Eld falling from dead fingers. Her ka-tet was there, and the Horn saved. Penny whisked them away, to hide on a ledge above the Clean Sea. Eden drove thoughts of the battle away by seeing to the wounds of the others. There was little she could do for herself, just bind her leg were the spear had struck and hope for the best.
Hours past, and little was said. Sounds of the pillaging going on above filtered down to them, not quite drowned by the roar of the waves. Eden looked at her tet-mates, and she was filled with a deep, proud love of them. It should have been impossible, yet they had saved the Horn of Eld and they had survived Jericho Hill. Together. Maybe it was ka, but ka had done a damn fine job when it threw the six of them together.
Or was it seven? When they had returned to the Hill, after they rested and struck out in a direction they hoped would take them home, Arthur had showed up. Arthur was a strange little creature, like a long-muzzled raccoon-dog with a curlicue tail. A billy bumbler, she was told, a creature of this world who could talk--or at least mimic speech. Arthur seemed attached to Alistair, and Alistair drank up that affection with a bewildered kind of cheerfulness.
They'd needed the laughter, the up-lifting of spirits that Arthur's antics brought. While bumbler showed a definite preference for Alistair, he seemed willing to accept the attention and affection of the entire group. Eden swore she even saw James smile, although it may have been more at Penny's obvious delight than Arthur's mimicry.
Eden was very glad for Arthur's presence as Carrie became more and more irritable. The last of the younger woman's heroin was gone, and withdrawals had set in. Morale was hard to keep up as the days went by without a way home; it was harder when Carrie cried or lashed out verbally. Carrie's pain hurt the heart to see. When James thought of hypnotizing Carrie to minimize the effects of withdrawals, Eden could have hugged him.
How long until they reached a way home? They'd been in Mid-World for almost two weeks. Eden couldn't tell yet, but Alistair had to be feeling the effects of being away from the Rose. Would he be able to continue leading them in the right direction? Whatever sense it was that drew him to the highways, that enabled him to navigate the passages between worlds, Eden hoped that it would not dim with time as his intelligence would.
More pressing was the thinny that lay ahead. Those who had read enough of Stephen King's books evidently knew enough that Eden could feel the trepidation that no one spoke aloud. A place where the stuff between worlds was thin. Eden kept an eye on Ashleigh as they drew closer and the maddening sound intensified. James had passed around bullets to plug their ears, and it worked muffle the sound, but she still worried about the tall, quiet Southerner.
All she wanted was get her ka-tet home safely. And she'd do everything she possibly could to achieve that.
Saturday, March 8, 2008
All Along the Watchtower
Dinh.
The word, which had been meaningless to Eden only hours before, now rang with sonorous importance in her mind. All she'd known when Roland spoke to them was that he'd asked a question that no one answered. She'd spoken up, and James at least thought that made her a kind of leader for their ka-tet.
Eden had never pictured herself as a leader; when she did think about it, all she could think of were the busy nights in the OR at Roosevelt Hospital when she put aside fear and weariness and concentrated on getting done what needed to be done. There'd been more than one nurse on staff who looked to her for advice, even though she'd been there barely three years.
That wasn't leadership, she thought. It was skill and plain old pragmatism. That stopped her, as she walked within the bounds of the camp on Jericho Hill. Was that all it was? When had she become so jaded? Somewhere along the way, she'd lost that sense of wonder she saw even in Alistair. Here she was, not even in America anymore, and all she'd thought about was what they'd come here to do and how to get it done.
Not that it was a pretty little vacation spot where she could take in the sights and gape at the scenery. It was an armed camp under a broken tower, with tension so thick you could practically see it shimmering in the torchlight. It was worse because Eden knew that soon it would be a battleground to dwarf the worst she'd seen in Vietnam. There was one known Alliance survivor of that battle, according to the books that James seemed to have memorized: Roland Deschain. Everyone else here was a walking corpse who had not yet felt the Reaper's scythe.
Still, she'd felt horribly out of place when she'd made the transition from her New York to the one with the Rose. Twenty years that she'd just side-stepped, with leaps in technology that she was still trying to understand. Here, in Mid-World, she'd felt none of that displacement. Did the others feel disjointed or had they made the transition as smoothly as she had? She'd ask in the morning.
A chilly breeze blew in off the ocean that had been a roaring counterpoint to her thoughts. This close to the cliff, Eden couldn't even hear the repetitive clanking of the blacksmith's hammer Ashleigh had taken up. Most of the camp was asleep; she hoped Ashleigh had gone to bed as well. She'd be heading that way herself in a little while. For now, her mind was too full of worry.
Despite what she said--to the quartermaster, to James, and to Penny herself--Eden worried about taking a girl Penny's age into a battle like the one that loomed before them. Penny was tough as nails, but she was still a kid. Penny was just as wrapped up in all of it as the rest of them, had just as vital a role to play as any of the men who now slept within the ruined tower. Perhaps more vital. It hurt to think about it. Whatever innocence Penny had left would probably be stripped away.
It wasn't Eden's choice, though. The ka-tet had been swept together for some purpose, and Penny was part of it. Penny wasn't even all of what had Eden wandering outside, mind too full for sleep. There was Carrie, too. Another person she wanted to protect, but wouldn't. Not couldn't--she knew the difference too well. Protecting Carrie, keeping her safe and away from the battle, could very well destroy what chances they had. The same went for the rest of the ka-tet. Eden felt--no, she knew--that it would take each and every one of them working together to come out of this successfully.
Even if one or more of them died in the attempt.
Was that what it meant to be dinh? To carry that worry yet be able to lay aside doubts and fears and trust in the people you wanted most to protect? Maybe that was a part of it. She had the feeling that she'd find out. If they managed to survive this.
I might as well head back, she thought. I'm beginning to think in circles, and that never did anyone any good. I might as well get what sleep I can. I'm going to need it.
The word, which had been meaningless to Eden only hours before, now rang with sonorous importance in her mind. All she'd known when Roland spoke to them was that he'd asked a question that no one answered. She'd spoken up, and James at least thought that made her a kind of leader for their ka-tet.
Eden had never pictured herself as a leader; when she did think about it, all she could think of were the busy nights in the OR at Roosevelt Hospital when she put aside fear and weariness and concentrated on getting done what needed to be done. There'd been more than one nurse on staff who looked to her for advice, even though she'd been there barely three years.
That wasn't leadership, she thought. It was skill and plain old pragmatism. That stopped her, as she walked within the bounds of the camp on Jericho Hill. Was that all it was? When had she become so jaded? Somewhere along the way, she'd lost that sense of wonder she saw even in Alistair. Here she was, not even in America anymore, and all she'd thought about was what they'd come here to do and how to get it done.
Not that it was a pretty little vacation spot where she could take in the sights and gape at the scenery. It was an armed camp under a broken tower, with tension so thick you could practically see it shimmering in the torchlight. It was worse because Eden knew that soon it would be a battleground to dwarf the worst she'd seen in Vietnam. There was one known Alliance survivor of that battle, according to the books that James seemed to have memorized: Roland Deschain. Everyone else here was a walking corpse who had not yet felt the Reaper's scythe.
Still, she'd felt horribly out of place when she'd made the transition from her New York to the one with the Rose. Twenty years that she'd just side-stepped, with leaps in technology that she was still trying to understand. Here, in Mid-World, she'd felt none of that displacement. Did the others feel disjointed or had they made the transition as smoothly as she had? She'd ask in the morning.
A chilly breeze blew in off the ocean that had been a roaring counterpoint to her thoughts. This close to the cliff, Eden couldn't even hear the repetitive clanking of the blacksmith's hammer Ashleigh had taken up. Most of the camp was asleep; she hoped Ashleigh had gone to bed as well. She'd be heading that way herself in a little while. For now, her mind was too full of worry.
Despite what she said--to the quartermaster, to James, and to Penny herself--Eden worried about taking a girl Penny's age into a battle like the one that loomed before them. Penny was tough as nails, but she was still a kid. Penny was just as wrapped up in all of it as the rest of them, had just as vital a role to play as any of the men who now slept within the ruined tower. Perhaps more vital. It hurt to think about it. Whatever innocence Penny had left would probably be stripped away.
It wasn't Eden's choice, though. The ka-tet had been swept together for some purpose, and Penny was part of it. Penny wasn't even all of what had Eden wandering outside, mind too full for sleep. There was Carrie, too. Another person she wanted to protect, but wouldn't. Not couldn't--she knew the difference too well. Protecting Carrie, keeping her safe and away from the battle, could very well destroy what chances they had. The same went for the rest of the ka-tet. Eden felt--no, she knew--that it would take each and every one of them working together to come out of this successfully.
Even if one or more of them died in the attempt.
Was that what it meant to be dinh? To carry that worry yet be able to lay aside doubts and fears and trust in the people you wanted most to protect? Maybe that was a part of it. She had the feeling that she'd find out. If they managed to survive this.
I might as well head back, she thought. I'm beginning to think in circles, and that never did anyone any good. I might as well get what sleep I can. I'm going to need it.
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Gimme Shelter
For three days, the 1019th CSH had been on the move. They were not normally a mobile unit, but all medical units within fifty miles had been recalled to Saigon. The PLF had renewed their attacks on the South Vietnamese capital, and there were heavy casualties. They'd hastily taken down the tents, helicopters coming to move what wounded they had at the site already.
Nearly thirty miles in three days, Eden thought, and we're still not in sight of the city. Damn this rain. And damn the VC. The People's Liberation Front might be attacking Saigon, but the 1019th was plagued by the Viet Cong. Private First Class Eden DeWitt stared at the other pale, tense faces in the Army Nurse Corp truck. They hadn't been attacked yet, but everyone felt the same awful sense of foreboding. There were enemy soldiers out in the jungle, and it was only a matter of time.
Eden glanced at the soldiers sitting at the very back of the truck, rifles held loosely but ready. She felt a surge of affection for them both. My guardian angels, she thought, hiding her smile. Corporal Edward "Fuzz" O'Reilly and Corporal Alan Torres, who'd befriended a young and very frightened nurse on her first tour of duty. She'd been fresh out of medical school, determined to take her skills to the men who needed it most.
The hippie movement was definitely not for Eden. She preferred doing something to talking about it. She did not really support the idea of war; however, her government was sending men to Vietnam regardless of her beliefs. How could she possibly sit on her ass, wearing flowers, sleeping with anything on two legs, and waving signs when there were men dying? Still, she wasn't prepared for the jungle.
It had been Fuzz who'd found her crying behind the operating tent after her first big wave of wounded. She'd thought she could handle anything, but she'd watched a boy younger than her die on the operating table from shrapnel that had torn off half his face. She'd been able to finish helping the surgeon, to finish out her shift in a wooden kind of shock. But the racking sobs had hit her as she stumbled out to return to her sleeping quarters.
Fuzz was the same age as her, 23, and was in his second year of service. Despite the horrible conditions, Fuzz was an optimist and an all-around sweet guy. His nickname, Alan had told her once, had originally been "Peach Fuzz" due to his inability to grow a thick beard and his babyface. When he'd found her, he wasn't on active duty, so he'd sat down right next her and hugged her. A complete stranger, but he'd understood and just gave her a shoulder to cry on. Then he'd taken her to the mess tent and introduced her to his two good friends--Alan Torres and Jack Daniels.
The three of them had formed a close bond over the last two years. Friends to the end--and if Fuzz had ever been jealous that she and Alan were a bit closer than that, he'd never let on. She could have found out--she was a telepath after all--but she just didn't want to know. She'd never have read his journal without asking, and reading his thoughts was an even worse invasion. Besides, her dad had warned her about that--he'd told her that their family was special, that such abilities were to be used responsibly or they'd be a curse rather than a blessing.
Eden was shaken out of her reverie by the sudden staccato of gunfire up ahead. One of the other nurses made a sound halfway between a gasp and a shriek, a strangled noise of fear and shock. The caravan of trucks erupted into noise, shouting and gunfire and the revving of engines readying to escape the ambush. However, the truck she was in came to a sudden stop, throwing everyone to the floor. She heard a man's voice shouting, "Road's blocked! Turn around, dammit! Turn around!" The truck's engine roared, but the road was narrow, the ground wet from the constant rain.
Alan caught her gaze as she looked around wildly, wondering what was going on. Don't panic, those impossibly blue eyes said. "Everyone stay down!" he commanded, then turned to Fuzz. "I'll find out what's going on. Stay here and watch the girls." He turned back towards Eden, giving her a wink and a smile meant for only her before jumping out the back. Fuzz flashed her a nervous grin, then included the rest of the nurses in the supposedly heartening expression.
"That guy, huh? What a nut. Leaving a pretty bunch like you to go play with the gooks," Fuzz said, which elicited a few anxious chuckles from the women. The truck lurched forward again, making Eden feel like she'd left her stomach several feet behind her. Fuzz grabbed for purchase, nearly getting thrown out of the vehicle. His rifle slipped out of his hands, and Eden found herself catching it before it hit the floor of the truck.
"Jeez! Where'd that guy learn to drive? Jersey?" Fuzz hollered, and Eden knew then how scared her friend was. It seemed that he tried harder to be funny the more frightened he became. She sat up and handed the rifle back to him; suddenly, her left shoulder was on fire. No, not just on fire, like she'd been punched with fire and ice and glass and molten lead. She was lying on the floor of the truck, and the other nurses were screaming. Fuzz's round face hovered above her, pale and scared.
"Jeez, oh, jeez, Eden, are you okay? Ohmygodthere'ssomuchblood," he was saying, words tumbling out his mouth, although she found it hard to concentrate on them. "Alan! Where are you, man? Hey, aren't you guys nurses? Help her!"
I'm in shock, she thought detachedly. I think I've been shot. She struggled to sit up, but the pain flared, and she fell back, a sound somewhere between a shriek and a gasp forcing its way past her lips. One of the other women pushed Fuzz away, and began tearing the fabric away from Eden's shoulder. "Don't move, Eden," the woman said as she examined Eden's shoulder. Eden focused on her face; Laura, she thought. The new girl, the one with the boyfriend back home who ran away to Canada. Damn fine nurse, though. Couldn't be in better hands, except my own.
"Alright, Eden, looks like a clean wound. Went right through. Oh, thanks," Laura said as another woman handed her a roll of bandages. "We haven't got much that's accessible right now, so we'll have to wait until we get to Saigon to treat you right." Eden nodded, but even that small movement brought a renewal of pain. It was amazing how quickly one could grow accustomed to a certain level of pain, but any change in that level was unbearable.
"The gooks have blocked the road up ahead," a new voice was saying, "but we outgun them. The captain's going to round-up the survivors and--oh Christ, Eden, what happened?"
Alan. Eden conjured up a weak smile. Alan jumped into the truck, but Laura held him back. "I'm about to bandage her up, so stay out of my way." Alan looked mutinous, but stayed where he was.
"Whiskey," Eden croaked.
"What?" The answer came from several voices.
"Alan. Whiskey. Pour it on the wound before she bandages me." After a moment of hesitation--because it was contraband--Alan pulled out his hip flask and handed it to Laura. Eden gritted her teeth as Laura uncorked the flask and held it over the hole in her shoulder. "Do it," she whispered. Laura gave her a bundle of bandages to bite on. It hurt worse than the initial wounding. Unconsciousness was a merciful thing, and it slid over her like a blanket.
Eden woke to the realization that she was moving--or to be more accurate, was being moved. She couldn't interpret the sensations she was feeling, so she opened her eyes. Jungle flashed by. She tilted her head forward, and she saw Alan's face, lips thin with concentration. She was on some kind of stretcher, and he was carrying one end of it. She had no idea how long she'd been out.
"Alan," she said, her voice coming out as a thin whisper. But he heard anyway. Later, she'd wonder if she'd sent it mentally, or if he'd heard it some other way. She didn't know the word yet, but years in the future she'd remember this moment and think, Khef.
His eyes snapped down to her, and that schoolboy smile she adored lit up his dirty, anxious face. "Hey, beautiful. Welcome back to Hell. Hope you enjoyed the vacation." His head snapped back up. "Captain, she's awake!" His eyes returned to hers. "You need anything?"
"Water, please." Eden heard someone--the captain--call a halt, and her stretcher was lowered to the uneven jungle floor. The movement jarred her shoulder, but the pain seemed further away than it had been before. Alan was unscrewing the cap of his canteen, kneeling beside her.
"Just a little, beautiful. We're on water rations."
Between tiny sips, Eden asked, "What happened? Where are we?"
"In the jungle about 10 miles from Saigon," a new voice interjected. "Caravan got hit hard. We're what's left." A man with a captain's badge stood next to Alan. She didn't know him well; he'd been transfered to the 1019th shortly before they went mobile. The name on his fatigues was Everson. "Think you can walk, ma'am?"
She wiggled her toes. "Legs seem fine, sir."
"Good. Didn't want to leave you behind, but that stretcher's been a damned nuisance." There was an inscrutable look in the captain's brown eyes, then he turned abruptly away from her. "Ten minutes, soldiers, then we're mobile!"
"What's his problem?" Eden whispered to Alan, who had put away the canteen and was now holding her hand.
He laughed. "It's because you're a gal. He doesn't know how to act around you. The wounded guys he can deal with, but he's been acting like you're made of glass. Probably why he talked to you like he had a flagpole up his ass." Eden chuckled.
Fuzz appeared as Eden struggled to sit up. Her shoulder was bandaged securely, impeding use of her left arm. Alan helped her, gentle as though he, too, thought she were made of glass. "Hey! Eden! You've been out for hours! Wish I could have taken a nap through all that." He started to hug her, then remembered her shoulder and looked embarrassed. He settled for a sheepish grin and a soft punch to her good shoulder.
She looked around. About two dozen people were sitting or leaning against trees, taking sips from canteens or smoking. Eden saw four of the six nurses who'd been in the truck with her. She did not see Colonel Fairchild, or anyone higher in rank than Captain Everson for that matter. There'd been well over a hundred men with the 1019th.
Her horror must have shown, because the smile slid off Fuzz's face, to be replaced by a haunted look. "You're lucky, Eden," he said softly, all the joking gone. "We had to evac pretty fast, but we'd already gotten that stretcher ready for you. Things got real scary for a while." Fuzz looked at Alan and something passed between them, something that Eden couldn't share.
"We had to leave men behind," Alan said quietly, pained. "that's the other reason for the way the Captain acted around you, beautiful. We left men behind, but we brought you." His eyes, his impossibly blue eyes, told her the rest of the story. He and Fuzz, they wouldn't have left her. Not even if they'd been ordered to. She didn't think it had come to that, but she felt a sudden awful dread. It was a sadness she couldn't place, and she didn't want to.
The ten minutes passed all too quickly. The captain tried to get someone to rig a makeshift pack for Eden, so that the supplies being carried could be distributed more evenly. However, Laura quickly pointed out that there was no way Eden could bear the weight of a pack with her shoulder shot up. Eden felt his eyes bore into her back as she was helped to her feet.
She kept up, even though she regretted saying she'd be able to. It was the middle of winter, and while the temperature was far from chilly, the rain fell in heavy sheets. It dripped constantly though the canopy above, adding to the misery of the struggling band. Eden's shoulder was just as constant a misery, the pain never subsiding below a fiery throb.
Yet physical misery was secondary to the fear that they would be ambushed again. Eden found herself trying to stay close enough to her friends to easily reach out a hand to either one. But either they were very lucky or the VC was too busy to track down a small band of Americans. It took them two days to traverse the ten miles, hacking their way through dense undergrowth. By the end, Eden was concealing the shivers that racked her body. There was nothing anybody could do to bring down her fever--it would only be a hindrance.
It was only when they reached the edge of a vast swath of cleared jungle, the city of Saigon clearly visible beyond a cluster of villages, that Eden allowed herself the privilege of collapsing. She'd been leaning on Alan for at least two hours, and she felt his strong arms encircle her as she fell.
Eden woke up someplace well-lit and dry. She had vague recollections of fevered dreams, of Alan sitting by her cot, of some unknown nurse changing the sweat-and-rain-soaked bandages. It wasn't a tent, she realized, nor a cot. She was inside a building, lying on an honest-to-god bed.
As Eden was trying to shake off the grogginess, a nurse opened the door and poked her head in. The woman noticed that Eden was awake, and entered the room, closing the door behind her. Surprised, Eden noted that she was in a private room. Hospitals have those, she reminded herself. It's not all lines of cots in rows of tents.
"How are you feeling...," the nurse took a moment to check the chart hanging at the end of her bed. "Private DeWitt?"
"Better, I think. How long have I been here?"
"About a day and a half," the nurse answered after checking the chart again. "I'll get the doctor. He'll want to know you're awake." The nurse looked back over her shoulder. "You're lucky. I wish I had someone who cared enough about me to have to be ordered to leave."
As the door closed, Eden smiled. It had to be Alan. It was such a shame that they'd met here, rather than back in the States. She felt a pang of guilt. The real lucky one was the woman back home who'd spoken the "til death do us part" vows. Alan never spoke about her. Fuzz had once made a joke about a shotgun wedding, before Alan had silenced him with a poisonous glare. Eden guessed there was a kid involved, and knowing Alan, he'd never abandon his family back home. Not even for her.
Brooding over that thought, she didn't notice the door open again to admit an older man in a long white coat. "So how's our patient today?" he asked in a rich but tired voice.
"I'm not sure," she answered truthfully. "Last thing I really know, we'd reached the outskirts of the 'burbs."
"You had a high fever. Infection was starting to set in on your shoulder, but we've got that controlled. You won't be going anywhere for a while, but I've heard congratulations are in order."
"Congratulations?"
The doctor smiled widely. "You're going home. As soon as I declare you fit for traveling, you're being discharged."
"But... my tour of duty doesn't end for another six months!"
"In light of your ordeal, the Colonel has decided to send you home."
"Listen, Doctor...." she paused, looking for a name badge on the coat. There was none.
"Albrecht," he answered, a frown in his voice that had not yet manifested in his expression.
"Doctor Albrecht, I'm here because I can do some good. This may sound like a boast, but I'm one of the best nurses in my unit and my skill is wasted anywhere but here. Unlike most of the boys out there, I'm in Vietnam because I chose to come here!"
Albrecht sighed heavily. "My dear girl, I don't doubt that. In fact, I understand it better than you think. I'm a civilian. I chose this as well. But you've been through a traumatic experience, and Colonel Mayphert has decided it best to send you home."
"Then let me speak to Colonel Mayphert! I refuse to sit around while men are dying!"
"My dear, there comes a time when a woman can--"
"Don't you dare patronize me, Doctor," Eden said sharply as she struggled to sit up. "I can do just as much as any man in the army, if only the laws would let me. And since you're a civilian, I have no problem saying that I am sick of the bullshit spewed by 'this man's Army.' Like being born with a dick makes someone more worthy of defending what they believe in!"
Doctor Albrecht cleared his throat, embarrassed. "I'll send a message to Colonel Mayphert. If you need anything, Private, the nurses will be able to help you." And with that, the doctor fled the room, leaving Eden to helplessly fume.
The conversation with Colonel Mayphert didn't go any better. The Colonel was a career officer, born and bred into all the dogmas of the institution. He didn't even try to empathize with her; he merely spouted patronizing platitudes and quoted military law. Mayphert then informed her that Albrecht had declared she'd be fit for travel by the next week. Her plane was scheduled to leave in five days.
Eden didn't see much of the doctor, but her friends came to visit whenever they could. Fuzz regaled her with stories about the open air markets in Saigon, and the absolute luxury of fresh fruit. He smuggled in some kind of orange, and she delighted in the crisp, citrus scent of the rind before devouring the sweet segmented fruit within.
Alan smiled and charmed the nurses into letting him stay past visiting hours, since his duties kept him during the normal time. They spent most of their time in a painful sort of silence, unwilling to talk about her discharge, but unable to disregard it. Still, he was there every night, holding her hand until she fell asleep.
Her last full day in Vietnam, she finally felt strong enough to walk around the hospital. She and Alan strolled the halls, she leaning more than little on him for support. There was a small, semi-secluded courtyard not too far from her room. They sat in the humid darkness, looking at a miraculously clear sky.
"Eden," Alan began, but his voice faltered. She moved so that she could look him in the eye. She could feel the uncertainty and pain pouring off him in waves.
"What is it?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper. He licked his lips nervously, staring at her. "Come on, you know you can talk to me. After everything we've been through?"
To her complete shock, she noticed a glimmering of tears in his eyes. Alan Torres was no macho jerk, but he was a man in a world that taught men not to cry. He took her hands in his.
"Eden, you know I'm married, right?" She could only nod. "Her name's Mary, and I can't stand her. But I thought I loved her once, and I got her pregnant. My kid... he's a real spark. I can't leave him, no matter how much I hate his mom. But Eden... I'll never forget you." He clutched her to him.
"Alan, I--"
"No, wait. I'm not not done," he murmured into her hair. "Eden, you and Fuzz are my best friends. But I'd leave Fuzz in an instant if it meant getting you someplace safe. I hate that you're leaving," he said, and something suspiciously like sob escaped his lips, "but I know you're getting away from this madness."
He pulled back and looked her straight in the eyes. " I wish things were different, but they aren't, and we have to play the cards God dealt us."
"Alan--"
"Eden, I love you."
The admission stopped her dead. She'd never let herself realize that his feelings ran so deep. Nor that her own matched them. It just figured that it took her leaving to bring all this out in open.
He walked her back to her room, where they made love--quietly-- for one last time. When he left, he kissed her softly on the forehead.
"Love you, beautiful."
"I love you, too," she whispered as he left.
Her plane left early the next morning. Although she could walk, she was brought to the airstrip in a wheelchair. It seemed that the world was conspiring to make her feel as frail as everyone but her friends assumed her to be. She had no luggage--all her belongings had been left back at the ambush site. The Viet Cong had evidently looted the trucks, for the force sent out to investigate had come back with nothing but bodies.
The Army had temporary barracks she could stay in until she'd arranged for a job and place of her own. Most of what she'd owned before joining the army was in a storage locker she sent a check to every six months. Most of her family was dead, and her college friends had refused to speak to her after learning she was going to support the "evils of war." Her future was uncertain, and her heart was breaking.
Her wheelchair stopped unexpectedly after she was wheeled out of Processing, and she turned to ask what was wrong. Fuzz's round face grinned down at her. "You oughta see the look on your face! Bet ya thought we weren't comin' to say good-bye!"
"Thank you, Fuzz."
"Aw, it's nothing. It's not like I'm doing anything important right now. I doubt they'll miss me at the mess hall."
"No, seriously. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't found that night. You know, when we first met?"
"Yeah, I remember. You were a mess. You know your face turns all red and blotchy when you cry, right?"
"Jerk," she said, but she was grinning. "I'm gonna miss you so much, Fuzz."
"Promise you'll write?"
"Pinky promise, I will," she said, laughing as she extended her pinky finger. He hooked it with his own, a look of satisfaction on his face.
"Now you have to, or your pinky will fall off." He became serious. "Jeez, Eden, I'm really gonna miss you. It won't be the same without you. Alan and I are getting transfered to different units, since the 1019th is pretty much toast. It's just just never gonna be the same," Fuzz said sadly, shaking his head.
"I know, Fuzz." Eden took his hand and smiled. "But maybe it'll get better."
His face lit up. "It just might. Maybe I can get a cushy desk job here in Saigon. Be a company clerk or something! Then when my term's up, I'll come and find you!"
"You do that. I'm thinking of heading to New York."
"New York. You don't set your sights low, do you, beautiful?" Alan's voice hid the pain, but Eden knew it was there.
"Never did, Alan. Only the best for me." She saw the slight smile and knew he understood she'd meant him. He'd been standing off to one side, waiting for Fuzz to finish his good-bye. Although the day was blessedly clear and the temperature mild, he had his fatigue jacket with him. It was clean, but obviously patched and well-worn.
"It'll be cold as hell back home," he said softly as leaned down and slipped the jacket over her shoulders. Even after being laundered, it smelled like him. Regulations be damned, Eden thought, and stood up. Ignoring the sudden sharp pain in her shoulder, she wrapped her arms around Alan and gave him a long, passionate kiss good-bye. When it ended, she became aware of several of the soldiers standing around applauding. Fuzz had a look on his face that said, "Oh those crazy kids."
"Don't you ever forget this, Alan. Not everybody gets what we've had, and we had to fight for every minute of it," she said fiercely, so softly only he could hear her.
"Eden, forgetting you would be like forgetting to breathe." He also spoke for her ears alone.
Alan pushed her the rest of the way to her plane, insisting on carrying her to her seat and sitting next to her while she strapped herself in. It was strange, she thought, realizing that Alan was the only person she ever would have put up with such overprotective nonsense from. Probably because he didn't mean to smother her. He just wanted to there, up until the end. They got one last kiss before the aircraft crew politely, but firmly, asked him to leave.
She didn't cry. Her heart was breaking, but the tears would not come. A part of her life had just ended, and she knew that she'd lost something she could never recapture. She didn't have the words to explain it, not even to herself. She could only turn her face to the uncertain future, and hope that she'd told Fuzz the truth. Maybe it would get better.
Nearly thirty miles in three days, Eden thought, and we're still not in sight of the city. Damn this rain. And damn the VC. The People's Liberation Front might be attacking Saigon, but the 1019th was plagued by the Viet Cong. Private First Class Eden DeWitt stared at the other pale, tense faces in the Army Nurse Corp truck. They hadn't been attacked yet, but everyone felt the same awful sense of foreboding. There were enemy soldiers out in the jungle, and it was only a matter of time.
Eden glanced at the soldiers sitting at the very back of the truck, rifles held loosely but ready. She felt a surge of affection for them both. My guardian angels, she thought, hiding her smile. Corporal Edward "Fuzz" O'Reilly and Corporal Alan Torres, who'd befriended a young and very frightened nurse on her first tour of duty. She'd been fresh out of medical school, determined to take her skills to the men who needed it most.
The hippie movement was definitely not for Eden. She preferred doing something to talking about it. She did not really support the idea of war; however, her government was sending men to Vietnam regardless of her beliefs. How could she possibly sit on her ass, wearing flowers, sleeping with anything on two legs, and waving signs when there were men dying? Still, she wasn't prepared for the jungle.
It had been Fuzz who'd found her crying behind the operating tent after her first big wave of wounded. She'd thought she could handle anything, but she'd watched a boy younger than her die on the operating table from shrapnel that had torn off half his face. She'd been able to finish helping the surgeon, to finish out her shift in a wooden kind of shock. But the racking sobs had hit her as she stumbled out to return to her sleeping quarters.
Fuzz was the same age as her, 23, and was in his second year of service. Despite the horrible conditions, Fuzz was an optimist and an all-around sweet guy. His nickname, Alan had told her once, had originally been "Peach Fuzz" due to his inability to grow a thick beard and his babyface. When he'd found her, he wasn't on active duty, so he'd sat down right next her and hugged her. A complete stranger, but he'd understood and just gave her a shoulder to cry on. Then he'd taken her to the mess tent and introduced her to his two good friends--Alan Torres and Jack Daniels.
The three of them had formed a close bond over the last two years. Friends to the end--and if Fuzz had ever been jealous that she and Alan were a bit closer than that, he'd never let on. She could have found out--she was a telepath after all--but she just didn't want to know. She'd never have read his journal without asking, and reading his thoughts was an even worse invasion. Besides, her dad had warned her about that--he'd told her that their family was special, that such abilities were to be used responsibly or they'd be a curse rather than a blessing.
Eden was shaken out of her reverie by the sudden staccato of gunfire up ahead. One of the other nurses made a sound halfway between a gasp and a shriek, a strangled noise of fear and shock. The caravan of trucks erupted into noise, shouting and gunfire and the revving of engines readying to escape the ambush. However, the truck she was in came to a sudden stop, throwing everyone to the floor. She heard a man's voice shouting, "Road's blocked! Turn around, dammit! Turn around!" The truck's engine roared, but the road was narrow, the ground wet from the constant rain.
Alan caught her gaze as she looked around wildly, wondering what was going on. Don't panic, those impossibly blue eyes said. "Everyone stay down!" he commanded, then turned to Fuzz. "I'll find out what's going on. Stay here and watch the girls." He turned back towards Eden, giving her a wink and a smile meant for only her before jumping out the back. Fuzz flashed her a nervous grin, then included the rest of the nurses in the supposedly heartening expression.
"That guy, huh? What a nut. Leaving a pretty bunch like you to go play with the gooks," Fuzz said, which elicited a few anxious chuckles from the women. The truck lurched forward again, making Eden feel like she'd left her stomach several feet behind her. Fuzz grabbed for purchase, nearly getting thrown out of the vehicle. His rifle slipped out of his hands, and Eden found herself catching it before it hit the floor of the truck.
"Jeez! Where'd that guy learn to drive? Jersey?" Fuzz hollered, and Eden knew then how scared her friend was. It seemed that he tried harder to be funny the more frightened he became. She sat up and handed the rifle back to him; suddenly, her left shoulder was on fire. No, not just on fire, like she'd been punched with fire and ice and glass and molten lead. She was lying on the floor of the truck, and the other nurses were screaming. Fuzz's round face hovered above her, pale and scared.
"Jeez, oh, jeez, Eden, are you okay? Ohmygodthere'ssomuchblood," he was saying, words tumbling out his mouth, although she found it hard to concentrate on them. "Alan! Where are you, man? Hey, aren't you guys nurses? Help her!"
I'm in shock, she thought detachedly. I think I've been shot. She struggled to sit up, but the pain flared, and she fell back, a sound somewhere between a shriek and a gasp forcing its way past her lips. One of the other women pushed Fuzz away, and began tearing the fabric away from Eden's shoulder. "Don't move, Eden," the woman said as she examined Eden's shoulder. Eden focused on her face; Laura, she thought. The new girl, the one with the boyfriend back home who ran away to Canada. Damn fine nurse, though. Couldn't be in better hands, except my own.
"Alright, Eden, looks like a clean wound. Went right through. Oh, thanks," Laura said as another woman handed her a roll of bandages. "We haven't got much that's accessible right now, so we'll have to wait until we get to Saigon to treat you right." Eden nodded, but even that small movement brought a renewal of pain. It was amazing how quickly one could grow accustomed to a certain level of pain, but any change in that level was unbearable.
"The gooks have blocked the road up ahead," a new voice was saying, "but we outgun them. The captain's going to round-up the survivors and--oh Christ, Eden, what happened?"
Alan. Eden conjured up a weak smile. Alan jumped into the truck, but Laura held him back. "I'm about to bandage her up, so stay out of my way." Alan looked mutinous, but stayed where he was.
"Whiskey," Eden croaked.
"What?" The answer came from several voices.
"Alan. Whiskey. Pour it on the wound before she bandages me." After a moment of hesitation--because it was contraband--Alan pulled out his hip flask and handed it to Laura. Eden gritted her teeth as Laura uncorked the flask and held it over the hole in her shoulder. "Do it," she whispered. Laura gave her a bundle of bandages to bite on. It hurt worse than the initial wounding. Unconsciousness was a merciful thing, and it slid over her like a blanket.
Eden woke to the realization that she was moving--or to be more accurate, was being moved. She couldn't interpret the sensations she was feeling, so she opened her eyes. Jungle flashed by. She tilted her head forward, and she saw Alan's face, lips thin with concentration. She was on some kind of stretcher, and he was carrying one end of it. She had no idea how long she'd been out.
"Alan," she said, her voice coming out as a thin whisper. But he heard anyway. Later, she'd wonder if she'd sent it mentally, or if he'd heard it some other way. She didn't know the word yet, but years in the future she'd remember this moment and think, Khef.
His eyes snapped down to her, and that schoolboy smile she adored lit up his dirty, anxious face. "Hey, beautiful. Welcome back to Hell. Hope you enjoyed the vacation." His head snapped back up. "Captain, she's awake!" His eyes returned to hers. "You need anything?"
"Water, please." Eden heard someone--the captain--call a halt, and her stretcher was lowered to the uneven jungle floor. The movement jarred her shoulder, but the pain seemed further away than it had been before. Alan was unscrewing the cap of his canteen, kneeling beside her.
"Just a little, beautiful. We're on water rations."
Between tiny sips, Eden asked, "What happened? Where are we?"
"In the jungle about 10 miles from Saigon," a new voice interjected. "Caravan got hit hard. We're what's left." A man with a captain's badge stood next to Alan. She didn't know him well; he'd been transfered to the 1019th shortly before they went mobile. The name on his fatigues was Everson. "Think you can walk, ma'am?"
She wiggled her toes. "Legs seem fine, sir."
"Good. Didn't want to leave you behind, but that stretcher's been a damned nuisance." There was an inscrutable look in the captain's brown eyes, then he turned abruptly away from her. "Ten minutes, soldiers, then we're mobile!"
"What's his problem?" Eden whispered to Alan, who had put away the canteen and was now holding her hand.
He laughed. "It's because you're a gal. He doesn't know how to act around you. The wounded guys he can deal with, but he's been acting like you're made of glass. Probably why he talked to you like he had a flagpole up his ass." Eden chuckled.
Fuzz appeared as Eden struggled to sit up. Her shoulder was bandaged securely, impeding use of her left arm. Alan helped her, gentle as though he, too, thought she were made of glass. "Hey! Eden! You've been out for hours! Wish I could have taken a nap through all that." He started to hug her, then remembered her shoulder and looked embarrassed. He settled for a sheepish grin and a soft punch to her good shoulder.
She looked around. About two dozen people were sitting or leaning against trees, taking sips from canteens or smoking. Eden saw four of the six nurses who'd been in the truck with her. She did not see Colonel Fairchild, or anyone higher in rank than Captain Everson for that matter. There'd been well over a hundred men with the 1019th.
Her horror must have shown, because the smile slid off Fuzz's face, to be replaced by a haunted look. "You're lucky, Eden," he said softly, all the joking gone. "We had to evac pretty fast, but we'd already gotten that stretcher ready for you. Things got real scary for a while." Fuzz looked at Alan and something passed between them, something that Eden couldn't share.
"We had to leave men behind," Alan said quietly, pained. "that's the other reason for the way the Captain acted around you, beautiful. We left men behind, but we brought you." His eyes, his impossibly blue eyes, told her the rest of the story. He and Fuzz, they wouldn't have left her. Not even if they'd been ordered to. She didn't think it had come to that, but she felt a sudden awful dread. It was a sadness she couldn't place, and she didn't want to.
The ten minutes passed all too quickly. The captain tried to get someone to rig a makeshift pack for Eden, so that the supplies being carried could be distributed more evenly. However, Laura quickly pointed out that there was no way Eden could bear the weight of a pack with her shoulder shot up. Eden felt his eyes bore into her back as she was helped to her feet.
She kept up, even though she regretted saying she'd be able to. It was the middle of winter, and while the temperature was far from chilly, the rain fell in heavy sheets. It dripped constantly though the canopy above, adding to the misery of the struggling band. Eden's shoulder was just as constant a misery, the pain never subsiding below a fiery throb.
Yet physical misery was secondary to the fear that they would be ambushed again. Eden found herself trying to stay close enough to her friends to easily reach out a hand to either one. But either they were very lucky or the VC was too busy to track down a small band of Americans. It took them two days to traverse the ten miles, hacking their way through dense undergrowth. By the end, Eden was concealing the shivers that racked her body. There was nothing anybody could do to bring down her fever--it would only be a hindrance.
It was only when they reached the edge of a vast swath of cleared jungle, the city of Saigon clearly visible beyond a cluster of villages, that Eden allowed herself the privilege of collapsing. She'd been leaning on Alan for at least two hours, and she felt his strong arms encircle her as she fell.
Eden woke up someplace well-lit and dry. She had vague recollections of fevered dreams, of Alan sitting by her cot, of some unknown nurse changing the sweat-and-rain-soaked bandages. It wasn't a tent, she realized, nor a cot. She was inside a building, lying on an honest-to-god bed.
As Eden was trying to shake off the grogginess, a nurse opened the door and poked her head in. The woman noticed that Eden was awake, and entered the room, closing the door behind her. Surprised, Eden noted that she was in a private room. Hospitals have those, she reminded herself. It's not all lines of cots in rows of tents.
"How are you feeling...," the nurse took a moment to check the chart hanging at the end of her bed. "Private DeWitt?"
"Better, I think. How long have I been here?"
"About a day and a half," the nurse answered after checking the chart again. "I'll get the doctor. He'll want to know you're awake." The nurse looked back over her shoulder. "You're lucky. I wish I had someone who cared enough about me to have to be ordered to leave."
As the door closed, Eden smiled. It had to be Alan. It was such a shame that they'd met here, rather than back in the States. She felt a pang of guilt. The real lucky one was the woman back home who'd spoken the "til death do us part" vows. Alan never spoke about her. Fuzz had once made a joke about a shotgun wedding, before Alan had silenced him with a poisonous glare. Eden guessed there was a kid involved, and knowing Alan, he'd never abandon his family back home. Not even for her.
Brooding over that thought, she didn't notice the door open again to admit an older man in a long white coat. "So how's our patient today?" he asked in a rich but tired voice.
"I'm not sure," she answered truthfully. "Last thing I really know, we'd reached the outskirts of the 'burbs."
"You had a high fever. Infection was starting to set in on your shoulder, but we've got that controlled. You won't be going anywhere for a while, but I've heard congratulations are in order."
"Congratulations?"
The doctor smiled widely. "You're going home. As soon as I declare you fit for traveling, you're being discharged."
"But... my tour of duty doesn't end for another six months!"
"In light of your ordeal, the Colonel has decided to send you home."
"Listen, Doctor...." she paused, looking for a name badge on the coat. There was none.
"Albrecht," he answered, a frown in his voice that had not yet manifested in his expression.
"Doctor Albrecht, I'm here because I can do some good. This may sound like a boast, but I'm one of the best nurses in my unit and my skill is wasted anywhere but here. Unlike most of the boys out there, I'm in Vietnam because I chose to come here!"
Albrecht sighed heavily. "My dear girl, I don't doubt that. In fact, I understand it better than you think. I'm a civilian. I chose this as well. But you've been through a traumatic experience, and Colonel Mayphert has decided it best to send you home."
"Then let me speak to Colonel Mayphert! I refuse to sit around while men are dying!"
"My dear, there comes a time when a woman can--"
"Don't you dare patronize me, Doctor," Eden said sharply as she struggled to sit up. "I can do just as much as any man in the army, if only the laws would let me. And since you're a civilian, I have no problem saying that I am sick of the bullshit spewed by 'this man's Army.' Like being born with a dick makes someone more worthy of defending what they believe in!"
Doctor Albrecht cleared his throat, embarrassed. "I'll send a message to Colonel Mayphert. If you need anything, Private, the nurses will be able to help you." And with that, the doctor fled the room, leaving Eden to helplessly fume.
The conversation with Colonel Mayphert didn't go any better. The Colonel was a career officer, born and bred into all the dogmas of the institution. He didn't even try to empathize with her; he merely spouted patronizing platitudes and quoted military law. Mayphert then informed her that Albrecht had declared she'd be fit for travel by the next week. Her plane was scheduled to leave in five days.
Eden didn't see much of the doctor, but her friends came to visit whenever they could. Fuzz regaled her with stories about the open air markets in Saigon, and the absolute luxury of fresh fruit. He smuggled in some kind of orange, and she delighted in the crisp, citrus scent of the rind before devouring the sweet segmented fruit within.
Alan smiled and charmed the nurses into letting him stay past visiting hours, since his duties kept him during the normal time. They spent most of their time in a painful sort of silence, unwilling to talk about her discharge, but unable to disregard it. Still, he was there every night, holding her hand until she fell asleep.
Her last full day in Vietnam, she finally felt strong enough to walk around the hospital. She and Alan strolled the halls, she leaning more than little on him for support. There was a small, semi-secluded courtyard not too far from her room. They sat in the humid darkness, looking at a miraculously clear sky.
"Eden," Alan began, but his voice faltered. She moved so that she could look him in the eye. She could feel the uncertainty and pain pouring off him in waves.
"What is it?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper. He licked his lips nervously, staring at her. "Come on, you know you can talk to me. After everything we've been through?"
To her complete shock, she noticed a glimmering of tears in his eyes. Alan Torres was no macho jerk, but he was a man in a world that taught men not to cry. He took her hands in his.
"Eden, you know I'm married, right?" She could only nod. "Her name's Mary, and I can't stand her. But I thought I loved her once, and I got her pregnant. My kid... he's a real spark. I can't leave him, no matter how much I hate his mom. But Eden... I'll never forget you." He clutched her to him.
"Alan, I--"
"No, wait. I'm not not done," he murmured into her hair. "Eden, you and Fuzz are my best friends. But I'd leave Fuzz in an instant if it meant getting you someplace safe. I hate that you're leaving," he said, and something suspiciously like sob escaped his lips, "but I know you're getting away from this madness."
He pulled back and looked her straight in the eyes. " I wish things were different, but they aren't, and we have to play the cards God dealt us."
"Alan--"
"Eden, I love you."
The admission stopped her dead. She'd never let herself realize that his feelings ran so deep. Nor that her own matched them. It just figured that it took her leaving to bring all this out in open.
He walked her back to her room, where they made love--quietly-- for one last time. When he left, he kissed her softly on the forehead.
"Love you, beautiful."
"I love you, too," she whispered as he left.
Her plane left early the next morning. Although she could walk, she was brought to the airstrip in a wheelchair. It seemed that the world was conspiring to make her feel as frail as everyone but her friends assumed her to be. She had no luggage--all her belongings had been left back at the ambush site. The Viet Cong had evidently looted the trucks, for the force sent out to investigate had come back with nothing but bodies.
The Army had temporary barracks she could stay in until she'd arranged for a job and place of her own. Most of what she'd owned before joining the army was in a storage locker she sent a check to every six months. Most of her family was dead, and her college friends had refused to speak to her after learning she was going to support the "evils of war." Her future was uncertain, and her heart was breaking.
Her wheelchair stopped unexpectedly after she was wheeled out of Processing, and she turned to ask what was wrong. Fuzz's round face grinned down at her. "You oughta see the look on your face! Bet ya thought we weren't comin' to say good-bye!"
"Thank you, Fuzz."
"Aw, it's nothing. It's not like I'm doing anything important right now. I doubt they'll miss me at the mess hall."
"No, seriously. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't found that night. You know, when we first met?"
"Yeah, I remember. You were a mess. You know your face turns all red and blotchy when you cry, right?"
"Jerk," she said, but she was grinning. "I'm gonna miss you so much, Fuzz."
"Promise you'll write?"
"Pinky promise, I will," she said, laughing as she extended her pinky finger. He hooked it with his own, a look of satisfaction on his face.
"Now you have to, or your pinky will fall off." He became serious. "Jeez, Eden, I'm really gonna miss you. It won't be the same without you. Alan and I are getting transfered to different units, since the 1019th is pretty much toast. It's just just never gonna be the same," Fuzz said sadly, shaking his head.
"I know, Fuzz." Eden took his hand and smiled. "But maybe it'll get better."
His face lit up. "It just might. Maybe I can get a cushy desk job here in Saigon. Be a company clerk or something! Then when my term's up, I'll come and find you!"
"You do that. I'm thinking of heading to New York."
"New York. You don't set your sights low, do you, beautiful?" Alan's voice hid the pain, but Eden knew it was there.
"Never did, Alan. Only the best for me." She saw the slight smile and knew he understood she'd meant him. He'd been standing off to one side, waiting for Fuzz to finish his good-bye. Although the day was blessedly clear and the temperature mild, he had his fatigue jacket with him. It was clean, but obviously patched and well-worn.
"It'll be cold as hell back home," he said softly as leaned down and slipped the jacket over her shoulders. Even after being laundered, it smelled like him. Regulations be damned, Eden thought, and stood up. Ignoring the sudden sharp pain in her shoulder, she wrapped her arms around Alan and gave him a long, passionate kiss good-bye. When it ended, she became aware of several of the soldiers standing around applauding. Fuzz had a look on his face that said, "Oh those crazy kids."
"Don't you ever forget this, Alan. Not everybody gets what we've had, and we had to fight for every minute of it," she said fiercely, so softly only he could hear her.
"Eden, forgetting you would be like forgetting to breathe." He also spoke for her ears alone.
Alan pushed her the rest of the way to her plane, insisting on carrying her to her seat and sitting next to her while she strapped herself in. It was strange, she thought, realizing that Alan was the only person she ever would have put up with such overprotective nonsense from. Probably because he didn't mean to smother her. He just wanted to there, up until the end. They got one last kiss before the aircraft crew politely, but firmly, asked him to leave.
She didn't cry. Her heart was breaking, but the tears would not come. A part of her life had just ended, and she knew that she'd lost something she could never recapture. She didn't have the words to explain it, not even to herself. She could only turn her face to the uncertain future, and hope that she'd told Fuzz the truth. Maybe it would get better.
Monday, January 21, 2008
I Have Seen The Rain
Eden looked around the living room of her new apartment, bare but for a few basics. A table and a couple chairs were tucked into the small dining nook, a futon served as a couch, and there was only one bookshelf. She could see into the tiny kitchen, where thrift-store appliances sat on clean white counters. The bedroom was equally spartan, just a bed and a cardboard box with a couple t-shirts and a pair of jeans.
She was lucky to have this much, she reminded herself. She could be dead, or in the hands of what the others called "low men." But at that moment, she didn't feel very lucky--she felt lonely, confused, and still more than a little scared. It had only been a few days since her life had been turned completely upside down, and she still had moments where she wanted nothing more than to wake up from a bad dream.
It was like the first few weeks in 'Nam; the comparison helped her. She'd kept it together then, she could do it now. True, back then she hadn't dealt with other realities and roads through an expanse of nothingness. But right now she wasn't watching young men die, wasn't smelling the gore and sweat and antiseptic. Different situations, but they called for the same reserves of strength. There was a place within herself that she'd always been able to touch, a place of calm and serenity that had buoyed her through the worst times of her life.
It had helped, to stay with Carrie. Now that she was in her own apartment, there was no one to talk to. Not that they'd spoken much, but there was comfort in the younger woman's presence. Eden smiled as she thought of the almost sleepover they'd had with Penny. She hadn't done anything like that since she was in high school, and it had helped to do something so normal and silly.
She felt bad, though, that she'd clammed up when the girls had asked about Alan. It wasn't like her, to avoid talking like that. It had just hit her in that moment that she'd left it all behind, probably forever. It had been a staggering realization, and she'd wanted to change the subject before she started crying and ruined the whole night. Eden picked up Alan's jacket from the back of the "couch" and ran her fingers over the patch with his last name.
She'd thought she'd accepted never seeing him again, but she had to be honest with herself. Over the last three years, she'd hoped to hear from him. It didn't have to be a romantic thing again--they'd been friends, and she missed him. Even a phone call was out of the question now. Alan might as well be as dead as Fuzz. Tears stung her eyes as she put the jacket back down. It was all spilled milk, and nothing she could do would change it.
She thought about her new companions. It was a strange group, and only something as weird as fate and a tower that held together an infinity of worlds could have brought them together. Penny was a good kid, but her heart ached to see someone so young exposed to so much. Eden could understand the girl's wish to be taken more seriously than her age generally warranted; if Joe Schmo on the street had been through just a fraction of what Penny had seen, he'd have some respect.
James was a mystery. Carrie had told her that he was a vampire, although it was obvious the Dracula stories were to be taken with a grain of salt. He'd worked for the Crimson King, and that made Eden wary--or maybe it was the fact that he'd betrayed the last people he'd worked with. She didn't think he'd ever hurt Penny--the kid had his heartstrings wrapped tightly in her fingers. She was trying to reserve judgment, but her first impression was of his cold and almost mechanical demeanor. She wondered what kind of person he'd been before the Crimson King got a hold of him.
Ashleigh made her think of a Georgia boy who'd been evac'ed to the 1019th; good ol' boys who always had a smile and an endearment on their lips. The little glass turtle Ashleigh had given her was one of the only things that sat on the little bookshelf in the corner. She felt a little nagging worry; whatever Ashleigh had been through in the todash dark, it had marked him. She hadn't seen him at the office, but when she and Carrie had taken him donuts, he looked like the wrong end of a week of whiskey.
She'd spent more time around Carrie than any of the others. Eden was still unsettled by the younger woman's heroin addiction, but she wasn't going to lecture or harass her about it. Carrie felt as if she were worthless without her visions, and Eden thought that might be more harmful than the drugs, at least at this point. She felt like she didn't really know Carrie any better, despite having spent more time with her. Carrie seemed to focus entirely on other people, which made it hard to get to know her for herself.
Alistair--Eden wasn't sure why Penny called him "Doctor"--was interesting. A genius with a typical New York attitude, he'd warmed up when she asked about the changes in technology from 1978 to 1999. Alistair obviously got on better with machines than people--he'd spoken lovingly of the leaps and bounds in computer technology. The information had been a little overwhelming, but he'd still been easy to talk to. He'd lived through the same world events that she had--even though for him it was all 20 years in the past.
But for all the strangeness of the group, it did feel right to Eden. For better or worse, she was bound to these people and they to her. If she got to know them better, they'd seem less strange to her. Maybe she'd ask Carrie to go out to that furniture store with the weird name--IKEA--and help her pick out some things to make this place look more like home. They could go out for lunch somewhere, and maybe she could get Carrie to talk about herself.
She looked around. Already, the place seemed less bare... and more like a canvas waiting for paint.
She was lucky to have this much, she reminded herself. She could be dead, or in the hands of what the others called "low men." But at that moment, she didn't feel very lucky--she felt lonely, confused, and still more than a little scared. It had only been a few days since her life had been turned completely upside down, and she still had moments where she wanted nothing more than to wake up from a bad dream.
It was like the first few weeks in 'Nam; the comparison helped her. She'd kept it together then, she could do it now. True, back then she hadn't dealt with other realities and roads through an expanse of nothingness. But right now she wasn't watching young men die, wasn't smelling the gore and sweat and antiseptic. Different situations, but they called for the same reserves of strength. There was a place within herself that she'd always been able to touch, a place of calm and serenity that had buoyed her through the worst times of her life.
It had helped, to stay with Carrie. Now that she was in her own apartment, there was no one to talk to. Not that they'd spoken much, but there was comfort in the younger woman's presence. Eden smiled as she thought of the almost sleepover they'd had with Penny. She hadn't done anything like that since she was in high school, and it had helped to do something so normal and silly.
She felt bad, though, that she'd clammed up when the girls had asked about Alan. It wasn't like her, to avoid talking like that. It had just hit her in that moment that she'd left it all behind, probably forever. It had been a staggering realization, and she'd wanted to change the subject before she started crying and ruined the whole night. Eden picked up Alan's jacket from the back of the "couch" and ran her fingers over the patch with his last name.
She'd thought she'd accepted never seeing him again, but she had to be honest with herself. Over the last three years, she'd hoped to hear from him. It didn't have to be a romantic thing again--they'd been friends, and she missed him. Even a phone call was out of the question now. Alan might as well be as dead as Fuzz. Tears stung her eyes as she put the jacket back down. It was all spilled milk, and nothing she could do would change it.
She thought about her new companions. It was a strange group, and only something as weird as fate and a tower that held together an infinity of worlds could have brought them together. Penny was a good kid, but her heart ached to see someone so young exposed to so much. Eden could understand the girl's wish to be taken more seriously than her age generally warranted; if Joe Schmo on the street had been through just a fraction of what Penny had seen, he'd have some respect.
James was a mystery. Carrie had told her that he was a vampire, although it was obvious the Dracula stories were to be taken with a grain of salt. He'd worked for the Crimson King, and that made Eden wary--or maybe it was the fact that he'd betrayed the last people he'd worked with. She didn't think he'd ever hurt Penny--the kid had his heartstrings wrapped tightly in her fingers. She was trying to reserve judgment, but her first impression was of his cold and almost mechanical demeanor. She wondered what kind of person he'd been before the Crimson King got a hold of him.
Ashleigh made her think of a Georgia boy who'd been evac'ed to the 1019th; good ol' boys who always had a smile and an endearment on their lips. The little glass turtle Ashleigh had given her was one of the only things that sat on the little bookshelf in the corner. She felt a little nagging worry; whatever Ashleigh had been through in the todash dark, it had marked him. She hadn't seen him at the office, but when she and Carrie had taken him donuts, he looked like the wrong end of a week of whiskey.
She'd spent more time around Carrie than any of the others. Eden was still unsettled by the younger woman's heroin addiction, but she wasn't going to lecture or harass her about it. Carrie felt as if she were worthless without her visions, and Eden thought that might be more harmful than the drugs, at least at this point. She felt like she didn't really know Carrie any better, despite having spent more time with her. Carrie seemed to focus entirely on other people, which made it hard to get to know her for herself.
Alistair--Eden wasn't sure why Penny called him "Doctor"--was interesting. A genius with a typical New York attitude, he'd warmed up when she asked about the changes in technology from 1978 to 1999. Alistair obviously got on better with machines than people--he'd spoken lovingly of the leaps and bounds in computer technology. The information had been a little overwhelming, but he'd still been easy to talk to. He'd lived through the same world events that she had--even though for him it was all 20 years in the past.
But for all the strangeness of the group, it did feel right to Eden. For better or worse, she was bound to these people and they to her. If she got to know them better, they'd seem less strange to her. Maybe she'd ask Carrie to go out to that furniture store with the weird name--IKEA--and help her pick out some things to make this place look more like home. They could go out for lunch somewhere, and maybe she could get Carrie to talk about herself.
She looked around. Already, the place seemed less bare... and more like a canvas waiting for paint.
Friday, January 11, 2008
In a New York minute....
Eden paused as she grabbed her purse; for the last week or so, she'd had the creepiest feeling every time she left the apartment. Like someone was following her, but she couldn't spot anyone suspicious. She shuddered. It was too much like that time outside of Saigon, before the mortars started falling and so many of the men in the 1019th had died. They'd been shadowed by the Cong for days beforehand, and she'd felt that same sick suspicion.
After only another moment of hesitation, she took the small Beretta out of the top drawer of the cabinet in the hall and slipped it into her huge, woven purse. Not for the first time, she silently thanked Alan and Fuzz for defying orders and teaching her how to handle a gun. They'd had the guts to question why the U.S. Army would send a woman to the jungle, but leave her defenseless. The Cong didn't care if you were a woman, or if you were medical personnel; if you were white, you were an enemy.
The war was three years ended now, but she sometimes felt like she'd carry it inside her forever. She had it better than most vets, though. She'd been spared a lot of the horror, and she'd been busy saving lives, not taking them. Eden thought of the last time she'd seen Fuzz, and his empty, haunted eyes. It was hard to believe that she'd only gotten the call a month ago. Suicide. Tears stung her eyes again, and she brushed them aside negligently.
She'd gotten used to crying over the deaths of her friends. It wasn't Fuzz killing himself that really got to her. She should have seen it coming. She'd known he was hurting--she'd felt his hurt, plain as day, but she hadn't realized how serious it was. Eden was so busy, working at the hospital and volunteering half of her free days at the soup kitchen, she hadn't even seen it coming.
Eden went out into the hallway and locked the door behind her, checking the doorknob to make sure it was secure. She walked down four flights of stairs to the street and nodded to Lenny, the security guy. Making a quick detour into the alley between her building and the next, she dug a plastic baggy full of cat food out of her over-sized purse. A quick look told her that the skinny, half-grown stray she'd been feeding wasn't there, so she just emptied the baggy into the little plastic bowl she'd hidden behind the dumpster.
Walking back out into the open, she caught a gust of chill October wind. It was only a few blocks to the grocery store, but she was glad she'd grabbed a jacket. Eden snuggled down into the warmth of the old military jacket, and the comfort of its large size on her spare frame. Today was a nostalgic one, she was realizing. Alan Torres had given her this jacket the day her plane had left Saigon. She fingered the patches on the sleeve--the insignia of the 1019th Combat Support Hospital, Torres' corporal's badge.
It was too bad that he'd been married; they'd had quite a thing going overseas. But that was how things went during wartime--you found comfort where you could in a godless land. Still, she'd left his name embroidered on the breast, a reminder of something she'd cherished while it lasted.
Eden waited at the edge of the street, tapping her foot as she waited for the light to change. The sunlight poured down, and the air was crisp and clean from the rainstorm that had blown through a few days previous. It was a beautiful day, and she was glad she had the day off at the hospital. It was the kind of day that made it hard to believe she'd been so paranoid lately. New York would do that to a person, even they hadn't been in a war.
Something caught her eye. Half the street signs on the intersection were upside down. Not again, Eden thought irritably. Some bunch of punks had been vandalizing the neighborhood for about a month now. Nothing serious, but it was a nuisance to the neighborhood. Maybe they should start up one of those "neighborhood watches". She'd talk to Maria Alvares; the woman lived across the hall from her and was the biggest gossip in a four-block radius. If anyone could get something like that mobilized, it was Maria.
Eden smiled as she crossed the street and let the tide of foot traffic carry her towards the store on the corner of the next block. She'd pick up some sangria fixings, invite Maria over for a drink and some gossip. And within a week, she knew she'd be seeing the first "Neighborhood Watch" signs being put up in shop windows and apartment lobbies.
She almost laughed as she swung into the corner store. She'd been so bogged down lately, with Fuzz, and being followed, and all the stress at the hospital. She'd forgotten what it was like to simply let go and have a good day. Maybe she'd even let Maria talk her into a date with one of her numerous marriageable male relatives.
After only another moment of hesitation, she took the small Beretta out of the top drawer of the cabinet in the hall and slipped it into her huge, woven purse. Not for the first time, she silently thanked Alan and Fuzz for defying orders and teaching her how to handle a gun. They'd had the guts to question why the U.S. Army would send a woman to the jungle, but leave her defenseless. The Cong didn't care if you were a woman, or if you were medical personnel; if you were white, you were an enemy.
The war was three years ended now, but she sometimes felt like she'd carry it inside her forever. She had it better than most vets, though. She'd been spared a lot of the horror, and she'd been busy saving lives, not taking them. Eden thought of the last time she'd seen Fuzz, and his empty, haunted eyes. It was hard to believe that she'd only gotten the call a month ago. Suicide. Tears stung her eyes again, and she brushed them aside negligently.
She'd gotten used to crying over the deaths of her friends. It wasn't Fuzz killing himself that really got to her. She should have seen it coming. She'd known he was hurting--she'd felt his hurt, plain as day, but she hadn't realized how serious it was. Eden was so busy, working at the hospital and volunteering half of her free days at the soup kitchen, she hadn't even seen it coming.
Eden went out into the hallway and locked the door behind her, checking the doorknob to make sure it was secure. She walked down four flights of stairs to the street and nodded to Lenny, the security guy. Making a quick detour into the alley between her building and the next, she dug a plastic baggy full of cat food out of her over-sized purse. A quick look told her that the skinny, half-grown stray she'd been feeding wasn't there, so she just emptied the baggy into the little plastic bowl she'd hidden behind the dumpster.
Walking back out into the open, she caught a gust of chill October wind. It was only a few blocks to the grocery store, but she was glad she'd grabbed a jacket. Eden snuggled down into the warmth of the old military jacket, and the comfort of its large size on her spare frame. Today was a nostalgic one, she was realizing. Alan Torres had given her this jacket the day her plane had left Saigon. She fingered the patches on the sleeve--the insignia of the 1019th Combat Support Hospital, Torres' corporal's badge.
It was too bad that he'd been married; they'd had quite a thing going overseas. But that was how things went during wartime--you found comfort where you could in a godless land. Still, she'd left his name embroidered on the breast, a reminder of something she'd cherished while it lasted.
Eden waited at the edge of the street, tapping her foot as she waited for the light to change. The sunlight poured down, and the air was crisp and clean from the rainstorm that had blown through a few days previous. It was a beautiful day, and she was glad she had the day off at the hospital. It was the kind of day that made it hard to believe she'd been so paranoid lately. New York would do that to a person, even they hadn't been in a war.
Something caught her eye. Half the street signs on the intersection were upside down. Not again, Eden thought irritably. Some bunch of punks had been vandalizing the neighborhood for about a month now. Nothing serious, but it was a nuisance to the neighborhood. Maybe they should start up one of those "neighborhood watches". She'd talk to Maria Alvares; the woman lived across the hall from her and was the biggest gossip in a four-block radius. If anyone could get something like that mobilized, it was Maria.
Eden smiled as she crossed the street and let the tide of foot traffic carry her towards the store on the corner of the next block. She'd pick up some sangria fixings, invite Maria over for a drink and some gossip. And within a week, she knew she'd be seeing the first "Neighborhood Watch" signs being put up in shop windows and apartment lobbies.
She almost laughed as she swung into the corner store. She'd been so bogged down lately, with Fuzz, and being followed, and all the stress at the hospital. She'd forgotten what it was like to simply let go and have a good day. Maybe she'd even let Maria talk her into a date with one of her numerous marriageable male relatives.
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