to become something better, something more than a prostitute. It hurt to listen.
“As luck would have it, he didn’t live very far away. He had a small cabin in the woods at the Eastern edge of the Appalachians.”
“I’d been visiting Lia regularly, keeping tabs on her, making sure she stayed in school and out of trouble. We spent plenty of time together. We were falling in love.”
“Her father, Raymond Shuman, had been an Army Ranger stationed in Saigon. He’d survived numerous forays into the bush country, one of their elite. Like so many men in his situation, he’d become a monster, a killing machine who collected trophies of flesh. When the military breeds a creature like that, they don’t teach him how to turn off the machine. Most of them today are on heavy psyche meds with debilitating injuries to show for their service. They encountered a hostile environment here in the US when they returned. People called them “baby killers” and treated them with outright disdain. Being a veteran of Vietnam was a stain on your resume. They were not honored for their service to their country.”
“Raymond was an extremely bitter man, paranoid the US government was out to get him, take away all his rights and freedoms. A card carrying member of the NRA, he was armed at all times. For him, Vietnam had never really ended. He returned to the bush country in his nightly dreams, and he had flashbacks, what they call PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder. A loud noise or sudden movement could trigger a vivid memory.”
“I know all this because I read his psychiatric treatment file. The man was a dangerous unpredictable son-of-a-bitch, and definitely bigoted towards Asians, especially Vietnamese. I never should’ve arranged their meeting. But I learned these things later.
“He met Lia the first time at a coffee shop a few blocks from her apartment. They didn’t have much to say. She talked of life in Vietnam post war, which held his interest. Theirs was a tentative connection, just enough to agree to meet again.”
“Raymond cancelled their next meeting, but eventually, with Lia calling him weekly, he agreed to meet again. They had dinner together at a McDonalds near her college. She was excited for Ray to meet the people that meant the most to her, Tri, and of course, me.”
“As I’m sure you guessed, she was a bloodslave. It’s near impossible to have an intimate relationship otherwise. She was quite fond of me back then. She wanted me to meet her father, especially since I paid to find him.”
“We sat outside in the evening air by the playground and talked while Tri played with the other kids. The problem started when an Asian family sat down at a table nearby. Ray froze, watching their every move as they settled in. Their children ran off to join Tri. They weren’t Vietnamese, but that didn’t stop Tri, he chattered away at them in his native tongue. Ray had this wild look in his eyes. Watching that family had triggered a flashback.”
“The kids were arguing. They couldn’t understand Tri. One boy had a black plastic toy pistol, one of those realistic looking ones. Tri grabbed it and wouldn’t give it back.”
“They chased Tri as he ran to Lia, toy in hand. The other two kids swarmed around the table, a storm of shouts and accusations. Struggling with some vision of events long past, Ray couldn’t handle the noise. He jumped up out of his seat screaming ‘s hut those fucking Gooks up!’ ”
“They backed off immediately, except for Tri. Tri did what feisty, little children who’ve learned to stand up for themselves often do, he yelled back. Tri pointed the black plastic toy gun at Ray and screamed something in Vietnamese. The toy made little pop sounds as he pulled the trigger at Ray as though shooting him.
“I’ll never know what Ray was thinking. Perhaps he forgot to take his antipsychotics that
“As luck would have it, he didn’t live very far away. He had a small cabin in the woods at the Eastern edge of the Appalachians.”
“I’d been visiting Lia regularly, keeping tabs on her, making sure she stayed in school and out of trouble. We spent plenty of time together. We were falling in love.”
“Her father, Raymond Shuman, had been an Army Ranger stationed in Saigon. He’d survived numerous forays into the bush country, one of their elite. Like so many men in his situation, he’d become a monster, a killing machine who collected trophies of flesh. When the military breeds a creature like that, they don’t teach him how to turn off the machine. Most of them today are on heavy psyche meds with debilitating injuries to show for their service. They encountered a hostile environment here in the US when they returned. People called them “baby killers” and treated them with outright disdain. Being a veteran of Vietnam was a stain on your resume. They were not honored for their service to their country.”
“Raymond was an extremely bitter man, paranoid the US government was out to get him, take away all his rights and freedoms. A card carrying member of the NRA, he was armed at all times. For him, Vietnam had never really ended. He returned to the bush country in his nightly dreams, and he had flashbacks, what they call PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder. A loud noise or sudden movement could trigger a vivid memory.”
“I know all this because I read his psychiatric treatment file. The man was a dangerous unpredictable son-of-a-bitch, and definitely bigoted towards Asians, especially Vietnamese. I never should’ve arranged their meeting. But I learned these things later.
“He met Lia the first time at a coffee shop a few blocks from her apartment. They didn’t have much to say. She talked of life in Vietnam post war, which held his interest. Theirs was a tentative connection, just enough to agree to meet again.”
“Raymond cancelled their next meeting, but eventually, with Lia calling him weekly, he agreed to meet again. They had dinner together at a McDonalds near her college. She was excited for Ray to meet the people that meant the most to her, Tri, and of course, me.”
“As I’m sure you guessed, she was a bloodslave. It’s near impossible to have an intimate relationship otherwise. She was quite fond of me back then. She wanted me to meet her father, especially since I paid to find him.”
“We sat outside in the evening air by the playground and talked while Tri played with the other kids. The problem started when an Asian family sat down at a table nearby. Ray froze, watching their every move as they settled in. Their children ran off to join Tri. They weren’t Vietnamese, but that didn’t stop Tri, he chattered away at them in his native tongue. Ray had this wild look in his eyes. Watching that family had triggered a flashback.”
“The kids were arguing. They couldn’t understand Tri. One boy had a black plastic toy pistol, one of those realistic looking ones. Tri grabbed it and wouldn’t give it back.”
“They chased Tri as he ran to Lia, toy in hand. The other two kids swarmed around the table, a storm of shouts and accusations. Struggling with some vision of events long past, Ray couldn’t handle the noise. He jumped up out of his seat screaming ‘s hut those fucking Gooks up!’ ”
“They backed off immediately, except for Tri. Tri did what feisty, little children who’ve learned to stand up for themselves often do, he yelled back. Tri pointed the black plastic toy gun at Ray and screamed something in Vietnamese. The toy made little pop sounds as he pulled the trigger at Ray as though shooting him.
“I’ll never know what Ray was thinking. Perhaps he forgot to take his antipsychotics that
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