anything,” he said, as fresh tears filled his eyes. “Oh please, Doc, I just
want my life back. I just want these horrible feelings to go away. I will do
anything you say.”
And
he did. He had followed his therapy goals, confronted his demons, and confessed
atrocities committed in the name of war. At only twenty-six, he was a young
man. He had been deployed for a little over a year; much less than most of the
patients she treated. But this man, Bill Neil, was different. What he had done
in the name of his country broke him in a very deep way. He confessed, through
deep, gut-wrenching sobs, he had liked the brutality. He returned from war
craving it. There was exhilaration in the “release” he felt when he took the
life of another.
“It's
okay.” The words she had spoken echoed through her mind as her own body
shuddered with the force of her grief. “It's normal to feel that way,” she
assured him.
It was that very moment which haunted her. Those whispered words meant to
soothe him, meant to steer things back into proper perspective for a young man
who had committed no greater crime than following orders. As Abby recalled the
memory, tears streamed from between thick lashes framing her eyes. The
intensity of that moment washed over her yet again. Remorse threatened to
cripple her, to rob her of any remaining sense of self-worth. So, she decided it
was time to get up, to get out and avoid obsessing, as she would advise anyone
else to do. Abby forced herself out of bed and into the small bathroom cubicle
for a brief shower. Once dressed, she trudged back out through the houseboat’s
front door.
* * *
Chapter 2 ~ Rumblings
It
was a beautiful Sunday morning; almost midday by the time she emerged into the
sunshine. The tiny town her uncle had insisted she visit was moving at a slow
pace matching the sun’s movement across the sky. There were very few cars on
the road. Abby noticed right away that several of the stores on the main strip
were closed. She hadn’t even considered the idea there might not be anywhere to
buy groceries.
Abby’s trip had been made in a daze. She had flown into Eugene, Oregon and then
taken a pre-booked Budget Taxi to her uncle's boat, assuming she would not need
a car.As she stood outside a tiny shop,
displaying food in the window but with a closed sign on its door, she wondered
if she would have better luck finding a car rental. Her eyes scanned to the end
of the strip, where she noticed a diner that appeared to be open. Her stomach
growled again in encouragement. The last thing I need is to deal with
people. But she was hungry and had no other choice if she wanted to eat.
When
she entered, the diner appeared to be crowded with townsfolk. She wondered if
this was a routine - brunch after Sunday services - or maybe a matter of it
being the only gathering place available. Either way, she felt as if the entire
population of Winchester Bay was staring at her when she stepped in. Apparently
the residents were not opposed to gawking.
Abby
lowered her eyes, pushed back a strand of brown hair that escaped the hairband
holding a ponytail, and headed for the only empty table she could find.
"Oh,
sorry, Ma'am," a young blond waitress chirped quickly, as Abby was about
to sit down. "That table is reserved." Abby was not amused. Could
this be some kind of discrimination against out-of- towners?
"Can
I get something to go, then?" The young waitress looked a little confused
by the question.
"That's
alright! She can join us," a small voice chimed.
Abby
turned to see who had spoken up. It was a little girl with brown curls, swept
into two slightly-lopsided pigtails. Her eyes sparkled with the untainted
friendliness only a child could possess. She smiled and issued the invitation
again. It was only then Abby noticed hands on the child’s shoulders, and when
she looked up to see who owned those hands, her gaze met Craig Port’s eyes.
"Craig?"
Abby
want my life back. I just want these horrible feelings to go away. I will do
anything you say.”
And
he did. He had followed his therapy goals, confronted his demons, and confessed
atrocities committed in the name of war. At only twenty-six, he was a young
man. He had been deployed for a little over a year; much less than most of the
patients she treated. But this man, Bill Neil, was different. What he had done
in the name of his country broke him in a very deep way. He confessed, through
deep, gut-wrenching sobs, he had liked the brutality. He returned from war
craving it. There was exhilaration in the “release” he felt when he took the
life of another.
“It's
okay.” The words she had spoken echoed through her mind as her own body
shuddered with the force of her grief. “It's normal to feel that way,” she
assured him.
It was that very moment which haunted her. Those whispered words meant to
soothe him, meant to steer things back into proper perspective for a young man
who had committed no greater crime than following orders. As Abby recalled the
memory, tears streamed from between thick lashes framing her eyes. The
intensity of that moment washed over her yet again. Remorse threatened to
cripple her, to rob her of any remaining sense of self-worth. So, she decided it
was time to get up, to get out and avoid obsessing, as she would advise anyone
else to do. Abby forced herself out of bed and into the small bathroom cubicle
for a brief shower. Once dressed, she trudged back out through the houseboat’s
front door.
* * *
Chapter 2 ~ Rumblings
It
was a beautiful Sunday morning; almost midday by the time she emerged into the
sunshine. The tiny town her uncle had insisted she visit was moving at a slow
pace matching the sun’s movement across the sky. There were very few cars on
the road. Abby noticed right away that several of the stores on the main strip
were closed. She hadn’t even considered the idea there might not be anywhere to
buy groceries.
Abby’s trip had been made in a daze. She had flown into Eugene, Oregon and then
taken a pre-booked Budget Taxi to her uncle's boat, assuming she would not need
a car.As she stood outside a tiny shop,
displaying food in the window but with a closed sign on its door, she wondered
if she would have better luck finding a car rental. Her eyes scanned to the end
of the strip, where she noticed a diner that appeared to be open. Her stomach
growled again in encouragement. The last thing I need is to deal with
people. But she was hungry and had no other choice if she wanted to eat.
When
she entered, the diner appeared to be crowded with townsfolk. She wondered if
this was a routine - brunch after Sunday services - or maybe a matter of it
being the only gathering place available. Either way, she felt as if the entire
population of Winchester Bay was staring at her when she stepped in. Apparently
the residents were not opposed to gawking.
Abby
lowered her eyes, pushed back a strand of brown hair that escaped the hairband
holding a ponytail, and headed for the only empty table she could find.
"Oh,
sorry, Ma'am," a young blond waitress chirped quickly, as Abby was about
to sit down. "That table is reserved." Abby was not amused. Could
this be some kind of discrimination against out-of- towners?
"Can
I get something to go, then?" The young waitress looked a little confused
by the question.
"That's
alright! She can join us," a small voice chimed.
Abby
turned to see who had spoken up. It was a little girl with brown curls, swept
into two slightly-lopsided pigtails. Her eyes sparkled with the untainted
friendliness only a child could possess. She smiled and issued the invitation
again. It was only then Abby noticed hands on the child’s shoulders, and when
she looked up to see who owned those hands, her gaze met Craig Port’s eyes.
"Craig?"
Abby
Similar Books
