Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 94716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“God, you still haven’t stopped sitting like that?” I mused.
“Ahh, no. It’s more comfortable,” she said, sounding confused. Her forehead was wrinkled adorably.
Her eyes darted around the room frantically, taking in the sparsely decorated area. The only thing that ornamented the wall was one lone picture, and she hadn’t noticed it yet. The rest of the room was bare. I never used this room, so it didn’t have much more than a couch, a Lazy-Z-Boy and a coffee table. The kitchen was the same. There was one pot, one pan, one plate, one cup, one knife, one spoon, and one fork.
Her eyes finally came to rest on the picture, and she froze. Every muscle in her body became tight and rigid, and then she bounded from the couch to stand directly in front of the picture.
“Oh my God! Look how good my ass looks in those shorts!” She exclaimed.
I chuckled. That would be her first observation. Yet, the two wedding rings, and the wedding date underneath it doesn’t affect her in the slightest. The picture was of the both of us on my bike the day before I left for Afghanistan for deployment.
She was wearing short blue jean shorts and her Chucks, straddling my bike backwards. Her thighs are draped over my thighs, and my hand is running up the back of her shorts. Her sister, Stormy, took that picture, and Winter sent it to me. It was the first and last piece of mail I’d ever received from her.
Winter’s hand lifted to the glass, and her fingers ran over the dream catcher tattoo I had on my right forearm. Then they went to her side as she ran her fingers lightly over her side. I watched her making a connection in her brain, finally, and then she turned to me with wide scared eyes.
“We’re married?” She whispered with tears in her brown eyes.
***
Seven years prior
I’d been living in a state of happiness since I was married. Not even the roadside bomb that was found during the sweep of the South quarter put a dent in it.
“Where you goin’, Stoker?” Justin said from beside me.
I turned and gave him a grin. He knew exactly where I was going. To the tent that the computers were set up in. It being the ass crack of dawn meant that the computers would be free. Not many got up earlier than they had to; I was an exception to the rule though. If I wanted to talk to Winter, that was the time to do it and have some time without being rushed.
I sat down at the computer that was furthest away from the tent flap and turned my chair and the monitor of the computer as added security. I didn’t want anyone to see what was mine. In addition, it gave her a little security if she decided to show me anything more than her pretty face.
Skype was my poison of choice. There weren’t many options when it came to this, and unless I wanted to just email, which sucked when you couldn’t see your loved one’s face, that was my only option.
When I got online, I saw that she wasn’t there. We’d set up a recurring Skype appointment once a week. It wasn’t like her to miss, so I sat there and waited. When the sun finally made its appearance in the sky, I realized that it’d been over an hour, and still no Winter.
My gut started to churn, but I held my emotions in check. I’d email her, and then Adam, just in case she was sick and needed someone to check on her. Seeing that I had over five emails from Adam, I quickly sent him one, and then Winter. Just as I was about to open up Adam’s first email, the siren wailed alerting us to enemy forces being spotted.
Emails forgotten, I hauled ass back to my bunk and got dressed. The faded beige shirt I slipped on felt gritty against my skin. Smelling myself, I grimaced. Sweating like a bitch in heat wasn’t all that awesome. Especially in the lovely deserts of Afghanistan. Not being able to wash my freaking clothes was even worse.
Twelve grueling hours later, I made my way back to the computer. Today didn’t reward much time to try and check in with the computer. The Taliban didn’t really care if you were worried about your wife.
Just as I was about to enter the tent, I heard my name called.
“Stoker! My office.” My CO, Layne Cooper, yelled.
“Fuck me.” I muttered under my breath.
Just what I needed. To hear about breaking the rules today. It wasn’t my fucking fault that those pesky little bastards tried to shoot a hole through my forehead. Yet, I was supposed to ask if I could shoot them beforehand? I think not.
Clenching my hands into fists, I opened Layne’s door and closed it quietly behind me. “Sir.”
“Have a seat.” He said.
Something in his voice put me on alert. Something bad. Something that had more to do than what happened during patrol today.
I sat without comment and waited. Ideas started pouring through my head. Was it my dad? My brother? My dad was getting along in age, and having to work the bar by himself probably wasn’t the easiest thing to do. My brother, on the other hand, was a big failure in life.
He better not have done anymore drugs. The last time I’d caught him doing them I’d beat the holy hell out of him. Then again, he was only sixteen at the time, and it was easier to do than it would be now.
“Jack,” Layne said tightly. “I was contacted by someone today regarding your wife. The police officer I spoke with informed me that they couldn’t find your wife. There were signs of struggle; blood was found at the scene. This happened over a week ago. I’m sorry to tell you this but, today, they found her body.”
That day was the worst day of my life. The absolute worst. No words could explain the pain. The horror. The absolute helplessness.