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She saw me—broken, destroyed, and being taken away in handcuffs so I couldn’t hurt myself or anyone else.  I'd never be able to remove the memories from her head and make it right.  She would always remember me in that state—a sociopath begging her to watch over my dog.

What was she going to do when she knew the why of it all?

Nothing in my life was going to be harder than this.

Chapter 10—Blatant Truth

“I joined the Marines when I was seventeen.”

It seemed like as good a place as any to start.

“Why seventeen?  Did your parents want you to?”

Or not.

“No, I never met my parents.”  I sighed and dropped onto the ledge by the window.  I ran my hand over my head, somewhat disgusted by how long my hair had gotten, but also recalling how it felt when Lia had her fingers in it, so I couldn’t hate it too much.  “I was an orphan.  I grew up in a convent in southwestern Ohio.”

“A convent?  You mean, a place for nuns?”

“Yeah, and also orphanages a lot of the time, usually for kids who are hard to place in foster care or whatever.”

“Are you Catholic, then?”

I snickered a bit.

“Nah, not really.  Not anymore.”  My hand instinctively moved up to my chest, and I fingered the dog tags hanging there.  I could feel the raised letters.

“What happened to your parents?  How old were you when you went there?”

“I don’t really know,” I admitted.  “I’ve never found out who they were, just that—for whatever reason—they either died or didn’t want me.  I was there as long as I can remember, so I guess pretty much always.  No one would ever tell me what happened, not even when I got older.  I’ve always assumed it was because they didn’t want to deal with a kid at all because if they were dead, someone would just tell me, wouldn’t they?”

“You would think so,” Lia agreed.  She lay back on the bed and leaned her head against her hand.  “So why seventeen?”

“I was emancipated.  I was done with high school, but I didn’t really have any money or anything.  I wanted to go to college, so the military made sense.”

“Are orphans usually emancipated?”

“No, not usually.”

“So why were you?”

I hadn’t expected this portion of my past to really be a part of the conversation, and I wasn’t prepared to talk about it.  Still, I had promised her I would tell her everything, so I did.

“Because I asked for it,” I said, “and the Mother Superior wasn’t in a position to deny it.”

“What do you mean by that?”  Lia’s eyes darkened.

She was way too perceptive.

“Well…” I let my voice trail off a second while I thought about how to word it.  There really wasn’t a clean way to do it, so I went with blunt.  “I’d been fucking her, and I threatened to use it against her if she didn’t sign the papers.”

“Holy shit!” Lia yelled out.  “Are you serious?”

“Yeah.”

“But you were underage!  How old was she?”

“Fuck, I don’t know.  Fifty-something, maybe?”

“Jesus Christ, Evan!”

“It had been going on for years,” I told her.  “I think I was fourteen when it started.”

Lia contemplated a moment.

“She molested you.”

“Whatever you want to call it,” I said with a shrug.  “I wasn’t complaining.  Knowing all her dirty little secrets came in handy when I wanted something.  If she was using me, I was using her just as much.”

I watched Lia closely as she let my words sink in.  She was staring down at the sheets, watching her fingers twist the fabric.

“You still want me to go on?”

“Of course,” she said quietly.

“Your mom was right, you know.”

“About what?”

“You don’t know much about me.  You might not want to know all this shit.”

Lia thought for a moment and then looked back to me.

“I want to know,” she stated.

“It’s going to change everything.”  My voice carried both warning and desperation.  “I won’t be able to take it back.  You won’t be able to just forget it.”

“I know.”

With a deep breath, I continued.

“I went through basic training and figured out I was a damn good shot.  I became an expert marksman very quickly, so I went for sniper school at the base in Quantico, Virginia, and finished out on top.  I could take out targets over a mile away and hardly ever missed.”

“Shit,” Lia said with a sharp outtake of breath.

“I ended up deployed to the Middle East as part of a Scout Sniper platoon to do reconnaissance into Afghanistan for a while, did well, got promoted to staff sergeant, and led the other members of the platoon under the captain of the battalion.  When he was killed in battle, I was promoted to lieutenant in the field and took over for the rest of the…well, up until the time I was captured.”

My mind raced with memories, and I dropped my hand from my dog tags when I realized I was gripping them.

“What happened?” she asked softly.

“We were scouting out the area where one of the Al Qaida leaders was supposedly spotted.  My team was the first one out, and we were the deepest into the area, but we hadn’t seen anything for days.  There were four other groups behind us—spread out several miles to cover as much terrain as possible.  We weren’t supposed to engage or anything yet—just watch and report back when the time was right for the rest of the SF infantry to join us.”

“SF?”

“Sorry.  Special Forces.”

“Got it.”

“We had a small base set up in the rocks around the desert—tents, a couple Hummers, and a small outbuilding.  I was back behind the outbuilding when they attacked.”

I took a slow, steady breath.  I was trying to keep my memories focused on the debriefing that took place after I returned to Virginia and not on the events themselves, but it wasn’t completely possible.

“Like I said, it had been really quiet.  I think we got a little complacent, which is how they managed to get the drop on us.  I heard some noise, came back around, and everyone in my unit was dead.”

“Oh my God.”

I didn’t look at her as I went on.

“I didn’t really have much time to react.  I got hit over the head, came to for a few seconds in a truck, bumping down a road, but got hit again.  The next thing I really remember, I was in one of their camps.  They didn’t do much but smack me around for a while and ask me where the other units were located– they were waiting for their leader to show up.”

“What did you do?”

“Gave them my name, rank, and service number,” I said with a hollow laugh.  “Just like the fucking movies.  I couldn’t really do much of anything—they had me hogtied.  They kept hitting me with a bag full of fucking potatoes or something—ached for days, even when they left me alone for a while.”

When I glanced at her, I could see her looking at me closely, and I knew exactly what she was doing—checking for scars.

I stood up, unbuckled my belt, and shoved my jeans down just a bit over my hip.

“That’s the only one I have,” I told her as I showed her a two-inch long, faded scar on my left side.  “The insurgents didn’t even give it to me.  There was a bunch of shit lying around the motor pool when I got drunk and fell on a sharp piece of metal.  I didn’t want to tell anyone what had happened, so I tried to take care of it myself.  It got pretty infected, and I ended up in the infirmary anyway.  It was the only official reprimand I ever received while I was serving.  I think my captain called it ‘for being a dumbass.’”