Rachel Lee - Conard County Marine

“You mean I had practice at it?”

She bit her lip. “I guess that came out wrong. I just know I’ve never felt this way before, and I can’t shake free of it. Which is really strange, because I can’t remember what happened, and it’s obviously over and I’m mostly fine. How can I be scared of what I can’t remember?”

He hesitated again. This woman was making him very hesitant, and he wasn’t used to that. He felt like he needed to tiptoe, to be very careful he didn’t say the wrong thing. He was no professional, and he had no idea how psychologically vulnerable she might be. The last thing he wanted to do was add to her problems.

“We don’t just remember with our brains,” he said after a moment. “Our entire bodies remember some things.”

That caused her to draw a sharp breath. “I didn’t think of that.”

“And fear can be a good thing.”

“It’s awful,” she said bluntly.

“But if there’s a reason for it, it’s useful. So you never want to lose your ability to feel it. It can be directed, it can be protective. Or...it can overwhelm you.”

“So how do you deal with it?”

“Like a warning system.”

“But I have nothing to be afraid of!”

At that moment he would have liked to gather her into his arms and hold her, as if he could soothe her. As if. But a hug wasn’t going to take care of the invisible demons stalking Kylie. Certainly part of the problem was that they were invisible. If she could see them, name them, face them...he suspected her fear would find direction and maybe even ease somewhat.

“You don’t know that you don’t have anything to be afraid of,” he pointed out. She might be trying to believe it, but she didn’t actually know it. Whole different thing.

She nodded slowly. “You’re right. That man is still out there. I can’t remember him. What if he wants to finish what he started? What if he walked up to me right now? I wouldn’t even know it!”

That was the crux of her problem, at least in part, and for this there was nothing he could say or do. “That’s rough,” was all he offered when she remained silent.

“And maybe a bit crazy, too. I’m home in a safe place. And I’m willing to bet Glenda asked you to keep an eye on me. You don’t have to, you know. I’m not going to do anything crazy.”

“I never thought you would. Would you rather be alone?”

Her face froze, paling a bit. “No,” she whispered. “Coop, I don’t want to be alone.”

* * *

Kylie hadn’t been alone for more than short periods since she emerged from a medically induced coma in the hospital nearly two weeks after the attack, once her brain had stopped swelling. Not really. Even in the middle of the night when her room had been darkened and the door closed, she could still hear the voices in the hallway outside, the voices of medical staff moving around. A hospital was never completely silent, and solitude was the illusion of a door.

Then Glenda had been there almost every minute. After the hospital, Glenda had taken her back to her apartment to help her pack, and at most she’d been alone for twenty or thirty minutes when her sister ran out to get more boxes or something for them to eat. Those minutes had seemed endless, her nerves crawling every single second, impatience for Glenda’s return driving her nearly nuts. How many times had she come close to hiding in a closet during those interludes?

The memory of that could shame her, but the feelings had been overwhelming. Were still overwhelming. The idea of coming home had looked like the answer to everything. Apparently not.

She sat in the house she had spent a lot of her childhood in and she still felt the crawling fear, still felt that if she just looked over her shoulder she’d see...what? Something. Something bad. God, she must be crazy.

Coop stirred finally and came to sit cross-legged on the floor at her feet. “I won’t leave you alone,” he said. He held out a hand, palm up. Asking, not demanding. Apparently aware that he was a stranger and she might fear a man’s touch.

That careful, gentle invitation called to her, however, and she reached out, laying her hand in his. He squeezed gently, but in no way made her feel trapped. She could slip her hand away as easily as she had given it.

“You can’t promise me that,” she said finally.

“Not every minute of the day, obviously. I need to visit Connie and her kids. But I can do that when your sister is home, which is most of the day usually. And tonight, for sure, I can be right here in this house.”

She started to feel small. “I’m sorry. I don’t have the right to ask that of you. You came here to see family, not to babysit me.”

“Who said I’d be babysitting? You’re an attractive, interesting woman. I won’t mind at all.” He smiled, but only with his blue eyes. They crinkled at the corners, and his expression was warm.

For a few seconds, Kylie didn’t answer. In those moments she was suddenly a girl she’d almost forgotten, one who had once thought it would be wonderful to share her life with a man, a man like this one who could be powerful and gentle at the same time. She had the worst urge to climb off the chair and curl up in his lap. To let him take care of her. Almost at once she rebelled. What the hell was she thinking? The Kylie she had been before the amnesia had been strong, capable of taking care of herself. She couldn’t let this weaken her like this.

She spoke, dragging her thoughts back to reality. “I don’t know what could be interesting about me. All I’ve done is whine.”

“I hadn’t noticed. Look, you’re dealing with a tough problem. Talk about it as much as you want.”

“Do you talk about your problems?” She watched him start.

“My problems?”

“You’ve been in combat, haven’t you? Surely you’ve got some wounds from that.”

He looked down, but didn’t release her hand. “I don’t talk about that much, for obvious reasons.”

“But you’ve learned to live with it?”

He glanced at her, his expression almost rueful. “I’m still learning. I’m good at hiding it.”

She sighed, feeling the warmth of his hand. This wasn’t wise, not in her current state. She was letting a man get too close—worse, a stranger. What was she thinking? Had she become that desperate for comfort? The only comfort she was going to find evidently had to come from within herself. “Maybe I should hide it, too.”

“Why? I talk with other people about my experiences. I’ve just found it’s wiser to reserve them for other combat vets. We’re all on the same page. Unfortunately, I don’t know who else would be on the same page with you.”

Except him, she thought. He probably came closest. He’d undoubtedly been under attack. Maybe even wounded. He might understand better than anyone.

“I don’t like being scared,” she said quietly. “Especially of something that’s over. I don’t like the fact that my whole career plan blew up. If I had to forget something, the attack would have been quite enough, without forgetting all the time I put into school. But that’s where I am, and I’m already sick of feeling sorry for myself. I need to move on.”

“Of course. But you’re scared. So...it’ll take a little time. You’ll grow comfortable again. Promise.”

Then he smiled and astonished her by leaning forward to drop a quick light kiss on her hand. Then he rose and stretched. “I want more coffee. You?”

She hadn’t even touched hers and it had grown cold, but it sounded good now. “Thank you.”

Then she was alone again, although not entirely. She could hear him in the kitchen, but it was as if her internal vision was shattered somehow. She could look around the room and recognize every single item except the new TV. Her grandparents’ living room, hardly changed over the years except for the chair she sat on. It should have felt like home. Except something was preventing her from feeling that. In its silent emptiness it had become part of the threat that stalked her. An unresolved threat. The man who had tried to kill her was still out there, and from things she suspected she hadn’t been intended to hear, they thought she’d been attacked by a serial killer. Someone who had done this before and would do it again.