Chapter One

Dear junal

Momys dead. izzys dad says we r a famly. 

the twin springs famly he says izzy and ava hav to play wif me. Today we got fire flys.  trapt them in a jar.  izzys eyes glowd like the fire flys and my tumy fel warm and hapy  i eat a fire flys and it roll and play in my tumy 

izzy make me fel good and hapy. i luv her.  i want her to luv me to. i want to be dis happy forevr to play wif izzy forevr she maks me glow to 

niles

Chapter Two

Prologue

For her eighth birthday, Diamond didn’t wish for a pony, a Nintendo Gameboy or even to find out who her father was. She wished for one thing—to kill the Woman. But the Woman was already dead.

Diamond plodded a path towards Happy Springs Motel and avoided the worst parts of the cracked, uneven sidewalk, but stomped in each puddle of water. Rain soaked her long braids and the soggy paper bag of groceries she carried dwarfed her. She ignored the roar of the cars that passed her on Virginia’s US Route 1 as she squeezed the bag closer to her flat chest. The red strands of her bangs blurred her vision and she blew them out of her way. “Couldn’t even get one lousy wish,” she grumbled. 

A quick wipe across her face with the back of her hand only paused the raindrops that dripped from the brim of her hoodie and down her nose. She dug into her back pocket for the oversized green key ring to hotel room 115. Home, at least for today. 

Resentment churned in her stomach. She scrunched her freckle covered nose and her eyes stung with unshed tears. She sniffled, rapidly blinked and shunned the weakness. Pushing hard on the door, she fumbled with the key. The rain swelled door wouldn’t budge. She muttered under her breath, “Stupid hotel. Stupid door. Stupid wish.” 

Shoving her small shoulder into the door, she pushed with all her weight. With a groan, the door released, and she stumbled forward. The toe of her tennis shoe snagged on the crooked threshold and she fell heavily, scraping her knee through the already gaping hole in her jeans. She flattened the mountain of cellophane bags and a tall, lean jug of milk tumbled from the ripped sack. A giggle escaped her lips. “I’m okay, Mom. The Ramen Noodles saved me.”

No response. 

Her heart picked up its pace and thudded hard in her chest. She scrambled to her feet. A quiver of fear laced her voice, “Mom?”  

Her panicked gaze searched the room. Sucking in a great breath of air, she prepared herself for what she might find. Raindrops, stale cigarette and pot smoke combined with the smell of lavender filled her nostrils. Immediately, she understood why her mother sat frozen on the bed, hugging her pajama clad legs with her head averted towards the wall. The Woman was here.

From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of scraggily, long gray hair before the Woman’s black and white form faded into the wallpaper. With a swoosh of air, Diamond released the breath she’d been holding. Relief flooded her limbs. Her mother was okay. Until the next time the Woman came.

Bending down, she filled her arms with the little square noodle bags and dumped them between mounds of half melted candles on the out of date wooden dresser. “Hey Mom! Got some grub.” In the dimly lit room, her voice was overly bright and loud. 

On the corner of the old dresser, a half full jug of milk laid in a bed of melted ice cubes. She dragged the milk out, twisted off the lid and sniffed. Wrinkling her nose, she replaced the lid and dropped the jug into a small, open trash can. Hooking her fingers through the handle of the new milk, she plopped it in the bucket. “Don’t worry. I’ll get more ice.”

She tossed her wet hoodie on top of a small heap of clothes in the corner. Her gaze lingered on the TV and she longed to drown out the morning with an episode of Full House. Instead, she walked over to her mom, her purple Sketchers squishing with each step. Brushing aside the little bottles of pills that helped her mom get through her days and nights, she crawled up on the bed and snuggled beside her. Her mom was old. Almost thirty. Reaching up, she stroked her mother’s once vibrant red hair back from her high forehead. Her mother felt cold to the touch. She had for years. Diamond assumed that was how the walking dead felt. Cold. 

Her mother clutched her hand within her frigid grasp. 

Diamond stroked her mother’s bone thin fingers and then linked hands. The blue veins were easily visible through her sheer, pale skin. Like an opal, once blazing with color but now faded. “Whoever named you, must’ve had a magic eight ball or something. Opal fits you.” Unlike my stupid name. 

She stared down at her dirty jeans, faded to a light blue with holes and frayed bottoms. She owned two pairs of jeans from the Salvation Army, three t-shirts, plus her rocking Sketchers and a stupid pair of ugly, bright yellow rain boots that her mother had insisted she needed. Tossing one of her long, wet braids back over her shoulder, she brooded. “I’m not rich or shiny. Diamond’s a stupid name.”

Opal shifted on the bed and paper crinkled under her. Her voice cracked. “You’re strong. Brilliant. Perfect name.”

The crinkling sound drew Diamond’s gaze. She tugged a piece of lined paper out from under her mom’s butt and studied the huge brick building that her mom had sketched. 

The building was long with arms stretching out to each side. A tall tower grew out of its body like a long neck with a shiny, bald head at the top. She snagged the pencil from behind her mother’s ear and with quick, talented fingers, rounded off the top of the tower and drew in the face of a clock. “Right here, this is where the clock goes.” She flipped the pencil around and scrubbed the eraser across the paper. “The columns aren’t round. They’re arched in curves like this.” She glanced up and searched her mom’s face for approval.

Opal’s washed out green eyes filled with moisture until a single tear slipped down over the protruding bones of her cheeks. 

Diamond caught the tear before it dropped and blinked up at her mom. They both had green eyes and red hair, but they couldn’t have been more different. Her brows furrowed. Why can’t she fight? Fight the sadness for me? 

Quickly, she crumpled up the paper, the tear and the pencil together. She wanted to absorb her mom’s pain and squeezed the small bundle until the sound of the pencil breaking popped within the silence. “Just a stupid building. Stupid. We can draw anything we want.” She dipped her head and swallowed hard to press back tears. “How about the mountains? You love drawing mountains.”

The scent of lavender flooded the dingy room. Opal stiffened and turned back towards the wall. “Why don’t you go play? Grab something from the vending machines. Use the money from the dresser.” With each word, her voice broke, as if it was difficult for her to pull the sounds through her clogged throat. “I just need time. Then we can draw.”

Diamond couldn’t see the Woman. Yet. But she smelled her. Felt her. Knew in her belly that she was coming. She grasped her mom’s hand the best she could with her two small ones. “It’s okay. I’ll stay with you.” 

Her chin dipped to her chest and Opal shook her head. “Take your time. Light some candles and crack the window before you go.”

Fury beat within her heart. She realized her mother was trying to wash out the smell of lavender, just like she tried to wash out everything else in her life. Why couldn’t she just tell the Woman to go away?

She stomped over to her hoodie, pulled it over her head and struggled with the wet fabric. Her head popped out and she heard her mom furiously whispering. Dragging the rest of the hoodie down her front, she watched her talking to thin air. The lavender stench thickened within the room and gagged her with its overbearing weight. 

Reaching over the dresser, she pushed the curtains aside and tugged the window wide open, not caring if the rain came in and ruined the ugly dresser. One by one, she lit her mother’s candles and their various fragrances combated the reeking lavender scent. 

She pretended not to notice the Woman taking full form. The hem of a long, ratty dress filled in with grays and fluttered without the help of a breeze. Bit by bit, the long length of her body and the rest of the tent like dress appeared and filled in. Her charcoal colored hair clung to her ashen face and cascaded around her shoulders. Only her glowing silver eyes and dark gray lips penetrated the mass of hair that covered her face. Leaning down, her lips brushed Opal’s ear, and she urgently whispered. 

Opal shook. She popped one of the bottle’s lids and sprinkled her palm with the little pills before she tossed them in her mouth and swallowed them with a flick of her head. 

Rubbing a piece of the broken pencil against her jeans, Diamond hesitated. “Mom, I’ll get something later. Let’s watch a show. I’ll make you beef ramen. Your favorite. We might even have some hot sauce left. I can spice it up for you.” Her heart beat faster and the Woman glowed in different shades of gray just like a character from an old TV show. “Please, let me stay with you.”

Again, the Woman leaned down and whispered. Her mom slouched beneath the blankets and covered her head. It didn’t matter. The Woman continued to speak. 

Her voice muffled, Opal yelled from beneath her blankets. “Fine! I’ll tell her. Wear your rain boots Diamond.”

She studied her favorite shoes, not wanting to be parted from their pretty purple and white design for even a minute. “But, Mom,” she whined.

“Do as I say.” Her mother’s voice slurred as the pills took hold. “Wear the damn boots.”

Glaring at the Woman, Diamond kicked off her wet shoes. She shoved her feet into the stupid yellow boots and her bare skin skidded against the rubber insides. The boots came high on her knees and she felt like a complete reject. Turning back towards the dresser, she removed the striped birthday candle that she’d snuck out of the store and relit it on one of the candles. She closed her eyes and whispered, “I wish I could kill the Woman. I wish I could kill the Woman. I wish.” 

She blew hard, opened her eyes and looked back at the bed.  

The Woman stroked the mound of blankets covering her mom. 

Her heart felt like a heavy stone in her chest. She rammed cash, along with the green room key, the broken pencil and her mother’s drawing, into her boot. Grabbing the door handle, she tugged hard to free the door. “Stupid wish,” she muttered.

* * *

Rain dribbling from the overhang above, Diamond sat on the cement next to a vending machine with a bag of Cheetos and chugged down her second Pepsi. The heat and the soft hum from the back of the machine soothed her frazzled nerves. She licked her orange fingers before wiping them down the front of her hoodie. Her favorite meal, Cheetos and Pepsi. Tossing another Cheeto into her mouth, she sipped a little Pepsi and enjoyed the feeling of the pop snapping against the Cheeto until it became a soggy mess within her mouth. She munched it down and chased the Cheeto with another slug of Pepsi. 

She scowled down at the stupid yellow boots. Reaching into her right boot, she pulled out the piece of notebook paper and smoothed it out on the cement between her spread legs. 

Leaning forward, she added mountains to the background, a curved driveway and a pool off in the distance. Her quick strokes didn’t hesitate. She’d dreamed about this building every night of her life. 

Shading in the glint of the sun off the rows of tiny double windows that ran the length of the roof line across each arm of the building, she scarcely registered the smoke that tickled her nose. It wasn’t until the wailing fire trucks screeched to a stop in front of the motel that she glanced up. She watched the firemen in their heavy coats. Her lids grew heavy from the warmth of the vending machine as they dragged long hoses from their trucks. Disinterested, she focused back on her drawing and hummed in tune to the vending machine.

Gradually, the Woman took form next to the soda machine. Dull as the world outside the hidden spot. 

Diamond’s small body tingled, warning of her approach. Her heart picked up and beat faster and faster. Her hands shook as she shoved the paper and pencil back into her boot. Once the Woman had fully formed, she understood and clambered to her feet. Awkward in the big rain boots, she raced from her hiding spot. 

A fireman scooped her up before she charged head first into the gaping hole, blackened with smoke, that was once room 115. Over his shoulder, she noticed the owner of the dump pointing towards her and speaking to a young woman in a cobalt blue rain jacket. 

The stranger popped open a golden yellow umbrella that looked like the sun shining. In high heeled shoes, she purposely picked her way across the parking lot, stepping over the spider web of hoses and mud puddles. She tapped the shoulder of the fireman, opened a folded piece of leather and showed a card to him. “Social Services. I’ll take her from you.”

Placed on the blacktop, Diamond’s legs trembled beneath her. 

The stranger bent down and the hem of her skirt trailed in a mud puddle. “I’m Miss Dodd. I’m here to take care of you.” Her eyes were the color of a clear blue sky and swept Diamond up and down. “Nice boots. I should’ve worn mine. It’s always good to be prepared.” Her smile was prettier than any Diamond had seen. “What’s your name?”

“Where’s my mom?” she sniffled, guessing the answer but wanting the stranger to say it. Needing to be told what she feared. 

Miss Dodd’s eyes clouded and she gazed over her head towards the hotel room. “What’s your name sweetie?”

“Diamond,” she replied, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. 

“What a beautiful name,” she murmured in a soft voice. “What’s your last name sweetie?”

She listened to the rain tapping on the top of the umbrella and watched as tiny drops  flowed down the outside and dripped around them. Her throat thickened. Tears escaped from the corner of her eyes and blended in with the rain on her face. “Don’t have one. It’s just Diamond.” Her voice careened high, until it was unrecognizable, even to herself. “I want Mommy.”

Secluded in another world under the golden umbrella with Miss Dodd, she learned that her mother had finally escaped her pain. Diamond’s birthday wish had finally come true. She’d killed a woman. Just the wrong one. Now, she was all alone in the world. 

Alone with the Woman.

Chapter Three

Present Day

Shoving another Cheeto into her mouth, JD Wolfe chased it with a swig of Pepsi. Her midnight black SUV blended into the darkened street. Raising her binoculars, she studied the exterior of a row of dilapidated townhouses and focused in on the end unit with its peeling, mud brown paint. Blood red sheets blocked her view through the upper two windows. The light, trying to escape from the upstairs rooms, cast an eerie glow onto the sidewalk below. Behind those windows, there was a ten-year-old girl. A little girl scared for her life. 

Last week, on a brisk Tuesday afternoon, little Harmony Scott had walked home from school. She was counting the days until Thanksgiving break, like any other kid her age. But Harmony never reached the safety of her home, and quickly became one of JD’s lost children. 

Today, while other families gave thanks around a table and were oblivious to the outside world, Harmony’s family spent it on their knees begging for their daughter’s safe return. Fishing in her tall, black leather boots, JD tugged out a small, spiral notebook. She unwound the faded gray rubber band that strapped down its pages, flipped past the drawings she’d made from snippets of her dreams, to a penciled portrait. 

She considered the sketch that she’d rendered using eyewitness accounts. A young man, early twenties, Caucasian. From outward appearances, he looked like a nice guy. The witnesses had said that he was incredibly thin with a clean-shaven face, short cropped, dark brown hair and an easy smile. Surveillance cameras from a gas station had shown him wearing clean clothes, a tucked in checkered button up shirt, dark waist coat, and dark dress pants. Witnesses had assumed that the young man was the girl’s father or uncle at least. But the collar of his shirt had blown open in the wind and eyewitnesses swore tattoos of faces covered his neck. Tattoos of what had seemed to be kids’ faces. 

She didn’t understand the so-called adults. She spoke to the face in her sketch. “If your tattoos had seemed odd, why didn’t the witnesses say or do anything? Why did they allow you to take Harmony by the hand and walk with her around the corner?” She shook her head and glared down at the sketch, “But those odd tattoos, that’s how I finally tracked you down, asshole. Found you right here at ‘Looser Lane’ in Alexandria, Virginia.” 

Lost and endangered children were her specialty. She not only understood how children thought, she understood the evil that preyed on them. Parents called White Wolfe Investigations and requested JD Wolfe’s services when their child had disappeared and the system had failed them. Most parents assumed she was a man. But in the end, they didn’t care. They wanted their loved ones back. She didn’t know how the parents knew to call her, but they did. When asked how they came by her name, through tears and strained faces, they only replied, a friend of a friend. 

As word spread, police detectives had begun calling and requesting a meet with Investigator JD Wolfe. In back alleys and coffee shops, they’d slipped her the case files of a child they couldn’t find. Once she’d recovered the lost child, she gave the officer all the credit, preferring to keep her name out of the newspapers. She had one condition, however, that her oldest and only true, female friend, Miss Dodd, who since her marriage went by Mrs. Malloy, processed the children and ensured their safety. 

That was how she and Rodriguez had truly started working together. He’d slipped her a tan case file with pictures of three little boys. She tried not to think about her first police case with Rodriguez and the boys that she’d found too late. The emotional devastation of that case and the press afterwards had proved Rodriguez was trustworthy. The one and only cop she’d ever come close to calling a friend. 

Slipping the notebook back into its hiding place, she once again raised the binoculars. The sheets within one room fluttered and brightened, as if spot lights had hit them from within. Frowning, she froze and searched the red glow for clues. Her heart picked up a beat and she tossed the binoculars onto the passenger seat and dug under candy wrappers and empty Cheeto bags for her cell phone. Realizing it was in her back pocket, she snagged it and texted Mrs. Malloy, who’s number was still under her maiden name of Dodd. 

Her thumb tapped out a quick message. “Got a bad feeling. Need you now. What’s your ETA?”

The dimmed screen flashed, “Twenty min, I-95 backed up.”

Her gaze flickered up to the sheet covered windows. Twenty minutes was too long. A lot could happen to a little girl in a lot less time. 

Her phone vibrated. Impatient, she glanced down at the text, “Did you call Rodriguez?” 

“Of course, I did,” she muttered under her breath and pressed speed dial on her phone. Rodriguez picked up on the first ring. “Where the hell are you?” she spit into the phone. She could barely hear Rodriguez over the sirens screaming in the background. 

“On my way. A semi-truck jackknifed on 95. Having a hell of a time getting around drivers that don’t know to keep off the shoulder during a traffic jam.”

The sticky sweet scent of lavender filled her vehicle and her nose wrinkled up at the offending scent. The sick feeling of dread that she’d felt earlier dropped into the pit of her stomach and gnawed at the lining. She realized little Harmony’s time was almost up. “Shit, shit, shit,” she muttered under her breath before taking a deep breath in and steeling herself. An ice-cold thread entered her tone. “Gotta go, Rodriguez. Gotta go now.” 

He understood. “I’ll call for back up. And let them know there’s a friendly on scene.” 

“Get here as fast as you can. So I don’t have to deal with the boys in blue.” She hung up and refused to glance over at the Woman, but through her peripheral vision she saw that her transparent form now sat in the passenger seat. 

She removed a hair tie from around the gear shift and secured her long pony tail in a knot on the top of her head, so the length of her red hair couldn’t be used as a weapon against her. She replaced the notebook in her right boot, and verified her knife was accessible in her left. She drew the knife out and slid it back into its hidden sheath to make sure it wouldn’t catch if she needed to wield its power. Leaning forward, she removed a Glock 42 from the holster in the small of her back. With a push of her thumb, the magazine popped out and landed in her palm. She checked the number of bullets before snapping it back into the well and raking the slide back to send a round into the chamber. 

Her trigger finger lying on the side of the barrel, she laid the weapon on her thigh, cocked and ready. For a precious moment, her finger tapped the metal that was warm from her body’s heat. Would the Woman ever leave her alone? Or would she drive her crazy, just as she had her mother? She continued to just show up and butt into her business. “Couldn’t stay the fuck away could you?”

“No,” the Woman whispered, but her voice ricocheted within JD’s brain. From experience, she knew that only she could hear the ghost’s cultured tones. Time to face facts—she’d never have a day without the ghost yelling in her head. 

She knew there was no way to block her out, ignore her or push her away. She just had to deal with her. Anyway, the most import thing in her world right now was getting one little girl out of the townhouse alive. There was never anyone there to save JD. She knew how it felt to be helpless and without choices. Bottom line, the kid needed her more than she hated the Woman’s presence. “Harmony’s in danger?” she asked, but she already knew the answer. 

The Woman nodded, and her glowing gray hair lit up the air around her. 

The brighter she glowed, the more urgent JD knew little Harmony Scott’s situation was. “Stay in the god damn car and let me handle it.” 

Behind the tangled screen of her hair, her face was drawn and there was a sad smile on her charcoal colored lips, but she nodded.

JD’s gaze flickered up and down the street, before she eased her car door open and soundlessly latched it. In her black leather jacket and matching jeans, she faded into the darkness. Keeping her eyes on the windows for movement, she quickly crossed the street, the moonlight guiding her steps. Searching for a point of entry, she circled the townhouse. Her soft soled leather boots slipped sideways on slick ground. Virginia weather, she sneered. Snow in the morning that melts into a muddy mess by afternoon and freezes into ice overnight. 

The rear windows of the townhouse were high and out of reach. The back stoop sunk sideways into the icy, uneven ground. A ripped screen door hung from the back door and flapped in the cold wind. The lower panel of the wooden door had been knocked out as a makeshift doggy door. Heavy construction plastic sucked in and out of the hole like a chest breathing. Because of the massive size of the opening, her gaze searched for an enormous beast. She hoped that she wouldn’t have to give away the element of surprise by shooting a charging mutt.

Across the yard, she spotted the owner of the doggie door. A sad excuse for a dog lay chained to a tree by a thick, muddy silver chain. Skin and bones, the once huge Great Dane lay sideways on the frozen ground. His belly was painfully bloated into a large ball. The heavy chain collar was ingrained into the skin around his neck. His white fur, spotted with black, glowed in the moonlight, though matted and caked with mud, along with a suspicious darker substance. Blood.  

Either not willing or unable to, the dog didn’t raise his head, only stared at her with flickering light blue eyes, so human it pained her. A low, pitiful whine rolled across the yard and reached her ears. The moon slipped behind a cloud and darkened the world between them. She raised a finger and pressed it to her lips. “I’ll be back for you,” she whispered, before crawling through the hole in the bottom of the door.

Chapter Four

Entering a world of filth, JD plastered her spine back against a lower kitchen cabinet. Her Glock at the ready, she crouched momentarily in place and allowed for her eyes to adjust to the darkened room.  The green glow of numbers from the stove emitted just enough light for her to survey the situation. It was four am kitchen time and the floor moved with hundreds of cockroaches, but no humans. Sliding her back up along the paneled cabinet, a roach crawled a path down her shoulder. Disgusting boogers, she thought, with a flick of her finger. 

Reaching behind her, she carefully jiggled the knob of the door that she’d gained access to the house through. She unlocked it, allowing for a quick exit if needed. Not taking her gaze off the only other entrance to the room, she slid her hand up the door and searched for any latches that would prevent her and Harmony from getting away. Satisfied, her gaze continued to sweep the room. Sink filled with dirty dishes, half the cabinet doors missing, take-out boxes piled high on a small silver and teal Formica table, along with two aluminum and vinyl chairs in a mustard yellow. And, of course, an army of bugs searching the filth for their next meal. 

She softened her knees into a ready stance. One hand palming the other, she held her weapon close to her body, ready. She stepped forward and cockroaches crunched beneath her boots. The sound rebounded off the walls. She paused, holding her breath deep in her chest. She listened for one heartbeat, then two. Satisfied she couldn’t be heard, she purposely crunched her way across the kitchen and down a narrow, darkened hall. On her journey, she cleared a small bathroom, only finding more filth and crawling bugs before the short hall opened up into a living space. 

Mounds of trash were piled throughout the small living room. The back of a long, putrid green couch almost touched both ends of the room, facing a huge flat screen television and the front door. Softly stepping over clothes and through rotting food containers, she mentally thanked her trusty boots for protecting her as she approached the couch. She was unsure if someone slept on the ugly sofa and she knew that she needed to clear the room or she’d end up trapping herself upstairs. Her forward momentum halted as she contemplated which side of the couch to move towards. If she picked the wrong side, a big enough man could sling her over the back of it. Then, she’d be in a world of hurt. And she wouldn’t be doing herself or Harmony any good. Fucking crap shoot. 

Quietly as possible in the mounds of trash, she made her way to the foot of the couch that she considered would have the least favorite view of the massive television. She steadied her hands, held her breath and rounded the couch. She expelled her breath in a soft swoosh of air when only little critters faced her. Shifting her attention to the open stairway, she squeezed around the couch and moved cautiously across the room. She released the lock on the front door and left the door ajar. Before she turned away, the wind moved the door ever so slightly. She reconsidered and eased the door closed but unlocked. 

In somewhat of a crouched stance, she padded her way up the dirt brown, shag carpeted stairs. Quickly, she cleared another bathroom. Then, she hesitated, considering her options. From the layout of the windows visible from the street, she figured the top floor held two rooms, both of which had light illuminating from beneath the doors. Pick the wrong room and her element of surprise turned to shit. Scenarios raced through her brain and she decided on the far-right room. The one where the light behind the sheets had brightened unnaturally. Decision made, she moved determinedly forward towards her goal. 

Suddenly, the Woman materialized and blocked the hallway. Unable to stop her forward momentum, she charged right through the Woman’s transparent form. Fury exploded through her.  What if she got ghost dust in her mouth? Damn it!

She raised her arm to wipe the offending concept off her tongue with the back of the sleeve of her leather jacket. Her arm froze only inches from her mouth, realizing she didn’t know what filth was on her clothes from her journey through the house. 

Pursing her lips, she wished that she could burn the ghost with the heat of her anger. But no, she wouldn’t wish a fiery death on anyone, not even the Woman. 

Raising her hands, palms up, the Woman shrugged. Glowing in her long ratty gown, she appeared right at home in the filth.  

Calming herself with a breath, she silently mouthed, “What?” 

Urgently, she pointed a gray finger towards the room she’d just prevented JD from entering. 

Shaking her head, she mouthed, “No, shit.” She turned and proceeded down the hall with her gun ready. 

Again, the Woman appeared in front of her, hands raised and moving frantically in front of her semi-transparent form. 

Completely giving up on her fighting stance, her weapon hung limply in her right hand. She pushed at damping the anger burning within her. “What?” she hissed. 

Raising a finger to her lips, the Woman actually shook her head at JD. Through the charcoal colored strands of hair flowing down in front of her face, she gave JD a pointed look and tapped her bare foot on the carpeted hallway. 

Her left hand squeezing into a tight fist, she wanted to scream at the Woman, jump up and down with her arms flapping and perhaps even shoot her. But Harmony needed her more. So, she calmed herself, readied her weapon and waited for the Woman to move. 

A satisfied smile spread across the Woman’s face and she nodded at JD like a proud mama. 

Gritting her teeth, she stared heavenward before focusing back on the Woman’s light gray eyes. “Gotta go.” Soundlessly, her lips formed the words. 

Brows furrowing over serious eyes, the Woman nodded and held up two fingers while pointing to the door with her other hand. 

She nodded and mouthed, “Harmony.” She flicked up her index finger, “Bad guy,” and her middle finger joined, “Two.”

Vehemently shaking her head, her monochrome curls fell around her face and she glowed even brighter in the hall. She held up three fingers. The word three rocketed from the Woman and through JD’s brain. 

Wincing with pain, her eyes flickered from the Woman to the door. “Three. Shit,” she whispered. “Two bad guys and Harmony. One guy, I could handle. Two, dicey.” She hesitated, wanting to save the little girl. But, if things went to shit, then she might lose her. 

The Woman’s eyes widened and she glowed brighter, the brightest JD had ever seen. Her transparent form flew down and hall and she pointed at the door. Her gaze was frantic and intense. 

JD realized it was now or never. “Time to go,” she muttered.

Steadily, she moved towards the door. Her muscles tightened, and her gaze fixed on the target before her. Without hesitation, she pressed her lips together and traveled through the Woman’s ghostly form before swiftly raising her boot and planting a hard push kick next to the door knob. The thin paneled door crumpled back against the interior wall and she entered, weapon ready. 

Startled shouts bounced off the walls of the well-lit room. Taken by surprise, the occupants froze, dumbfounded by her presence. 

Bright cylinder stage lights, supported by tripods, blinded her for a moment. From the brilliance of the lights, two black dots filled her vision and partially blocked her view of the room, and its inhabitants. She blinked rapidly and attempted to recover her full vision, losing valuable seconds. 

Her gaze swept the room. She distinguished within the fuzzy dark dots a huge, older black man that was clad only in boxers with a large gut protruding over his elastic waist band. His jaw flapped open and closed and he stood sentry by a professional movie camera, complete with sound bar. Thick black wires lined the floor and traveled from the film equipment to a computer and wall plugs. Not pausing her forward momentum, she side kicked the large man back into the jumble of lights and cords and her gaze continued sweeping for Harmony. 

In the middle of the room, stood a brass, four poster bed draped with a gauzy pink canopy and white satin bedding. In a demur, white cotton nightgown, that only just covered her bare bottom, perched little Harmony. Her slender arms were wrapped tightly around her bent legs, and the top of her forehead scrapped her bare knees. 

Still as a statue, a skeleton of a man kneeled before the little girl. His pale, naked skin was luminescent under the bright lights. With his white cock proudly raised, his scrawny form was covered from chin to belly button with the tattooed faces of children. Boys, girls, black, white and brown were inked on his body for eternity. 

JD’s piercing gaze bounced from him back to Harmony. Her hair was pulled back from her face by a bright pink bow and curled into blonde ringlets that bounced with her sobs. She sat frozen in place, hugging her knees and JD’s mind shifted to a time she never visited in her past. To a crappy hotel, where her mom had sat frozen on a bed, hugging her knees. Only one thought rebounded through her mind and scratched deep grooves through her consciousness. No more lost children.

Her roar filled the room and she brought justice in the form of a swift round kick that slammed hard into the base of the skeleton man’s skull. He crumpled in a heap, knocked out cold. 

Turning, she pivoted her weapon to the other man left in the room. Having regained his feet, the man held his hands up in front of his face, the fat under his chin jiggling with his movements. “Don’t shoot.” 

“On the floor!” she yelled. Anger raged through her veins. “Face down. Now!” She leveled her weapon towards the man’s crotch. “Or I shoot your dick off.” She wanted more than anything to pull the trigger. 

Amidst broken bulbs and wires, he dropped face first on the floor, his bald head reflecting the remaining lights in the small bedroom. 

“Lace your fingers behind your head. Now!” Cautiously, she approached. Grinding her boot down on his face, she held him in place. She holstered her weapon in the small of her back, removed a zip tie from her back pocket and reached down to secure the man’s hands. 

Suddenly, the man’s thick hand snaked out, grabbing her heel and jerking her foot high. 

She was propelled backward and landed hard on her back. The holstered gun slammed into her spine and the back of her head hit the dirty carpet, rattling her teeth. The force of her fall expelled the air from her lungs.

Moving extraordinarily fast for his massive size, the fat man was on top of her, grappling for the gun behind her back. His huge belly nailed her to the floor. Raring up, she caught him with a swift elbow to the jaw, before slamming her palm into the soft underside of his nose. Blood spurted and instantly covered both of them. 

The fat man howled in pain and stanched the flow of blood with his hands. 

She reached down, withdrew the knife from her boot and sliced the man’s side. 

Recoiling as if burned, he pulled back. Knowing it was now or never, she surged her hips upward and over, flipping him over. Now, she straddled his massive stomach. Crawling up the gigantic bastard, she pinned one of his wrists to the floor with her knee and positioned her other shin on the side of his neck where his carotid artery pumped oxygen to this brain. Pressing her leg down with all her weight, she cut off the blood flow. Her knife at the ready, she watched until the bastard’s eyes fluttered closed and he no longer moved beneath her. She slapped him on the back of his bald head. “Have a good nap, asshole.”

Breathing heavily and covered in blood, she rolled the fat bastard over and secured his hands and ankles with zip ties. Gaining her feet, she wobbled for a moment from the rush of blood to her head. Sighing deeply, she walked forward and secured the skeleton man and tossed him on top of his partner before turning to Harmony. 

For a moment, JD just sat on the edge of the frilly bed. Leaning forward, she propped her elbows on her legs and allowed her hands to dangle while she calmed her breathing. Harmony was still crying into her knees and JD envisioned her mom. She couldn’t help her mom, but she could help this little girl. “Harmony.” 

The girl stiffened and sniffled. 

She rubbed her tired eyes with her knuckles and shifted more towards the little girl. “Harmony, I’m sorry there’re bad people in this world. But right now, you’re safe. I won’t let them hurt you.”

The girl raised her head. A thick foundation coated her skin that was shades darker than her china doll complexion. Florescent pink lip gloss was lacquered to her lips. Heavy electric blue eyeshadow weighted down her lids and her once child-like eyes brimmed now with grown-up tears. Stained with black eyeliner, tears dribbled over, running thick tracks down her still chubby cheeks and dripping off her chin. 

JD lifted her hand and wiped some of the eyeliner away with the pad of her thumb. “Did they put this makeup on you?”

She nodded, her hair springing around her. 

Snorting and twisting her features into a funny face, she declared, “Well, they suck at it.”

A giggle escaped Harmony’s lips. She studied the stranger before her, judging her and weighing her trustfulness. Her chin trembled, then she launched herself at JD. Wrapping her skinny arms around her neck she sobbed hard into her shoulder. 

She hugged the little girl tight and let her cry. Brushing the curls on the back of her head, she wished she could erase everything the girl had endured. Once her tears settled down into hitching breaths, she asked, “Do you want to help me take out the trash?”

Harmony lifted her head and confusion filled her gaze. “Trash?” 

Thumbing her nose at the two men piled on top of each other, she raised a brow and considered the little girl. The choice she made now would determine her future course. Would she remain cowered on the bed and allow the past to rule her future? Or would she take action and set her own destiny. She waited. Only Harmony could decide her path. 

Stiffening, the young girl considered the two men. Tremors shook her body and her chest hitched with her suppressed emotions. Turning back to JD, her painted lips squished into a thin line. “Take out the trash.” 

A proud smile spread across her face and she hugged Harmony tight. She too had experienced the powerless feeling of being a child at the mercy of an adult. “That’s your first step in taking your power back. You just showed how strong you are. Resilient. You’re going to be just fine.”

Intensely, Harmony gazed up into JD’s eye. “Do you think so?”

“I don’t think so.” She removed her leather jacket and helped Harmony weave her arms within the warmth. “I know so.” 

Off the floor, JD snatched up and shook out a pair of jeans the little girl’s size. She handed them to her before grabbing a pair of purple and white sneakers. “Cute shoes,” she said with a wink. 

A tear slipped from the corner of Harmony’s eye. “My mom and I bought them.”

Crouching down before the girl, JD leveled her gaze, “I know people who will take care of you. Get you back to your parents. They’re on their way. Let’s take out the trash until they arrive. You get dressed and I’ll take care of the fat bastard. Then we will pull the skeleton down together.”

Looking at the two men trussed up on the floor, she nodded. “He does look like a skeleton. An ugly, mean skeleton.”

JD did just as she promised. After taking care of the fat bastard, together they dragged the skeleton through the filthy house and out the back door, depositing them in the snow beside the dog. Sirens wailing in the distance, they released the dog and used the heavy chain to wrap the two men to the tree. 

Later, JD sat in the front seat of her SUV. She watched the boys in blue, Rodriguez and Mrs. Malloy handling the situation. Noisy neighbors shivered in the cold, unwilling to miss any of the excitement so they could gossip. She waved to Harmony. Bundled up in a blanket and sitting in the back of an Ambulance, the girl’s blue eyes stared at her. Little Harmony was lucky—she had parents at home anxiously waiting for her. Some didn’t.

JD’s childhood path had been different.  She never knew her father. Her mother, well, she’d killed her when she left candles lit in their motel room and the window open. The cheap curtains had caught on fire and set the whole motel room ablaze. 

For three years, she’d lived within the system, moving from group home to group home. She understood the law of the land. Only the strong survived. If it weren’t for Mrs. Malloy sending prospective families to the orphanage, she never would’ve found a real home and a real family. 

She’d be a statistic just like the girl before her. She knew in her gut that she’d be a fatal statistic if Milton Wolfe hadn’t come to the home searching for a little girl for his wife and a sister for his son, Jaxon. They’d brought her into their pack, given her their last name, and had protected and loved her. It was then Diamond had become Justyne Diamond Wolfe. 

Through the family company, White Wolfe Investigations, she’d found her life calling. Tracking down and helping as many children as she could. Giving them the justice they deserved. The job paid decently, but it wasn’t about the money. She stashed away every penny so that she could one day give the other kids what she found with the Wolfe’s. A home, a true home. A place where lost souls would have a chance to heal and gain their power back. 

A whine from the back seat of her car caused her to reach out and turn up the heat. Not too much heat, too fast. The dog’s frozen body needed to adjust gradually to the changes in temperature. She and Rodriguez had a hell of time getting the huge mutt into her car. “What am I going to do with you now?” she asked the dog, studying him from her rear-view mirror. 

Gradually, the Woman materialized in the back seat and filled the car with lavender. Settling in, she sat with the dog’s head in what would’ve been her lap, but was just empty air. 

Hoping to gain relief from the awful smell, JD cracked a window. The phone in her boot buzzed and she dug it out. “Hey, Jax. What’s up?” she murmured absentmindedly. The sun rose above the townhouses, warming the earth with its rays. The neighbors faded way, either going to work or losing interest in all the early morning excitement.

“Hi, JD. Heard you found the boy and were already on a new case. Got a minute?”

She inched the window down a little more and turned up the heat to compensate for the cold air rushing in. “Just painting my nails. What do you want?”

Her brother’s deep voice hummed across the line. “Well, as you probably know I’m working an insurance fraud case in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia.”

She snickered under her breath. “Yeah, Lee said you screwed it up. Scuttlebutt is you need a woman to finish the job. Not like you Jax. Getting lax in your old age? Lax Jax. That’s what the Geezers will call you.” She could almost hear Jaxon grinding his teeth over the phone before continuing. She bit her lip to keep from laughing at his obvious discomfort. “Lee wanted to send me in but we got the call to find little Harmony.”

“Is that the case you’re on? Did you find her?”

A smile spread across JD’s face as wide as the freckles peppering her nose and cheeks. “Yes, Mrs. Malloy and Rodriguez assure me that she’ll be back with her family by lunch time. Harmony Scott might have missed Thanksgiving, but she’ll have Christmas.”

“You’re amazing. There isn’t a better tracker in the States. Hell, probably in the world. Don’t know how you do it, but I’m glad you do.”

Jaxon’s pride flowed over the phone, warming her. A part of her enjoyed his praise but she pushed away the weakness. Glancing up to her rear-view mirror again, her light green gaze clashed with the Woman’s gray one before bouncing away and focusing in on the dwindling crowd. “Don’t go getting all misty on me,” irritation laced her voice. “What the hell do you want Lax Jax?”

He stuttered. 

She frowned and rubbed the back of her neck where the muscles had relaxed and released the tension of her hunt. “Spit it out.”

“I’m going to ask a woman to marry me,” his breath whooshed in her ear. “There, are you happy? Couldn’t let me just say it in my own time.”

Listening to her brother grumble across the phone, she felt like a piece of her was being ripped away. Of course, she knew he’d one day marry but the thought of losing him hurt. “No shit,” she whispered. “Do the Geezers know?”

“God, I hope not. Look, JD, can you come out?” 

“Don’t know what to do with a woman, huh? Perhaps Lee can help you out. I’ll dial him right now. We can conference call. Get you fixed right up. If we can’t help you, then,” she paused for drama, “we’ll have to go to the Geezers.”

Her brother’s voice was low and deep and promised repercussions. “Fuck you, JD. Fuck you.” 

Busting into laughter, she pounded her palm on the steering wheel and wiped the moisture away from her eyes with the back of her hand. “Isn’t that the problem, Lax Jax? You’re lacking in that department.” 

An ominous growl came through the phone, causing her to laugh harder. “JD, stop the bullshit. I need you.”

Instantly, she straightened, and the laughter faded from her lips. Her brother never needed her. Never. All business, she replied, “Okay, Jax. Whatever you need.”

A long, drawn out breath escaped him. “The woman I want to marry owns the hotel I was sent to investigate. It’s all on the up and up. They aren’t filing fraudulent claims. But the damage that was done to the hotel has created a financial burden. Bookings are down, and until the insurance money comes through, the hotel needs to draw in more guests and the revenue they bring. I was hoping you would—,” he paused.

She waited for him to continue, but silence stretched between them. “I would what, Jax?”

“It would be a huge boon to the hotel for the artist DiWolf to display her works for the first time at my fiancée’s hotel. The first ever meet and greet with the reclusive artist.” 

Revulsion rolled down her spine. She felt exposed when connected to the raw feelings that she’d inked onto paper with her art. Each piece, a glimpse into soul. Into the dreams that haunted her. It was easier just to let others handle the sales of the pieces she dared to part with. “Are you fucking crazy? A meet and greet? You want me to parade around, shake hands and actually talk with people over four feet? Do you want me to wear a damn dress too?” 

Her brother backtracked. “No, no, JD. Okay, so it’s a lot to ask. Maybe not a meet and greet. How about just displaying your artwork? Please, Diamond.” 

Sitting quietly, she brooded about her brother’s request. He never called her Diamond. She looked over the scene before her and Harmony waved goodbye from the ambulance. She returned the little girl’s wave with a little two finger salute. She wanted more than anything to help lost children like her. Perhaps her artwork was the way. Perhaps it was time to turn her back on the past and use her artwork to help others. Others, who unlike Harmony, didn’t have a family waiting at home to love them. Damn it. If I’m going to deal with strangers, then I might as well go all the way and hold an auction to finance my dream of opening a good home for children in need. Anyway, adults are just tall children. Aren’t they?  

Silence stretched over the phone until Jaxon spoke. Defeat laced his subdued voice. “Don’t worry about it, JD. But I still need you to come out. There’s a painting here you must see. No one will need to know you’re DiWolf.”

Ignoring her brother’s comment, her thoughts ran full steam ahead. She could do it. Slap some palms, smile for a camera. That kind of shit. “I’ll do it. A meet and greet. Plus, I’ll auction off some pieces. Ten percent of the proceeds go back to the hotel.”

He sputtered over the phone, “You don’t have to—” 

A long, low whine emitted from the back and she stopped listening and glanced up. In her rear-view mirror, the Woman stroked the dog’s matted fur and began swaying as she hummed a song within JD’s head. Furrowing her brow, she glared at the ghost, who returned her look with a bright smile. Snarling, she mumbled, “Gotta go,” and hung up on her brother mid-sentence. 

Putting her car in gear, she absentmindedly waved to Rodriguez and Mrs. Malloy. As they became pin pricks in the distance, the Woman also faded from sight, confirming what she knew in her heart. She’d never marry and have children. Kids were for other women. Women who didn’t see and talk to ghosts. Women who couldn’t pass the insanity gene on to their children for them to be tormented. She’d never do that to her child.  

She’d endured years of being tormented and teased because others couldn’t see the Woman she talked to. The system had tried to help by sending her to their psychiatrists with all the fancy letters following their name. But nothing could help her. Not the therapy, not the drugs they prescribed and not the hypnosis. She rubbed her temple where they’d placed the leads of their torture machine. Sure as hell not the shock treatments.

She’d been committed to the loony bin for six months, before she was dragged out by Mrs. Malloy and placed in the orphanage. During that half year, she’d learned a hard lesson. If you don’t want to be strapped down, drugged, and have experiments done on you, then don’t let people know you see and talk to a ghost. But Mrs. Malloy and the Wolfes had saved her. From then on, she’d learned to keep her mouth shut, her boots on and her weapons ready.

Chapter Five

Unlike the families celebrating Thanksgiving at Twin Springs Hotel and Spa, Logan Oakes didn’t spend the day stuffing his face with turkey and all the trimmings. He was holed up in his hooch. The parachute material was a sorry excuse of a shelter. Barely kept the cold away. Nevertheless, he couldn’t stand the thought of being trapped in a building. Like his team.

What if fire snuck up on him? Again. Or worse, trapped him in a building?

In his mind’s eye, he pictured Amethyst Fairbanks’ portrait. Her beautiful, green eyes, full of kindness. Red hair framed her sweet face and made her skin appear milky white. Pure. “I’m pitiful,” he groaned. Drawn to a dead woman like a moth to a flame. “Perhaps it’s because she also experienced the wrath of fire before she died.” 

Like her, a sea of flames had extinguished any chance of love. He’d never experience it for a day, an hour or even a second. Not like the passion his friends enjoyed.

He continued talking to himself, anything to keep sleep away. The flashbacks away. “How quickly love grew between Isabella and Theo. Between Ava and Jaxon.”

First hand, he’d witnessed a love powerful enough that it enabled a man to traverse freezing water or run into a burning building to save his soul mate. “It’s humbling.” His lips curved into a slight smile. “They deserve it.”

Still, a searing pain for the loss of something he’d never felt and would never experience, pierced him. Willingly, his battered body absorbed the additional agony as he pushed buds deep into his ears and flicked his music on loud in a futile attempt to mute the ringing in his brain and drown out the memories. “Better to live in a tent than to fail my friends again. Besides, animals belong in the woods.”

He chuckled and mocked himself. “I fooled myself,” he stared into the dark. “Thought I could walk among the living.” However, living in the human world was too painful and fate had proved him wrong. “Face it asshole,” he condemned himself, “no one will let you forget how disgusting you look. You’re unfit for human eyes.” 

He rubbed the beard on the left side of his face, the untouched side. “At least with my beard hiding the man I once was, no one will question what I’ve become. An animal. The beast fire forged.

“Half man, half beast, no one wants you.” 

Pulling his poncho tighter over his head, Logan attempted to ignore the biting cold and meld with his music. The ringing in his ears had abated but the cold had seeped deep into his bones. “Too damn cold for November,” he grumbled and blared his music even louder.

“What does it matter if I freeze to death? During the day, the world can’t stand the sight of me. At night, I can’t stand the thought of my sleep being infiltrated by the memories of what turned me into a monster.” He lay there, staring into the dark, ignoring the wind penetrating the tent and fighting the sleep attempting to overcome his resolve to stay awake.

“Don’t close your eyes. Don’t fall asleep.” He stretched and found a sharp rock beneath him. Ground his back into the rock. Pain renewed his strength. “Stay awake. Otherwise the dead will come.” Will play out behind his lids. He’d be back with the ghosts of his team or watching Director Hollingsworth stumble from the barn, his body engulfed by flames, his death screams filling the air until the only thing that remained was white silence and burned flesh. “Screw that.”

However, memories of smoldering death had plagued him way before the Director’s fiery end. It was that memory that hunted him. The one where the putrid stench of burning flesh wasn’t only his own, but that of those he loved. Respected. That was the dream he feared. 

Pushing back against the heaviness of his lids, he pulled his eyes wide. “Maybe if I hold sleep at bay long enough, then when exhaustion finally over takes me the dream won’t register. My brain will be too exhausted to remember it.” He blinked to help the dryness. “Maybe.” 

Little by little, his lids lowered, and his body slumped. A deep slumber filled his body, eased the tension from his muscles, weakened him and left him vulnerable to the deep recesses of his brain. Shuffling in his sleep, he fought the inevitable and the nightmare overtook him. . .

. . .Normally the dry desert air stifled Sergeant First Class Logan Oakes but, after eighteen different missions in the sandbox, he’d learned to ignore it. Today the air lay eerily quiet. 

Through his night vision goggles, the world around him was cast into shades of green. He adjusted his stance and raised the tip of his M-4 rifle up, ready. Long barrel today. Just in case he needed to take out a shooter on a roofline.

He scanned the flat roofed, ugly gray building to his left, then the hulled-out hospital that his fellow Americans had built on his right. No movement. He never understood why the locals had stripped the hospital bare of anything of value after the allies had left, but they did. Down to the pipes and electrical wiring. 

Something was wrong. He checked the muted face of his watch. He felt it. All was quiet, too quiet. Rolling his shoulders, he attempted to push off the feeling. Quiet was also good, though. Get in, grab the head of a new terrorist cell plus his right-hand man and get out before the city woke for morning prayers. That was the plan.

The rest of his team had already entered the squatty building and he was covering their six. In his mind, he followed his team through the building and waited for confirmation that they’d connected with Tango one and Tango two. Taking them alive was the mission. Plus any intel. Still, his headset was silent.

Had the cell bugged out? Maybe it was bad intel. Naw, Wolfeman had verified it. If Wolfeman said the intel was good, it was spot on. He was never wrong. His instincts had saved their asses more than a few times. He resisted the urge to glance up at Wolfeman’s sniper perch in the upper right window of the hospital and give him away. 

Logan checked the target pack on his wrist. The area photo showed a picture of the two story building. Each side color coded. They’d entered through the green side, as planned. Still, something didn’t sit right. His headset was unusually quiet. “Sixty seconds till exfil,” he murmured into his throat mic.

No reply. 

Like a dog with a prize T-bone, the bad feeling sunk its sharp teeth into his bones and chewed relentlessly. He paused at the door, studied the area and searched for something. He didn’t know what. 

Suddenly, his headset went nuts. A jumble of voices sounded off. The whole team was sounding off over each other and chopping the line into unintelligible gibberish. A shout reached out from within the belly of the building. Then another. The bad feeling sunk its teeth in and ripped at his bones, no longer a suspicion but fact. His team needed him. 

Ready and willing to sprint inside and join the fight to defend his brothers, he jerked the door open. A creaking sound to his left distracted him. Immediately, his head turned to confront the added threat. Across his headset the code word “Avalanche” was shouted. BOMB. Too late.

The sand trembled beneath his boots before a whoosh of air wrapped an invisible fist around his body and dragged him inside the open doorway. Just as quickly, the blast of air expelled him, spitting a rolling ball of flames over his body and propelling him back twenty feet through the air. 

Screaming pierced the air. Horrible screams. Death screams. Engulfed within a terrible heat, he staggered to his feet. He must help his brothers. Through a fiery glowing haze, he observed one, then two of his brothers spilling from the building, now an inferno from hell. An inferno ate at their camo uniforms and illuminated the horror melting on their faces. The gut wrenching screams continued to puncture the air and combined with the screams of his brothers-in-arms, branding his brain with their agony. 

Collapsing onto his knees, Logan rolled in the tan dirt and pebbles. Feverishly, he attempted to kill the flames that licked at his right side. Rising to his hands and knees, he inched forward. The smell of burning flesh smothered him as he crawled. Dirt caked the smoldering wounds on his body. Smoke scorched his lungs. A single mantra tattooed a mission within him, “Regain my fighting position. Aid my brothers. Get everyone home alive.”. . .

Logan rolled over in his poncho. He’d made it through another night. “Damn it.” 

Rubbing his fists against his eyes, he attempted to grind away at the memory filled dream. He laid back and stared unseeingly at the top of his tent, blinded to the fact that the snow from the previous night had partially collapsed his hooch. 

Even though the nightmare was no longer reality, a foul taste coated his mouth. The flavors of a banked fire, smoke and burned flesh mixed with great loss and failure. His dry tongue rolled around within his mouth in a vain attempt to dispel the nauseating combination. 

He smacked his lips, swallowed hard and thought about his last mission with his Special Forces team. It wasn’t until after the mission, when he laid in the hospital, wrapped in loose gauze bandages, and reported a haphazard bedside debriefing that he’d realized the screams filling the desert air that day were not only his brothers, but his own.

Cold air penetrated the tent and seeped into his bones. He welcomed the freezing temperatures. It banked the fire, cooled his heated memories and froze the pain of his failures, past and present. As usual, the dream had increased the constant ringing within his brain. He massaged his right ear, where it melted into his skull. He didn’t try to fool himself. He understood why he’d pitched his tent in Virginia’s Blue Ridge Mountains during the dead of winter. “I’m a worthless piece of shit.” 

The snapping of the tent’s door being thrust back didn’t register through the heavy metal music that blared in his ears. The flash of late morning light, shining through the olive-green parachute material of his poncho, brought him on high alert and tensed his muscles. Before he could react, hands grasped his ankles and dragged him out of his make shift tent, poncho and all. He threw off the binds of the material and his muscles tensed when his mind commanded his body spring up into a fighting stance. Partially upright, pain seared through his hip. His leg crumpled beneath him and he collapsed backward. Unable to pull himself up out of his muddy position, Logan raised his fists and prepared himself for the beating that would follow when he lost the fight.

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