What's Next?

From Ease the Pain, 1/16/22 (Racial profiling or something even more sinister?):

Dr. Amaury Sanabria pulled his celestial silver Toyota Camry Hybrid on the side of West Sahara Avenue and shut off the engine. His heart was racing faster than it did for that surgery he performed on the 94-year-old senator the week before. He hadn’t been stopped by the police since he was a teen when he accidently followed a semi under a red light on a left-hand turn. This time, however, he thought for sure he wasn’t doing anything wrong. “45, right?” asked his wife, Nerriah, referring to the speed limit. He nodded his head, much too nervous to speak. They had just left The Egg & I for brunch and were headed home to watch the golf tournament. The taste of the Chicken Enchilada Omelette and his black coffee still lingered in his mouth as he carefully studied the police car’s flashing lights in his rear-view mirror. “They’re taking a long time,” she noted. “Do you think the brake lights are working? Maybe that’s why they pulled us over.” The doctor shrugged as he nervously tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. Sweat began to trickle down his forehead and armpits. Nerriah took notice and rubbed his shoulder. “Babe, it’s nothing. You weren’t speeding and you’re definitely not a criminal. It’s nothing. Brake light or just a routine traffic stop. That’s all.” On a Sunday afternoon? he wanted to ask, but it stayed in his head. Could it be some racist cop? Saw a brown-skinned man and his black wife in the car and wanted to provoke them. God, I hope not. The suffocating heat of the sun’s rays and its reflection on the hot asphalt tried to push through the Camry’s exterior but, luckily, the car had a fantastic air conditioner. The only suffocating heat was from the good doctor’s own body. “Hey, he’s coming. This’ll all be over soon, babe. Then we can go watch the game.”

From Ease the Pain, 1/2/22 (introducing Jack's next target):

Jack was now looking at documents on the mark, a known killer named Montgomery Leonidas who was just released on a technicality. A hot topic for the media machine as the powerful gentleman in question had run against Ben Washington in the last election. He called Washington’s no homelessness strategy Communist. He nicknamed Ben the White Supremist. Leonidas runs a series of successful corporations that focus on importing and exporting goods around the world. They tried to nail him on human trafficking, but it wouldn’t stick. Tried to nail him on raping several teenage girls. He denied it, and the girls withdrew their claims. During the 2020 election, he threatened to shoot anyone who interfered with his campaign, and he made good on his promise when he got into a heated debate with a New York Times reporter at the foot of Leonidas International on Broadway and West 44^th Street. The reporter, Etana Hessel, a young and pretty newlywed from Eastern Africa, asked him what happened to the last girl who accused him of raping her. Where was she? Leonidas waved off the slew of cameras in his face and argued that he’d never seen the girl in his life. Hessel countered that his hair was on her clothes. Bought it off the internet like a stalker, he quipped. Hessel held up her picture and shouted that he held her against her will and raped her in a bathroom on this property. That the cameras showed them entering it. He screamed that he was following her to tell her it was the men’s bathroom, that she was mistaken. “But, Mr. Leonidas, you said you didn’t know her,” Hessel asserted. He insisted bitterly that he didn’t know her, that he just followed her in the bathroom, not knowing who she was. “She said you hurt her!” Leonidas was getting sick of the questions by then and shouted that if the nigger wanted to find out about “hurt”, then she should follow him up to his office and drop the big orange blanket she was wearing to her ankles, and he’d show her what “hurt” was. “That is harassment! Harassment!” she cried to the delight of all the other reporters in the vicinity as cameras flashed brightly. Leonidas cursed and told his men to get rid of her, to shoot her if she came any closer. He turned and stormed away, heading into his skyscraper. “You’re a rapist and a murderer!” Hessel shouted once more, infuriating the businessman to a breaking point. He looked back and saw she had climbed the first two steps toward his property.

“If no one’s gonna stop her, then I will,” he said before he pulled out his Glock 19 and shot her on Times Square for the whole world to see.

His defense said the gun was faulty, that he would never shoot a pretty young thing like Hessel, no matter how much of an unfair bitch she was. Additionally, they said she was harassing him, and she was on his property without permission. He served a year and a half before his team of lawyers could get him free.

From Ease the Pain, 12/31/21 (Topic is Mercy's wing scars):

He simply nodded, avoiding any and all discussion of Grace, even though… “Since we’re talking about getting beat up, what happened to your back?”

Mercy’s face contorted in confusion. “What?” She remembered her back aching after her nap of the couch the previous night. Then the nightmare blasted into the forefront of her mind. The beautiful tall blonde, almost a perfect Playboy model, who appeared and complemented her, called her pretty, maybe? Then she made wings materialize on her back. They were amazing. She thought she could fly for a moment there before finding herself tied facedown on a bed. What that model, Grace, did next was straight out of a horror movie. “What’s on my back, Jack?” she asked, her voice trembling. With a calm voice, he described the circular scars and how they looked freshly made. Mercy laid on her back, covering the fresh scars so that her boyfriend couldn’t see them again and looked at her popcorn ceiling. “I don’t know how they got there, Jack,” she said after a long moment, turning her head to face him once more. “I had a dream, though. A nightmare, really. There was this perfect human specimen of a woman, like something out of Playboy, or Ex Machina. She gave me wings, Jack. There were these beautiful, enchanting angel wings on my back. The next thing I knew, though, she had me naked and tied to a bed where she hacked away at them with a fucking scimitar right out of some R-rated version of Aladdin. And you were there, babe, apologizing for being with me, telling me you loved her, the angel-model girl. Grace was her name. And you had sex with her when she was done ripping off my wings.”

From Ease the Pain, 12/29/21:

Jack’s tired turquoise eyes slowly opened to find him in bathed in the warm sunlight penetrating through Mercy’s bedroom window. “Clock,” he whispered, ordering his computerized eye to display the time of 6:47 AM. Next to him lay his beautiful girlfriend of about half his age. How did an old military man with a hardened heart like his wind up with such a cool girl like this? He pondered. Oh, yeah, he beat up a guy that was molesting her in a strip club. Her back was turned to him, and he took notice of the two circular scars, one on each shoulder blade, and very similar to the scars on Grace. Some remnants of dried blood still remained, meaning they were still somewhat fresh. What had happened? He ran the back of his hand along the soft skin of her back as her sweet candy aroma tingled his senses. Hours ago, they released the sexual tension that built with their unwanted separation, held apart by forces quite magical and real, both deadly. Jack did his best to ignore the pain from the damage that Grace had done to his body and was slow and gentle with Mercy in the process. Jack gently kissed her shoulder and wrapped his arms around her, taking in her room while doing so. Not a large room, but decorated in Mercy’s individual fashion. LED rope lights stretched across the peak of the four walls of a hot pink color. Many frames lined the walls, too, each part of the assortment of anime movies, video game characters, and musical artists that were not familiar to the soldier. There were also a few posters of artistic patterns utilizing glowing paints. He thought they were kind of neat, especially one with some anime characters in a nighttime snow scene. The stars above seemed to burn brightly, while the snow on the ground appeared to have a sparkling effect. The furniture placed in the room, including a tin and tall bookshelf, dresser with a large mirror, an eight-cube organizer, and a nightstand were mostly dark in color, similar to a light black. An acrylic desk with an expensive looking computer and gamer chair of black and orange patterns were placed a couple of feet from the foot of her bed. She was not a neat freak, Mercy, very much opposite from the orderly soldier. She had random clothes scattered around the room, a few opened books turned upside down, an empty fishbowl, a dead bonsai tree, two empty cups and one half-full, and other assorted odds and ends seemed to cover whatever they could. He’d joked about the state of her apartment the last two times he’d been here and she didn’t give not even the tiniest damn. That was one of the things he liked about her. She was strong and didn’t care what others thought. He looked back to her bare neck and kissed her gently once more. Could he ever really be with her, grow old…or older with her? Could he, in his set ways, allow such disorder in a home? No, but either she’d have to learn to clean house…or watch him do it. He laughed inwardly as he tried to imagine himself wearing an apron and vacuuming the house as she lifted her feet for him while playing video games.

But what of the others? He wasn’t as concerned with the magical monster Hek. He’d known of him for about as long as Mercy had been alive and he was still okay, not even doubting his own sanity anymore. But what about Grace? The first time he met her, he thought she was a hallucination. When they had sex, it was fun. A lot of fun. He figured out the truth afterwards. He realized he had cheated on Mercy, that Grace was real. And then she came back and raped him in that hotel room. She bruised him, bit him, broke him, punched and kicked him. And with that body--? He closed his eyes tight, trying to rid the image from his mind. Would she leave him alone? She said she would send anyone who touched him straight to Hell. Yet, Hek had said that Hrist would be keeping Grace busy for now on. Would Hek be true to his word? Could he control her? God, the pain she had caused him. He could feel it welling up in his stomach again. He could feel the shakes moving their way to his hands. He reached over the side of the bed and into his pants pocket. There were only three left. He didn’t remember taking one late last night but must have. He would need more soon to help. One more now and he could hold off another day or two. The general had said these would help with his pain and the nightmares, that they weren’t addictive. They were good pills. Medicine. He took the pill, put the remaining two in his pants pocket, and tuned back to the woman he was in a relationship with.

From Ease the Pain, 12/26/21:

3:16 AM. 1987.

Sergeant Dickhead stumbled up the aging front porch, weathered and worn even though he had promised to repurpose it when he married Katy Nelson years before. He never had time what with trying to find a good job and all, pounding his feet to the pavement to support this family that wasn’t even his. It wasn’t his fault that nobody in this rinky-dink backwards little town wants a real man working for them. Many times, he thought about just packing up and heading back to Arkansas. He had a sweet life there. High school football star, military hero. Too bad that Nelson girl had those puppy dog eyes and that fine ass when he reported the death of her husband to her. Oh, he consoled her alright; that very night, whether she wanted to admit she needed it or not. While that other soldier Whatshisname took the kid for ice cream, he took her to her room and consoled her real good. She tried to say no, but he knew what she needed. Now he was stuck with her. He thought about that stupid decision as he glanced through a drunken view at his ring finger. Where the hell was that ring? Duh! He reached into his left pocket; that’s where he put it when he went to the bar that evening. Can’t pick up girls with a wedding ring on your hand. He searched his right pocket. Damn. No ring, no house key. Drunken anger now heating up within, he felt his back pocket. No wallet, either. Shit! Now he had to make up an excuse to the old ball-n-chain.

The sergeant rang the doorbell. Then he rang it again. Then he rang it once more. How the fuck long does it take that woman to unlock a fucking door? “Katy! Let me in! It’s Rick, babe! Let me in! C’mon! Hurry the hell up!” he called out, disturbing the residents on Elm Street yet again. This kind of thing seemed to happen every other week or so. The sergeant’s behavior was becoming a problem, but he was a veteran, so the neighbors had to cut him some slack. He was okay during the day, helping out with someone’s yard or moving heavy objects, usually just asking for a beer or three in return. “Come on, fucking princess!” he screamed as he finally heard the rattling of the door chain from within. He wouldn’t have to wake the neighborhood if someone hadn’t taken his things. Did that girl take his shit at the hotel before she slipped out? And now the neighbors were probably getting pissed, to, just as he was, because she was taking to long to open the goddamn door. He cursed some more, trying to get her sleepy ass to move faster. She said something, but he couldn’t make it out. She was being rude, too, probably said something hateful to him. Her own fault for moving too slow. He couldn’t believe his horrible luck, being tricked into moving into this shithouse with this chick and her son, who needed to grow a pair and move out. What was he, eighteen by now? This was all her fault. Always her fault, he decided as she finally had that door open. A good punch to the nose will teach her to take so long getting the door for her man. The maybe a shove to the floor. A kick. Maybe another one too while she’s down anyway. This chair should go on her back, too. That’s right. She really needs some more punches in the face, too, he decided as he plunged on her stomach. Her nose wasn’t bloody enough yet. She hadn’t learned yet. Why did his hands hurt so much? Why was she fighting back? She was his woman, and it wasn’t like this was the first time he had tried to teach her a lesson. Normally one good punch and she learns what he wants her to learn and respects his lesson. Why was she trying to stop him now? And who was pulling at his shoulder? Who just hit him on the head with a bat? Oh, that fucking kid! There was blood on his head. He climbed to his feet and snatched the bat out of the punk’s weak hands. Fuck him. “Fuck you!” he shouted at fifteen-year-old Jack Nelson, dressed in some short, dark blue pajamas bottoms and a white V-neck t-shirt. bloody hands gripping the bat with all the rage of a drunken madman. “Teach you a fucking lesson like that whore on the floor!” he shouted as he swung violently at the teenager, just missing him as he instead smashed a side table, knocking a clay pot full of soil and a fern to the ground.

“Get out, Mom! Get up, Mom!” Jack shouted as he dodged another aggressive swing. This time the bat connected with nothing but air. “Mom!” he shouted again to the unresponsive body. She was so weak. She should have stood up to him earlier and this wouldn’t have happened. He should have stood up for her. He should have protected her, but he always thought to respect a man in uniform. The military was good, they were heroes. His dad was a soldier, a great soldier! He wanted to be just like his dad, so he did his best to ignore Sergeant Rick, Sergeant Dickhead. But he had been wrong. His dad would’ve never let a man like this hurt his mom like he’d been doing and now it was time to stop. Jack dodged another swing of the murderous man before him, wanting to lead him outside, away from Mom. Maybe he could stop him or get a neighbor to help out. He dodged again as he neared the front door. Looking back at his mother, heart beating vigorously, hoping for a sign of movement, Jack missed the first step leading away from the porch and fell.

Then the bat connected. Repeatedly

That was the night Jack decided that not every soldier was a good soldier. A good soldier defends the weak and from that day forward Jack always tried to be a good soldier. He was in the hospital for the next several weeks and went through months of physical therapy before he could properly use his arms and legs again. Unfortunately, Mom wouldn’t leave Sergeant Dickhead, blinded by whatever it was that blinded the victims to their aggressors. When he was able, Jack convinced Mom to enroll him in the Marine Military Academy in Harlingen. He never spoke to her again.

From Ease the Pain, 12/24/21:

(Ch. 13, continued):

Sapphire climbed to her feet and took hold of the customer’s hand. His hand was so much warmer than hers. Odd, she thought, but she could feel the warmth flow through her with just a taste of his blood. Imagine what a bit more would be like! She grinned in anticipation and hurried through the crowds. Some other stripper, perhaps Amethyst, stared at her with wild, confused eyes and asked if she was okay. Sapphire ignored her, just wanting to take this man to a private booth and eat him up. The customer followed her unconditionally as she led him past a tough-looking bouncer with gorilla arms who called her name, but was also ignored, and though a hallway entrance adorned with long, dangling, colorful Mardi Gras-style beads. She sauntered past several small rooms, either listening for noises or peeking in outright, until she finally found an empty one. She pulled him in the small, dark room, decorated with a small sofa, table and a battery-operated candle. “Sit,” she said.

From Ease the Pain, 12/20/21:

Chapter Thirteen

She could still feel things, even after her very life had been taken from her.

Coldness.

Darkness.

Staleness.

Hunger.

Her hand reached up and touched hard, solid stone. Her legs stretched out and touched hard, solid stone as well. Her cooled body rested on a soft velvety material within the hard, solid stone enclosure. The hunger was growing within her in such a way as she had never experienced before. A painful hunger. Ravenous. She licked her dry lips, searching for a taste, a moisture that was not there. The last thing she remembered was the ugly, mutton-chopped man who was forcing her on her lap, rubbing her body on his crotch, damn close to exploding all over his pants. Sick fucker. Then he relaxed his hands on her and she elbowed him in the nose. Bloodied him real good. Then he slashed at her throat with a knife.

God, the hunger.

From Ease the Pain, 12/19/21 (sometimes a seemingly insignificant character gets such a cool background that he just HAS to come back later in the story. Here is the tale of Trevor Coleman, a security guard who was supposed to be in the book for maybe a paragraph. Now I have bigger plans for him):

Trevor Coleman had other ambitions other than being a bodyguard for one of the most powerful mobsters in the world. He had wanted to play professional football, but things don’t always turn out as you plan. Especially when you grow up as a homosexual black kid in a rinky-dink, backwater racist town in Illinois. He was big enough, strong enough. His Pop even ran the Savage Fight Club at the edge of town. That gave Trevor a little respect in the beginning. He played during elementary and middle school and was a favorite on his teams. Freshman year of high school was also very successful, if you can ignore many of the white players ignoring the handful of African American boys on the team. If you can also ignore the occasional hazing of the black kid and the occasional dummy hanging from a local tree. Most of the other players were okay with the mixed raced team of theirs during practice and game nights but wanted nothing to do with them afterward. Except Danny. Danny was the quarterback and was friendly with everyone, color didn’t matter. Turned out that Danny was a little more friendly with Trevor. They tried to keep their relationship a secret, driving out of town for dates so that no one would see them. Trevor’s grades started to slip due to the time away from his studies and the stress he was facing. The boys were caught in Braidwood entering a Motel 6 together by a cheerleader with a cell phone.

Trevor and Danny denied any wrongdoing. Claimed that they were just meeting some girls. Some hookers, even. Nobody bought their ruse. They had been outed on social media. Grades tumbled, both boys thrown off the team, and a harsh breakup followed. Pops tried to accept his son, even convinced him to let his frustrations out at Savage Fight Club at just fifteen years of age. He was a big, strong boy after all. 205 pounds of muscle. And angry as hell. Grown men were fallen after a few of his left hooks. “Fucking faggot cheated,” usually left their bloody mouths after. School did not improve as his as and Bs turned into Ds and Fs. His locker was often spray painted with racial and homophobic slurs. Food would fly at him during lunches. Certain male teachers refused to help him. High school became a lost cause. More grown men fell to his fists of malice as money started to fall into his hands, his wallet, and his bank account. He had found what he was good at. Breaking bones. He dropped out of high school at sixteen and worked fulltime for his father. His local fame spread. He got a new boyfriend. The occasional brick found its way through his windows. The occasional curse-laden graffiti was left on his walls or cars. The occasional slashed tire was also found. Trevor persevered until some hoods from the local KKK threw some pipe bombs through Savage Fight Club’s windows.

Pops was inside. Never made it out.

Trevor never knew his mother, dropped out of high school, and just lost his Pops. The bank controlled the club and made damn sure they weren’t giving any money to a kid like that. He was almost 18, and alone.

The streets took him in. The streets allowed him to let lose on anyone who crossed his path. The streets led him to the employment of Nico Minniti. Trevor broke bones of lazy cheats who never paid Minniti back. Nico broke bones of people who skipped out on rented whores. Trevor broke bones of people who tried to cheat Minniti on the drugs being sold. Trevor had a talent and Nico noticed. Pretty soon Trevor found himself at the top of the chain, one of Nico’s top enforcers and as one of his private bodyguards. Nico and the boys didn’t care that Trevor was gay. Sure, they joked about it as often as they liked, quite rudely in fact, but they treated him kindly for the most part. Maybe they were afraid he’d kick their asses? At any rate, Minniti even put up the dough for the wedding. Trevor met a nice man working the booth at a strip club in Chicago, Angel. The men bought a home in Vegas and Trevor kept a steady job guarding the door to the Emperor Suite at The Capone, allowing for a safe, intruder-free place for Nico to bring his favorite girls. Currently it was some model-like blonde with bright blue eyes, auburn hair, and a kind of heart-shaped chin.

Trevor’s Apple Watch rang with the caller ID of Dignity Health Emergency Room. “Hullo?” he answered quickly, heart beating at a rapid pace. He’s never had a call from an emergency room before and was frightened of what it could be.

“Mr. Coleman? I’m calling about your husband—”

Trevor charged up the hallway toward the elevator, already making the decision to leave his post. Mr. Minniti will have an escort up to the room and would be up in a minute or two, the girl in the room was all alone and probably liquored up, and nothing could happen that could be too disastrous, right?

From Ease the pain, 10/24/21:

The Capone, completed in 2017, seventy years after the crime boss’s death, quickly became one of Las Vegas’s top attractions with its roaring 20s style featuring fifty floors of employees fashioned as flappers and gangsters, an intercom system playing Louis Armstrong, Duke Ellington, Bessie Smith, and more musical greats of the time. The entrance was designed as a state-of-the-art gambling hall with everything from one-armed bandits, poker, carps, roulette, and other games created for taking money from vacationers. Three night clubs and two restaurants (one, Italian, the other, strictly pizza) were strategically built into the first, fourteenth, and thirtieth floors. A rooftop lounge still lures tons of visitors to the breathtaking views of the Las Vegas strip from the 50^th floor. A bowling alley and shops styled in the fashions of a hundred years ago have also become extremely popular when visiting Vegas. The COVID outbreak nearly destroyed the young enterprise and would have if not for insurance and some illegal business still permeating throughout the Capone’s hallways and byways.

From Ease the Pain, 10/10/21:

“Jack my boy, back in 2016, we worked damn hard to get someone in office who could make a difference. You were with me, side by side as the racist Republicans and the fragile Democrats engulfed each party. The only alternative was to bring back an honest to goodness kick in the ass overhaul of our system. The military was sick and tired of playing politics but had to play politics harder than ever before. The branches worked together to get Benjamin Washington elected, Jack, and he’s done a Hell of a job.” Blackfinger had wheeled behind Jack as he was talking and snipped the zip-tie loose, letting the broken plastic fall to the floor. There was no more danger and both men knew it. If Jack tried anything, Deborah was a goner. “Take this,” he said, handing the scissors over so the captain could free his legs. “Crime’s down, America is stronger, less hungry Americans, veterans are taken care of, homelessness isn’t an issue anymore. I could go on and on, son.” He took the scissors from Jack and placed them on the table next to the laptop. Deborah was still on the screen. “The president needs a third term, Jack, but there’s someone in his way. Mobster-prick. That’s why I was called in. That’s why you’re being called in.”

10/4/21 Sample from Ease the Pain (a scene of Mercy entering Jack's cabin):

By the time the location on her phone found Jack’s cabin, Mercy had had enough driving, shoved the gear in park, and thanked Jesus for getting her there safely. She stepped out of her car, felt the cool breeze and took a deep breath of fresh mountain air. “Boyfriend, you have got it made out here!” She popped open the trunk, reached in and pulled out two large handfuls of bags that included food to be prepared in her man’s kitchen, a small vanilla cake, candles, a few decorations, and a couple of birthday gifts. As she elbowed the tunk down, she heard a noise in the dry, flowery bushes a few feet from her car. The glowing eyes were just beyond a bunch of leaves. “Ohhh, shitshitshitshitshit, nice kitty,” she muttered as she hustled to Jack’s porch, backwards. “Boyfriend gotta big kitty out there somewhere. Don’t eat me, pretty kitty,” she pleaded quietly as she fumbled with her keys. “He woulda told me if he had a pet lion around here, right?” she asked herself while balancing her bags and inserting his key into the door. The shrieking tone of the alarm system began as soon as the door opened, setting her heart to race on even faster. “Long, dangerous twisted roads, mountain lions in your front yard, and a friggin’ noisy ass alarm practically giving me a heart attack,” she mumbled, shoving the door with her foot and stepping into Jack’s living room, “I’m gonna be too wiped out to be your birthday sex present. You’re gonna have to give it to yourself, buddy.” A quick turn of her head and she found the alarm keypad on the wall in front of her. Mercy gently set the bags down on the small, dark brown, suede loveseat, locked the door, and shut off the alarm on her first try, surprisingly.. Crawling on the far side of the loveseat, she peeked through the blinds and, to the far right, just next to her car, a glimpse of a long yellow tail maybe three feet in the air passing slowly by. “Fuck me,” she whispered, “I was almost dinner. Boyfriend, I ain’t ever leaving your place; I’d be scared shitless just to step outside again!” Hands on hips and a quick sigh of relief, and she was ready to take the opportunity to survey her surroundings: Jack’s home!

9/25/21 Sample from Ease the Pain: (a scene of Jack's tortured soul and growing madness):

Jack Nelson sped through the streets; feeling pleased with his surprise meeting with Nerriah but had a nagging pain in his gut. It was starting again. The pain had sprung suddenly. With it, returned pictures of the fallen and the dead filled his brain. He heard their cries and screams, their curses and pleas. It had been a never-ending cycle since the death of Daryll Morrison and it seemed to be getting worse. Jack swerved to narrowly escape a passing Buick and found himself plodding down an unknown, old, back alleyway, having no idea where he was. The brick building was in disrepair, chipped away and faded signs advertising food deals and past sales. His pain and visions were increasing and he knew he had to do something to bring it to an end. He stopped the Indian near several overflowing trash cans and climbed off, shaking violently as he searched his pockets. “Fuck!” he cried as the sweat poured down from his face and he fell to the ground, a small pill box in his hand. His trembling hands managed to open it as the snakes and skulls piled up around him. He was sitting on a few dying soldiers of unknown allegiances, his knees and legs resting on their bloody stomachs, blown apart by bombs and bullets as they pleaded with him to help them. They wanted to get out of there. They wanted to get to the hospital to get healed. They wanted to go home to their families, their moms and dads and wives and husbands. They wanted to get home to their children. He felt their fresh blood sticking to his skin, their hands clutching him and tugging at him as he struggled to get the pills into his mouth. His body gave out and he fell to the ground, trying to swallow the pills as the fallen soldiers tried desperately to open his mouth, clawing at him with their bloody fingers to steal the medicine from him. They wanted it; they needed it more than he did! Jack closed his eyes as tight as he could, fighting to ignore the pain and the screams, and the blood.

“Get up!” Jack’s father commanded.

He opened his eyes.

No one was there.

It was just another one of his episodes.

Jack shook his head and sat up, leaning against the wall behind him.

He bit his lip and cursed.

“Happened again, hum?”

He continued to bite his lip, and cursed again

9/22/21 Sample from Ease the Pain: (today I added in a little realism with a COVID death).

“Thanks,” she said, brushing a loose strand of hair out of her face and then propping her head up on the palms of her hands. “We’ve had some rough years and I was kind of getting some love handles for a while. Fell off the wagon completely after Mom--” Her words wouldn’t come out and the tension was building rapidly. “- -I see you’re still working out,” she recovered, “being the tough guy, and picking on defenseless little old ladies,” she laughed quietly.

A nervous smile crossed the soldier’s face. “It had to be done. And she was not that little.” Nerriah allowed her eyes to glance outside at the adjoining plaza. “Your Mom, Ner? How is she?”

His attractive ex lowered her eyes, still facing away. “She wouldn’t get vaccinated, Jack. Xavier and I tried our best to convince her, but, I don’t know. Trypanophobia. She always had it and could never get over it, even after my aunt got sick.” She returned her face back to Jack, but still lowered, not able to look him in the eyes. “We’re holding up, but it’s hard without her. I want my Mom, Jack. I want my Dad and I want…” Nerriah’s hand covered her trembling lip as she opened her eyes again, staring a little more harshly at the soldier. The tears began then. “I miss my brother, Jack and you...you killed him, Jack. You killed Daryll.” Her voice was just above a whisper but the anger was purely there and audible to the soldier. Her free arm shot out and gripped his wrist, nails cutting into his skin. “Why, Jack? Why did you have to kill my brother? Why did you have to shoot---?”

That was all she could manage. The rest was up to Jack.

“Nair-i-ay?” a voice called out loudly.

“Ner,” Jack began.

She shook her head. “No, Jack. Just, no. Just go get our coffees, please.”

He looked back towards the counter. “Wha-?”

“Nair-i-ay?” the voice repeated even louder.

From The World of Hek 3: Ease the Pain:

Jack sat on his bed and picked his boots off of the floor. He had the expensive brown leather boots custom made to his exact size during a layover in Houston back in 2015. They were some of the few things he did spend a lot of money on. He then opened his jewelry box, removed his dog tags and hung them around his neck. Next, the former soldier marched back to his bathroom and opened his medicine cabinet. The variety of pill bottles seemed to increase with each passing week. He kept telling himself that he could handle it, that he didn’t have a problem. His drugs kept the memory of violence out of his head, out of his dreams.

At least, that’s what they were supposed to be doing.

He bit his lip, felt the slight tremble of his body and the quaking in his stomach, and reached for a bottle.

One of the toughest things I've ever written: a soldier's confession. From The World of Hek 3: Ease the Pain:

With a lowered head and heavy heart, Jack exited the army jeep he “borrowed” from a private posted outside the hospital and stepped onto the gravel driveway that led to the Morrison home. He hadn’t been here in about a year-and-a-half, ever since he and Nerriah parted ways. The tan home, constructed in adobe, was still in good shape, standing up to the harsh desert climate like a rock. He climbed the steps to the porch, noticing the new clay pots with spiked agave plants near the front door, and gently touched the doorbell, hoping to speak to the Morrisons before any rumors or misinformation found their way to the family before he could.

“Hello?! Come in! Hurry! Hurry, please!” Jack immediately recognized the voice as Kamala, Daryll’s mother, and pushed open the door quickly. He called out her name from the foyer. Before him he could see the living room. Kamala was on the ground beside her husband, Caleb, sitting still in his favorite recliner. “Jack! Jack!” she screamed, gripping her husband’s legs and shaking them wildly. “He won’t move, Jack! He won’t move!” Jack moved behind her, hugged her tightly, trying to comfort her and move her out of the way at the same time. He hugged Caleb’s legs even tighter, not wanting to let go. “Help me, Jack, please!” Jack made his way to Caleb’s mouth and put his ear to it.

Nothing.

“Jack, no! No, Jack, please!” she cried, collapsing to the floor once more. Jack touched her husband’s hand with both of his and placed his forehead to it. His eyes closed and he felt those tears returning again, the second damn time in one day. “I’m sorry, Caleb,” he whispered. He was too late..again. The second time he failed a Morrison in one day also. Jack pulled his head back and wiped away the tears with the palm of his hand. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. Still on his knees, he crawled back to Kamala, who gripped him tightly and beat his back repeatedly with her fists, her tears soaking her face and his back. “Let it out, Kamala. Let it out, “ he whispered. “It’s okay.” She wailed uncontrollably as Jack had to ponder the worst: did she know about her son, too? They both sat on the floor as she wept on the soldier for several long minutes before the sirens arrived outside the door.

Daryll’s stepmother, Kamala, looked up as the EMTs burst through the open door and let her eyes fall on Jack, and suddenly knew exactly why Jack was there. Through her teary eyes she saw the blood on Jack’s shirt and instantly assumed it was Daryll’s. She stifled the next oncoming outburst and fell silent, not wanting to cry or speak a sound as she tried to look the soldier in the eyes. As the two paramedics rushed to Caleb’s aid, Kamala found herself uttering, “Jack.” Her head fell down and her body crumbled into Jack’s once more. Jack held her and shook his head in silence, knowing that now she knew. The two sat quietly and watched helplessly as the two young women tried in vain to revive her husband.

She shook her head, put her hand firmly on Jack’s back, and pushed herself up to her feet once more. She gripped his hands and made him stand with her. She guided him into the dining room, its marble floors and gleaming chandelier spotless and shiny as new. The rustic design of the dining set had become more rustic than it used to, however, plainly showing its age. Jack had been here several times in the past, but had not noticed the signs of age, the scratches, the stains, the fading color. Two of the leather seats had small holes in them, too. The Morrisons had been struggling and Jack hadn’t been around to see it until it was too late. The 74° temperature seemed unusually cold, especially with the sun’s rays flooding in through the numerous windows, curtains opened all the way. Caleb loved the sunlight. “Have a seat, please. I’ll get some drinks,” Jack said, guiding her to one of the better chairs. “Coffee?” She nodded quietly. He rubbed her back gently and turned to the kitchen; the living room still in his view, the paramedics speaking on the radio as more sirens approached outside.

Jack opened a few cabinets, expecting to find the Keurig coffee cups where they once were but only found a tub of Maxwell House. Knowing the family’s preferences and knowing also that something wasn’t right, he scanned the kitchen counter top, still a handsome marble, but couldn’t find the Keurig Coffeemaker. There was a white, generic coffee machine in its place. He sighed heavily. He had wanted a quick bup of coffee for the both of them. “It busted,” Kamala said from behind him. He turned to find her a lot more calm, senses regained. “It just quit working, Jack,” she said with a shrug as she grabbed the coffee pot and placed it under the sink for water., “Like everything else. Caleb’s been sick, we’ve got the money saved up...but it’s saved up for emergencies, not a coffee machine. Frivolous crap. We got this thing at Wal-Mart or the Dollar Store or somewhere.” She placed the pot in the machine, placed a filter and added coffee. She sighed and pressed the start button. “It works,” she exclaimed quietly, leaning against the counter.

Jack eyed her carefully, not knowing what to expect, before placing two coffee cups on the counter. “Get a few more,” she suggested, wiping a dry tear from her face, “they may want some,” she added, pointing at the EMTs.

“‘K,” was all he could manage.

“Caleb had given up trying to do any work lately and had been reading a lot, sitting in his recliner and watching the news from the old television. He was a broken man, Jack. But I swear, when he looked at me come home each day, he lit up like a horny teenager”, she giggled before her eyes. Once more fell on Jack, bullets holes on his sleeves and blood on his shirt. “You were with our Daryll in those final moments, right, Jack? Captain?. The aging author closed her burning eyes and breathed deeply as Jack moved toward her. They stood, almost face to face but neither could talk for a long moment. Jack shook his head solemnly, patiently waiting on her to be ready for acceptance. Kamala finally opened his eyes and shook his head. “He’s gone, isn’t he, Jack? My son?”

“Yeah,” Jack solemnly answered, hands inflexibly entwined behind his back.

Kamala clenched her hands tightly and silently looked to the ceiling, focusing on the bright LED lights, not daring to look into the eyes or general direction of Jack or any other person in her home at that moment.

“It was quick. He didn’t suffer,” the soldier added, not knowing if this piece of information would help comfort the loss of her oldest son or not. Two losses, one day. Would she make it tonight? He wondered.

Kamala brushed past him, arranging the six coffee cups in a perfect symmetrical order, focusing on the arriving men in the other room.

“Did you get the man who did it, Captain?” she asked, his eyes returning to, and centered on, Jack.

Jack stood tall, his arms remaining behind his back, hands still fiercely gripping one another. He cleared his throat and spoke the truth. “Your son died a hero, Mrs. Morrison. He had reached the detonator but was overtaken by the terrorists.” He breathed heavily and looked into her sad, blue eyes. “They had his back strapped to the device and it had three seconds to go. I had no time to reach him or it.” He paused for a long moment, letting the information sink in. Breathing in deeply, building his strength for the end of his story, he added, “it was the only way to stop the bombs.”

Kamala’s legs gave way and he fell, caught, of course, by her son’s friend, his captain. Her mouth agape, stunned, as he braced her in a standing position once more. “You shot him?” Her body went cold, her breathing became heavy, her mouth trembled. “You put a bullet in my boy? My son??”

Jack’s gut was wrenching, the pain increasing within him, stinging his eyes, burdening his feet, electrifying his back. He wanted to throw up again but held it in, much to the chagrin of his stomach. “I didn’t want to, Mrs. Morrsion, believe me. I had no other choice.”

A fresh tear dropped from the poor woman’s eyes as she looked away from Jack, closing her eyes as her head faced toward the dining room. “We trusted you, Jack. We trusted you with our daughter last year and you broke her heart. We trusted you with our son’s life; to keep him safe. And now you kill him? My boy is dead?”

Jack remained at attention, and his head lowered.

“You’ve killed my son and my husband, you--” Kamala wiped her eyes and looked at the soldier once more. “I respected you, Captain, for all the work you’ve done for this country, and for the way you once treated this family. Now, Caleb served in the Army, Jack, and I know about tough choices; he told me; and I’m sure that you felt you handled this in the best way possible, but, Jack, you can’t kill a mother’s son and her husband and expect forgiveness on the same damned day.”

“Mrs.,” Jack said, looking at the woman, “I don’t expect forgiveness. I just wanted you to hear it from me and not some cold, nameless messenger.” He looked at the television, playing silently. “Or the news.” He held his chin high, a man of war, a captain, a man worthy of respect, but also a man who has made many mistakes in his life and career.

The lady nodded his head in acknowledgement.

“I’m retiring from the service, ma’am. After what happened today, I can’t find it in my heart to do this anymore. I loved your son like a brother.”

Kamala swallowed a hot, dry emptiness down his throat and looked at his silent wife and slapped him hard, twice.

“Get the fuck out of my house!” she screamed.