Ugh. My head.
I think I’m hungover.
Or I just woke up from being blackout-drunk. Hold on… yeah, gonna get some hair-of-the-dog as the gringo’s say.
Shit.
I don’t think I’ve ‘Blogged’ since I was in college but I am well past the level of giving a shit. Pardon the foul mouth, I’m in a downward spiral–wanna come along for the ride?
Well, let’s get spinning…
Everything starts somewhere, how about how I found out about my boyfriend’s death? Sounds fun, right?
So I’m a woman working in the military. Normally I would say I work with “Top Secret” blah blah but, again, I don’t care anymore. I’m at this level of depression where I almost hope I get executed. I was mothballing some spec-ops wet-works dude. An absolute monster.
That’s not his code-name, his code name was “White Wolf”, his name is Sergeant Demond Winter, his brother was also on the op, Sergeant Elon Winter. No, not the Tesla guy, this was a different Elon, apparently. I think whoever named this mission has a thing for Game of Thrones. By the way, it’s called “Project Winter”.
Long story short? We didn’t win against ISIS with drone strikes alone. Somehow, somewhere, we found this guy… He loved killing. I mean, loved it. This guy called it ‘hunting’. Originally General Scott Drake sends us this operation to run and says:
“Run him until he’s done.”
Basically what the General meant was, run the missions until Demond is K.I.A (That’s “killed in action” for non-military). Normally that’s not something we do; we want to give downtime and restrict missions to ensure the health of our soldiers.
This guy? He begged it for it. Green Beret, Ranger, and finally Spec Ops. On one debrief, he joked that he could do what an entire Navy Seal team could in one night.
Scary part? He wasn’t wrong.
We’d drop him and his brother near an ISIS encampment and by morning, there was not a single living member in those camps. Not just dead either. Sure, we expect wounds–but not decapitation. Half the corpses look like a wild animal had at them–thus the moniker “White Wolf.” The rest were piled up in a funeral pyre, like he killed them all in fifteen minutes, then tossed the corpses on the pyre the rest of the night for fun.
Every-time we figured it was his last mission, this guy came back. He came back and he wanted more. He ran over a thousand individual missions, all successful, all high body count, all zero friendly casualties.
So I was happy to see we were mothballing “Project Winter”, not because he died, unfortunately, but because his op was kind of taken over by some other project called “Seraph”, whatever that was. If the guy’s last name was “Angel,” I’d have just up and quit. But, shockingly, I didn’t have access to “Seraph.” I’d talk to the Colonel about that later.
Normally I don’t root against our own soldiers but I’ve read Sergeant Winter’s debriefs and he’s a seriously disturbed guy. He would constantly get agitated about having to spend time in debriefing and would demand to be put out in the field. I am seriously afraid of what a guy like that would do when he came home. Hopefully “Seraph” can keep him busy.
I had just finished filing “Project Winter” under the “We don’t know who this guy is, sorry, we’re the good guys, remember? Go ask that Putin guy” file, when the Colonel comes up to me.
Colonel Anderson was a nice guy, almost too nice considering what he’d been through. He ran in the early days of the Afghan War, almost lost his entire unit, managed to save them by the skin of his teeth. Got the medal of honor for saving everyone in said unit. Some call it excessive but you evac a helicopter that got hit with a Stinger Missile with zero casualties, see how that goes for you.
“Captain Vázquez?” he said in a more dire tone than I’m used to.
“Yessir?” I say, standing at attention.
“At ease.” He sighs, “Come into my office, Captain.”
I frown, following him in and closing the door behind me.
He sits down at his desk and then motions to the chair on the other side. “Have a seat.”
“No, thanks, sir. I’m fine. What’s up?” I ask.
He pulls out an envelope and slides it over to me. “Normally this kind of news goes to family but… you’re all he had. I pulled some strings so I could be the one to do this.” He clears his throat. “I’m sorry Captain Vázquez. He was killed in action.”
I had picked up the envelope and was reading it, but not really processing the details. Kind of just heard that weird ringing noise you get after a grenade goes off nearby. I think Colonel Anderson was still talking, but it was hard to tell.
I think I did sit down at some point–at least, I hope I did. I recall going lower in the room. If I hit the floor, that would be embarrassing in front of my SO. Just keywords jumping off the page at me. “Killed In Action…” “IED…” “Mission Failure” “…deepest sympathy to you and your family in your loss.”
I remember the last conversation he and I had.
…
I was at my desk, as was the usual these days. My phone rang and I picked it up. “Captain Vázquez speaking.”
“Hey baby,” he said in his usual greeting.
“Well, hello, Major.” I smiled, “I’m planning a coming home party in 2 weeks.”
He seemed apprehensive. “Yeah… uhm… listen, we’re running one more op.”
I frowned. “They know you are shipping home in two weeks?”
“Kind of why we’re running it now, before I head home.” he said.
“Well… what is it?” I asked.
“I can’t say.”
I sighed. “You know I run ops higher clearance than you all the time.”
“I’m still the higher ranking officer… you can’t pull that on me.” he laughed.
I laughed nervously too, “So… when do you head out?”
“2300. I wanted to talk to you before I headed out.”
“I love you,” I said.
“I love you too.” He cleared his throat. “You know how… sometimes you hear about the cop who gets shot a few days before retirement?”
I didn’t like the direction the conversation was going. “Yeah…”
“If something like that happens, you know, like I don’t make it back or something, I need to know you’ll be okay.”
I frowned. “Okay?” I got slightly agitated. “What do you mean ‘okay’? You know damn well we have plans when you get home. We put it all on hold until you got back from active duty.”
“Because in case I didn’t make it, you wouldn’t… you know…be a widow,” he answered.
“Yes…” I sighed, “You know I’ll be heartbroken but… I’ll live. Is that what you want to know? That I won’t get all suicidal?”
There was silence for a little bit. “It’s just a dangerous mission.”
“Then be careful,” I said, getting more worried.
“I know but… but I can’t control everything.”
“Do you think you legitimately won’t be able to make it back?” I asked because he had never once lied to me. Joke all you want, I swear the man was born being physically incapable of lying. Maybe every woman thinks this of her man but with him, it was true. Everything was true.
“It’s highly likely. Like I said, I just wanted to talk to you before I shipped out. I wanted to say I love you. If it’s the last time, then it is. But I love you.”
I frowned. “Promise me you’re going to come back to me.”
“So-”
“Promise me!” I interrupted, “Promise me you’re going to come home to me!”
He sighed. “I Promise… I’ll come home.”
“To me,” I clarified.
“I promise, I’ll come home to you.”
I smiled a bit. “Good. Now don’t go breaking your promise, okay? See you in two weeks.”
“I really want to see you in two weeks. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
The last thing he said to me was “I really want to see you in two weeks, I love you.” I guess I can’t complain, he was smart, he knew when to call, what to say. As far as last words go that’s as good as you can get.
…
“Captain Vázquez?” I eventually hear Colonel Anderson say.
“Huh?” I look up, kind of numb still. Still hearing his last words in my head. “Yeah?”
“You okay?”
I clear my throat, feeling the pit of my stomach drop as my throat tries to close up. “Yessir. If I could… just have a moment, uh…” I cleared my throat. “…When… would the family… mind if I came to the funeral?”
Colonel Anderson frowns. “I believe that he’s getting the ‘No Next of Kin’ status… Likely a cremation.”
I frown too. “What? But he was young… he has no… mother, father, a sister, a brother?”
Colonel Anderson sighs., “Afraid not. You’re the only one listed. So whether you go or not is your choice.”
…
During the time leading up to the funeral, I couldn’t shake an odd feeling. I know Timothy was stationed in Israel somewhere, but when I did a check on the phone call he made (Which I really shouldn’t have done, but I did), he was calling me from Rome. I was wondering if maybe he wasn’t dead. Maybe it was a ruse? Some kind of spec op? But what kind of op would need him to fake his death?
I called his cell, getting angry at him now.
It went direct to voicemail: “You’ve reached my personal line, please leave a message. Unless this is my Captain, O’ Captain, leave a kiss when you’re done.”
I miss his voice so much. I need to find a way to record that, it won’t be there forever.
“Your IP address from the last location, according to geolocation has you in Rome… yet the mission report is saying you were in Israel. You can’t be in two places at once!” I shouted, “So where are you? You can’t be dead! You’re too smart for that! I know that, we all know that! Even Colonel Anderson knows that! You can’t be dead, damn it!”
I managed to catch Colonel Anderson’s attention from my office, apparently.
“Captain?”
I end the call. “Sir.” I stand.
“At ease…” He looks me over. “I thought you were taking a bereavement?”
I nod. “Yessir, tomorrow sir.”
He gives me a concerned look. “I tried to reach out to some fellow soldiers, but everyone that he ran with is currently deployed so… just a warning, you will likely be the only person at the funeral.”
I nod. “Sir, I understand, sir.”
…
The Colonel wasn’t kidding. I was the only one there at the grave site. I made sure that they didn’t cremate because I wanted to have a place I could visit. So it was casket. A simple casket, whatever less than three grand can afford. A pine box. That’s what he was worth to our country apparently.
I pick up my phone and look at my contacts. I call him.
I hear his voicemail message after the phone rang out: “You’ve reached my personal line, please leave a message. Unless this is my Captain, O’ Captain, leave a kiss when you’re done.”
I start recording at the tone. “I… I guess I’m just calling to hear your voice. That’s fucked up, right? I checked your records, you know, to find next of kin so I could maybe–” I had to clear my throat, “Maybe–attend your funeral. Meet your folks?” I pull out a tissue to clear my nose, God, am I a wreck! “But you list me. When I check you’ve… been alone since fifteen. Enlisted at eighteen and they want to just give you a plaque in some field. I’m going to get you a proper funeral.” Not knowing what else to say, I hang up.
It was too nice a day for a funeral. Blue sky, white clouds, birds chirping, mild weather for fall.
After a bit, the priest awkwardly walks over to me.
“Excuse me, miss?”
I look up from the casket for the first time since I sat down, “Hmm?”
“Are the others late?”
I look back to the casket. “It’s just me.”
His hand is on my shoulder. “My condolences… husband?”
“Fiancé.” I lie. We had never said the words ‘Will you marry me?’ but that was the plan when he got back. He joked about me being his ‘Super Girlfriend Deluxe’. I smile a tiny bit as I feel my eyes well up with tears.
The priest doesn’t stray far from me as this point. “Well, I’ll get started then.” He opens up his bible and begins to pray over the casket.
It isn’t an open casket at the funeral home. Apparently there was not much left of him.
I try to focus on the words the priest is saying but I don’t follow very well. My mind is all over the place, kind of broken, to be honest. I feel trapped, in a kind of denial of what’s really happening around me.
I couldn’t be at my boyfriend’s funeral! I shouldn’t be! This is a dream or some horrible nightmare, because the last phone call I got from him, he promised to come back! I planned to kick his ass when he came home for making me go through this nightmare!
The priest walks over to me. “Miss?”
I look up again, “Yes?”
He smiles sweetly to me. “I’m finished. You seemed distracted.”
I look to the casket, seeing it slowly lowered into the ground.
As it goes down, the priest invites me up to a pile of dirt near the grave, “Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God of his great mercy to take unto himself the soul of our dear brother here departed, we therefore commit his body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life, through our Lord Jesus Christ; who shall change our vile body, that it may be like unto his glorious body, according to the mighty working, whereby he is able to subdue all things to himself.” He looks to me and says, “Amen,” before dropping a handful of dirt down into the grave.
I slowly kneel down and pick up a fist full of dirt. I hold it over the grave, hand shaking.
The priest places his hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay to let go now.”
I let go of the dirt, and close my eyes, feeling a tear rolling down my cheek.
After the priest leaves, I sit in the small folding chair, staring at the grave for way too long: to the point where the funeral was at noon and the sun has now started to set.
“Hey, Lady?” A man’s voice breaks my concentration.
I look up at him. “What?”
He seemed to be the grounds keeper. “You gotta head home, honey.”
I look to the sky and my watch. “Right.”
He picks up the folding chairs near me, as well as mine once I stand up.
I stand there for another moment or two. I feel like walking away is goodbye. “That’s stupid”, I tell myself. “He’s already gone, he can’t hear you.” I head towards my car. I was the last one in the parking lot.
I get into the car and I can’t stop crying. I am probably ugly sobbing, not sure how to handle what is going on. Eventually I pull myself together.
I unpack my wet wipes and fix my makeup so it isn’t obvious to anyone driving by that I am a mournful woman driving home from a funeral.
That’s when my phone rang. My heart skipped a beat until I realize it is just my friend Cat from the base.
I pick up the phone. “Hey Cat.”
“Yo! Where you at?” she shouts.
“Cemetery.” I numbly state.
“Downer. Come drinking with me, you need it, Mamasita!”
“I shouldn’t.” I try to defend myself against the desire to get completely shitfaced.
“No, you should, you just have that annoying angel on your shoulder telling you: ‘don’t get shitfaced with your best friend–stay home and eat some Ben and Jerry’s and watch Comedy Central till the infomercials come on!’”
I hate when she reads me like a book. “…Fine. Where are you at?”
“Meet me at Jack Duggan’s!”
“Jesus, so you mean it when you say shitfaced, huh?” I smile weakly.
“No better place than the Irish Pub with that Irish Bartender lady! She may even let us smoke!”
I sigh. “I’ll be there in an hour.”
“See you soon, chicka!”
…
A little more than an hour and thirty minutes later, I pull up at the bar. Jack Duggan’s is the most Irish Pub you can get in New York and that’s saying something. They have a classy gold sign and an Irish Flag hanging outside. Cat and I had joked it was really the Irish embassy, on the corner near the train tracks as close to Queens as possible.
I walk over to the entrance to find Cat standing and waiting. She runs over to me and hugs me tight.
“Hey!” She frowns to me. “Sofia, I’m so sorry.” She slings her arm over my shoulder. “Come on, let’s get hammered!”
I sigh. “That’s your solution to everything.”
“Well, you know the one thing I learned from Chemistry, right?”
I groan, repeating with her, “Alcohol is a solution.”
The bar is fairly empty so we grab a pair of seats by the corner. The barkeep walks over to us.
“Aye, Ladies! What can I get fer yah?”
Like I said, most Irish Pub in town, she was a literal Dubliner.
“Two Margaritas and a pair of beers,” Cat says, smiling.
“Aye, yah want that watered down swill yah American’s call beer or you want real beer?”
I bring the mood down a bit. “Whatever’s good after a funeral.”
“My condolences to the dearly departed.” The bartender frowns. “I’ll get yah some Harp. If yah don’t like it it’s on the house. Eh, forget it, it’s on the house. Least I can do.”
“You’re the best, Holly!” Cat says.
While Holly got our drinks, I look over to a sign over the bar.
“When I die, bury me under the pub… so my husband will visit me 7 times a week!”
I heave a sigh and look to the drinks that slide over to us.
Cat smiles, handing Holly her credit card. “Just start a tab. I’m buying.”
“Aye, Kitty.” Holly smiles to us and heads over to another group, men who were starting their own order.
Cat turns to me. “Funerals suck.” she says, raising her margarita glass.
I pick up the beer. “Funerals suck.” I then go on to chug down the entire thing.
Cat seems a bit taken back.
“You said we’re getting shit faced…” I defend.
Cat’s smile fades slightly and she nods, waving to Holly to get us another round.
It is closing time by the time we stumble out of the pub, hanging onto each other. It is clear we aren’t making it back in our own cars.
“Soph… you should crash with me hun. I’m closer. We’ll save the cash on the Uber, yah know? Come on.”
I’m not in a decision making mood so I agree, “Sure.”
Some drunken taxi ride later, we wobble our way into Cat’s place and I flop onto the couch.
Cat grabs me a glass of water and tells me to down it.
I groan as I do. “Cat… why did he go?”
Cat plops down in an armchair in her living room. “I dunno, Soph.”
“He could have objected… I know he could have… you can’t just tell someone who’s about to ship out that they have to go and fight and die right?” I slowly sit up, “You can’t do that!” I stare at Cat and notice she’s not ignoring me, she has passed out. I shake my head, looking to my phone. I realize I hadn’t apologized for the first nasty message I had left him.
Another call, another ring out: “You’ve reached my personal line, please leave a message. Unless this is my Captain, O’ Captain, leave a kiss when you’re done.” I hear the beep.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get mad…” I choke on his name. “You just–I lied. When you asked me ‘Would I be okay if something happened to you’ during this mission, I lied to make you feel better. If you knew it was so dangerous though, why did you go? Why did you go if you knew it might take you from me?” I don’t know if I was expecting an answer or not so I just hung up, and stare at the ceiling.
I spend the next few hours trying to find an app to record an outgoing voicemail message. I find plenty to save voicemails left for me but none about his voicemail message. I frown, I don’t know how much longer that message is going to last. The guy is dead, they could cut his line any minute.
I call up once more, tired, half delirious, half crazed.
“You’ve reached my personal line, please leave a message. Unless this is my Captain, O’ Captain, leave a kiss when you’re done.” Another beep.
“I am trying to record your voice from this stupid voicemail. Why is your message so prim and proper?” I can’t stifle a laugh, I’m nowhere near sobered up, “Like you–a perfect soldier, adhering to all the rules and regulations and just reminding me why I loved you. Loved.” There’s a lump in my throat that I can barely get past. I push through. “I laughed at some folks when their relationships ended and they got stuck just drinking and eating to fill the void left behind, you know? But I can’t fill this.” I choke up again. “I feel… empty without you.” I lean back, looking up at the ceiling as I clear my sinuses. “Please, God, bring him back to me.”
I end the call and close my eyes, passing out.
…
I’m wearing a wedding dress. I look to my left to see my father smiling at me. I look down an aisle and I see a groom with black hair standing at the altar. Only Colonel Anderson is standing next to him. No other Groomsmen at all on his side. I see just two figures up front. From behind, it’s just a man and a woman.
The organ starts to play and my father and I head down the aisle. My heart’s in my throat. I look to my side and see my sister, Gloria in a bridesmaid dress. It’s red, which was an odd color choice. Standing next to her is Cat, and I even see Holly from the bar.
My father turns to me, lifts my veil, and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “I’m proud of you, kiddo.”
I smile, nodding, “Thanks poppa…” I frown, “I miss you.” It’s at this point I remember my father died several years ago. He’s suddenly gone.
I turn to the groom.
He turns to me, his eyes red, and he smiles an unnerving smile, one I’ve never seen him smile, “Sofia.”
I frown, stepping away, “Wait… what’s wrong with your eyes?”
The unnerving smile turns even more wicked. “Just telling you the truth, lover.” A pair of massive black leather wings burst out of his back, his hands now massive black claws that grab at my shoulders roughly.
“Let go!” I shout.
A voice from the front pew chimes in. “Go get her, son!”
I turn to look to the front pew, sitting there is someone I swear I’ve seen before.
His hair is black but graying, eyes a familiar icey blue, and he’s wearing some kind of uniform, though I can’t place what country it’s from.
Sitting next to him is a beautiful redhead with similar eyes. She’s just as tall as he is, looks athletic and has a salacious look on her face. “Fuck her right here… Come on baby, do momma proud.”
Above each of them, strings seem to be hanging down from the ceiling attached to their arms, shoulder, and head. I look up to see a huge black silhouettes of two angels floating high above each of them.
The angel’s form above the man is all black sans for a pair of purple circles of smoke where eyes would be.
For the woman there’s a man as well, though this form has yellow circles of smoke for eyes.
Both angels twitch their hands, controlling the limbs and head of each.
I turn back to the creature manhandling me. Over his head is some kind of red halo with spinning symbols inside of it. I narrow my eyes at the symbol. I remember it as it rotates into a particular position. I’m certain I am right about what it means.
I narrow my eyes, “Fuck off asshole, get out of my dreams.”
In an instant the church vanishes, the people around me vanish, and I’m left is a white void.
Slowly swirling out of the white, a man in white robes appears, His shoulders slowly manifest a pair of huge white wings appear as well, with his face showing last. His hair is black and is permed. Behind his head, the red rotating halo appears, rotating slowly. He has a blindfold on. “O, but rare it is to find one to recognize me in my realm of fancy and turmoil.”
“That symbol… that’s the Halo of the Sun…” I point out. “That means you’re Samael… Angel of Nightmares, and other ‘Things’.” I say, taking a step back.
He frowns. “While I pray you know of me from education in the occult or religion…” he trails off for a moment, “Thou’s inaccurate description seems to stem from a less scrupulous source.”
I frown. “I know it from a fucking video game. Granted you look better than you did there.”
His brow furrows. “Humans have insulted my kind many a time, but of that particular creation, I was slighted most… gravely.” He then composes himself. “Thou art welcome to see my grandeur as it is now, of course. One wise enough to know thy own mind as well as you.”
I frown. “I got about half of what you said, asshole. Why are you in my dreams anyway?”
He smiles, a soft laugh in his chest. “I bring thee truths previously hidden behind many a veil. I am here to remove veils placed before thee by both friend and foe.”
“Well, you don’t know shit if you think you can convince me that my fiancé lied to me,” I respond, “so get lost.”
His smile fades. “O’ but did I say he lied? I said truth was hidden. Those who cannot lie must take action to protect those coveted secrets.” He smiles. “But as you wish, I shall take my leave, and I shall take truth with me.” His wings spread, but they stop briefly, “But, a parting gift, since thou feels she can slight me with slanderous associations, allow me to call upon the executioner of such slander to rouse you from your peaceful slumber.”
“What?” I manage to say before I hear a sound not like metal grinding on concrete.
I turn around and to my horror, I see a figure from the video game I recalled the Halo of the Sun from. Why the fuck did I take interest in Silent Hill as a girl? Manifested behind me is a massive creature, known as the Red Pyramid in the game. His upper body is armored in a heavy iron metal helm of sorts, covering him down to his chest, crusted with rust and dried blood. A butcher’s smock is underneath, its inhuman hands, like mittens, covered in blood. Seeing it in such real detail is more terrifying than it ever was in the game that horrified me as a kid. It heaves a massive cleaver almost as large as he is up from the ground, and is ready to have it crush right down on my head.
…
I sit up in a cold sweat, my shoulders aching as if someone had been grabbing them too tight. I look to each shoulder, seeing slight bruises. I shake my head, fragments of the dream popping into and out of my mind.
“…That’s what I get for binge drinking after twenty, I guess.” I groan.
My phone is vibrating and ringing. My head is doing the same.
I look around the house, I am still at Cat’s, but clearly she is not.
I look to the phone in my hand, still ringing.
I feet a chill run down my spine as I look at the caller ID. It is from his number.
Staring at me from my phone is his name, taunting me:
“Incoming Call: Timothy Crestfall”