Ghosts of the Past (A Call Of Duty: Ghosts Fanfiction)

Chapter Twenty

The shower water didn't rinse anything away. And when I tried making it so hot that my skin burned the images still didn't melt. The voices, the sounds, and smells and textures didn't leave me. 

    I sucked in a breath, pulling my wet hair back as I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, allowing the water to peck my face. Dropping my hands, I allowed one to reach out and turn the faucet off. The sudden lack of heat made me long for it in a shiver, especially as I drew back the curtain to dry off. 

    The mirror was fogged and I wiped at it circularly to see myself better. The bruises and signs of interrogation were still prominent, blaring almost louder than my thoughts. My stomach was shrunken more than ever, constantly protesting for food. I didn't know the last time I'd even had a full meal. My face was scratched up and shadowed with the past, growing more ghostly with each day that passed. 

    The little girl that had been forced to show up forever ago seemed like a distant relative. I was starting to understand more and more the reasoning my father had so much distaste for this world; he'd voiced it very few times, but more so closer to the end....

    Blinking away my intrusive thoughts, I finished up and changed into my uniform, lightly washed despite the short time we'd been at the cabin in the remote location. When I exited the bathroom Hesh was still downstairs, speaking with a loud voice full of anger, with Merrick. 

    I swallowed and then bowed my head as I went into my shared room with Kick and Hesh. Neither one of them were in the cramped bedroom and I breathed in relief. I closed the distance to the bunk bed; mine was the top twin while Kick and Hesh had to share the full-sized mattress.

    Temporary. I thought and looked at the bedside table. 

    On it was a small, dark figurine. I reached out, taking the small wolf into my palms. Carved from a dark wood, the wolf had seen many days of fondling and carrying. One of its ears had been half cut off, a few extra marks in the sides from accidental drops. 

    It was the same trinket Hesh had given me the first day of my assignment as Kayla Hurst. When the time is right, give this to Logan. His request had been a low whisper as he'd dropped it into my palm. 

    "He made it, you know."

    Hesh startled me at the doorway and I practically dropped the small trinket. I moved some of my damp reddish hair away from my face and looked at his slouching form. He looked the most defeated I'd ever seen him as; his face was pale and he appeared much older than his 32 years. 

    "Logan was about eight," a small smile came to his face. "It didn't look like a wolf at all. I tried to fix it up in my free time, but it kinda got forgotten about. Logan picked it up around fourteen and since then it's been passed back and forth." 

    "How have you had it all this time?" my thumb scraped alongside the tail of the black wolf. 

    Hesh grew even more gloomy as he pushed off the doorframe to come sit by me on the bed. "The day we thought we took Rorke out once and for all. Logan saved my life and swam us to the surface of the crashed train wreckage," I remembered some of the history as he spoke. "We were sitting there when Rorke appeared, thought he was a ghost at first. When Logan let out the cry of pain as the bastard snapped his arm at the elbow, I knew it wasn't the case." 

    I could feel Hesh quivering as he sat, not just of anger either. My left hand gently came to touch his shoulder, rubbing lightly. 

    "Rorke made a few threats and said things I haven't forgotten to this day. But as he started dragging Logan away from us, from me, that's when Logan started to panic, reach out. I could hardly move with my wounds, my own voice sounded so pathetic as I shouted for him."