Requiem for a Soldier (Requiem #1)

Chapter 35: Injustice

September 11

Ana

"Poor little girl."

The man with the gun sneers at me. I try to run, but my legs won't move.

"You were too scared to save your family when they were still alive. Now they're dead and you're still too afraid. You can't even get justice for them. Poor, scared, little girl."

He raises the gun and points it at my head.

"At first I was worried when I heard there was a witness. But now I see that I'll get no trouble from you. You're just a sad, scared little mouse. Pathetic."

The gun fires.

I wake up in a cold sweat. I cry quietly, not wanting to disturb Ryan again. Casper rolls over in his sleep.

The man in the dream was right. It's my fault he's not in prison. All I want is to hide out in this cabin forever, but if I do that, the people responsible for my family's deaths will never pay. They could do this again. Kill some other girl's family. Make another me. The thought makes me physically sick. I know I won't be falling asleep any time soon.

It's dark outside, probably past midnight. I turn to the bedroom door and see light underneath. Ryan's still up? I drag myself out of bed and wrap the blanket around me. When I open the bedroom door, Ryan is sitting at the kitchen table cleaning his rifle.

"I didn't wake you, did I?" he asks, looking concerned.

"No," I say.

He looks into my eyes for a moment and must read something in them. "Nightmares," he says, a statement and not a question.

I nod.

"Come here," he says, standing and walking over to the couch. He rubs the fingers of his left hand on a dirty old towel. I sit in his usual spot, preferring to have the wall at my back rather than the room at large. He only hesitates a moment before sitting at the opposite end.

I sit sideways on the couch, bringing my legs up so my feet are flat against the cushion and my knees are up to my chest. I wrap my arms around my legs and lean my head against the back of the couch. I don't say anything for a little while. When I close my eyes, I can see the dream replaying in my mind.

"I'm a coward," I say after a long silence.

"No, you're not," he says immediately.

"Yes, I am," I say, opening my eyes.

"You're one of the bravest people I've ever met," he says. "If anyone here is a coward, it's me."

He looks at me then with an intensity I'm unaccustomed to. Something tells me that he's not talking about Afghanistan, but something more present. What does he mean? My response is delayed.

"No way," I argue. "You're way braver than I am. I know what it's like to get shot at. It's terrifying. You had to live that every day."

"It wasn't like that EVERY day. We weren't on the front lines of battle. Most days it was pretty quiet."

"What I told you, about the day that my family-" I stop. "I've never told anyone before. Not all of it."

"Really?" he asks, looking surprised. "Weren't you supposed to testify? You were in witness protection."

"I know," I say. "Every time I tried to tell anyone, even the nice counselor who was trying to help me, I just... I couldn't. Every time I tried, it was like I was living it all over again. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't speak. I couldn't think. I actually passed out once."