"Aine was the venom to my razor sharpness, the velvet to

my iron fist, and the cruel laughter to my mayhem. She

terrified me, intoxicated me, and made me into a monster.

And I loved it. Craved it. Reveled in it.

She taught me when I was 12 that girl's

Kisses hurt by biting my lip each time we kissed.

She encouraged me to be a monster with glee.

And she drunk the savagery she brought out in me

like it was a fine wine.

To her, it was."

Chapter Numerical Entry Error

Location: Gridsquare Error

System Warning

Event Label Missing

Time/Date Stamp Error

I was sitting on the back loading dock of the barracks, my legs hanging off the side. My boots thumped against the concrete face of the loading dock as I idly kicked my feet just to hear the thump. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and it was one of those nights where I could see forever. The stars were scattered across the sky like diamonds, the moon huge in the sky and so clear I felt like I could reach out and touch it.

None of that mattered. Not the stars, not the moon, not the warm summer night. All that mattered was the wedding ring I held in the palm of my hand. Gold band, diamond chips taken from the shaping of the diamonds that studded the ring's mate. The wedding ring that was a match for the one on a woman's hand thousands of miles away.

I wondered if she was still wearing it. Did she wear it when she spread her legs for that other man? Did she wear it while he fucked her? Did she see it and feel any shame at all, or was it just a trophy? Did she even remember the other ring, part of a matched set that cost me over three month's pay? Did she even care?

The diamond chips caught the light when I bounced it in my palm. Diamonds. A girl's best friend. Ice some people called them.

The nickname seemed to fit. The diamond chips were not warm, held no warmth even when the light struck them. They were empty. Cold.

Just like what she had left behind.

Beside me, next to the Wild Turkey bottle, were photographs. Color photographs full of painful details.

A petite brunette woman smiling at the camera, her arm around a smiling man. The same woman sitting on the man's lap. The man and the woman sitting on a couch with red Dixie cups in the hands, other people around them. The woman toking on a bong while sitting on the man's lap. The man and woman kissing while they danced. The woman looking down at the hand unbuttoning her blouse with a smile.

A rounded buttock with a butterfly tattoo. A face contorted with ecstasy. A pair of breasts capped with nipples sporting rings that hadn't been there the last time I had seen them, with hands that weren't mine cupping them. A close-up view of a hard cock sliding into a wet pussy that was covered with fine brown hair. Another close-up, the same cock, sliding between a pair of buttocks, the butterfly tattoo visible, the hands that held the breasts in the other photo spreading the buttocks open. The woman lying on her back, her hair fanned out, a faint flush across her breasts, and semen on her stomach above her matted pubic hair.

With one finger I stirred the photos around, expecting some kind of reaction, but feeling nothing except cold singing emptiness and the same song that had been stuck in my head since I'd opened the envelope that afternoon.

...the ants go marching one by one, hurrah hurrah...

The envelope had no return address, the post-mark told me it was mailed from Fort Lewis, Washington. The fact that it had been addressed to me, by rank, to 2/19th instead of the cover unit meant that I'd be getting a lecture and investigation from S-2. The empty envelope sat under the pictures, seventy-two in all, clean and blameless with "DO NOT FOLD" typed on the envelope. The only mark aside from the stamps, the address, and the post-mark was a stamp that showed that MI had gone through it.

Not even the thought of some MI dwonks looking at the pictures, knowing what they showed, could alter the cold singing emptiness inside of me.

I looked at the top picture again, showing the young woman smiling around a mouthful of cock, semen dribbling from the corner of her mouth, and tilted my hand so the ring fell from my palm and on top of the picture. It didn't bounce, it just hit and stayed, one pale blue eye inside the gold circle.

The eye sparkled like the diamond chips on the ring, with just as much warmth.

"You know who took the pictures, Tony?" my brother asked. "Any idea?"

I looked up at him, where he was leaning against the wall with a beer in his hand. He was wearing jeans, cowboy boots, and a Seattle Seahawks T-shirt, a baseball cap with the Seahawks logo on it over his blond hair. His eyes were intent as he glared at the pictures.

"I know," I said. My voice sounded odd to me, flat, empty. It reminded me of the speech program on my Amiga.

"How?" He took a drink off his beer. "Whoever took the pictures were careful to keep themselves out of the photos." He knelt down and poked at the glossy photos with one finger, his own wedding ring glinting in the moonlight. Unlike mine, his was a plain gold band, unadorned, except for her name and "Love Always" engraved inside.

"Apple blossoms," was all I said.

My brother jerked, his face paling. He grabbed one of the photos, and brought it up to his face. He sniffed, then threw the picture down like it was a live snake.

"Aine," he said, standing up and putting his back against the wall.

"Yeah," I said, picking up the open bottle and taking a long drink off of it. William held out his hand and I handed the bottle off to him before turning to my left. There was a heavy sledgehammer sitting on the dock, used to drive grounding rods into packed earth. The weight felt good in my hands when I stood up. I rolled my shoulders, loosening them up. My stomach burned from acid and hard alcohol, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered any more. Especially not to the empty boy.

...the littlest one stopped to bang on the drum...

I raised the sledgehammer, bringing it back over my head, and paused for a long second, staring at the pictures under my wedding ring.

Pictures of my wife with another man.

No words, no scream, nothing but the cold singing emptiness inside of me as I brought the hammer down on the ring, scoring a direct hit. The shock made my palms sting and concrete powder puffed up from beneath pictures.

When I lifted up the sledgehammer the ring was crushed. The diamond chips were embedded in the photos where the pressure had crushed them from their settings, and part of me wanted some of the chips to have shattered.

Another strike and the ring deformed further. The sledgehammer had caused pressure cuts in the photos, some of them tearing, the rough surface of the concrete having left a pressure pattern on the photos I'd struck. A third strike and the gold was just a misshapen flat blob.

The head of the hammer rang on the concrete when I dropped it beside me. My brother held out the squirt can of Zippo lighter fluid to me and I took it without a word. We both stood there while I soaked down the photos with the contents of the entire can. Once it was empty I dropped it on the photos and dug in my pocket, pulling out my Zippo.

One spark was all it took and the lighter fluid burst into flame with a woof. The pictures curled, blackened, and blistered. I couldn't see the ring, but I didn't need to as I picked up the sledgehammer again. I kept slamming it into the fire, over and over, until the night breeze began pulling sparks away and the flames died down.

The ring was just a smear, whether from the heat of the lighter fluid, which I doubted, or the constant strikes with the heavy sledge. The photos and the envelope were gone, burnt to ashes and carried away on the breeze.

"Feel better?" William asked me, stepping forward and offering me the bottle.

"I feel the same," I told him, taking a swig and handing it back. He waved it away and I took another drink off of it.

"What do you feel?" he asked me, taking the sledgehammer. I was silent as we walked to the door that led to the S-2 office, the War Stocks room, and the middle stairwell. When the door thudded shut behind us, he set the sledgehammer against the War Stocks door before turning to face me.

"Talk to me, Tony. What do you feel?" he asked me.

"Nothing," I told him honestly.

"Really?" he asked, digging out his pack of Marlboros and his lighter.

"Yeah, really," I answered. My voice still sounded empty to me. He lit two and handed me one. I took it, taking a drag and motioning at the door to the stairwell with the bottle.

"Not yet, Tony," he said. "You think I'm going to believe that Aine sending you those photos of Tera and Logan don't bother you?"

I just shrugged, looking at him. He stared at me for a long moment, and I looked back at him, neither one of us blinking.

Finally he shook his head, breaking eye contact. "I worry about you, little brother," he told me. He reached out and opened the door. A low sobbing moan drifted down the stairwell. A muscle jumped on my brother's jaw, but he stepped into the stairwell in front of me.

"I'll be fine, William," I told him. I shrugged again, following him. "It doesn't hurt that much."

We walked in silence up to Hammerhead Hall. William kept glancing at me, twice I caught him looking at the knife that rode on the outside of my right boot, the same as him. When he reached for the door handle, I finally spoke.

"I've been hurt worse, Will," I told him. He turned and looked at me. "I'm not going to do anything stupid. Suicide is a sin."

The words made that muscle on the side of his jaw twitch again. "You sound like your mother, Tony. You sound like Aunt Martha."

That should have hurt, coming from him, but it didn't. There was just... nothing inside me. I felt hollowed out, empty, except for a prickling and crawling feeling that had started when I was swinging the sledgehammer.

...and they all went marching down, into the ground, to get out, of the rain...

"I won't leave you or Innie behind, Will," I told him. "I won't hurt either of you that way."

He grunted non-committedly and pulled open the door. There was a faint shriek above us that we both ignored as we stepped into the hallway and headed toward my room. My room-mates were both at Wildflicken supporting a unit, meaning my room would be empty.

"If I call Ineda, will you at least talk to her?" he asked me when we reached my room.

I sighed, slumping.

...promise me, please...

"You know I will, William. I can't refuse Innie," I answered, opening the door.

"Get some rest, Tony," William told me.

"You too," I answered. I turned and faced him. "I'll be all right, Will, I really will." I reached out and squeezed his shoulder.

He looked doubtful, but he put his hand over mine and squeezed it. "Just don't do anything stupid."

"I won't. Goodnight, Will," I told him.

William looked doubtful as I shut the door.

The curtain was open, moonlight streaming into the room, providing enough light for me to see by as I walked into the main part of the room. I moved over to the desk, setting down the bottle of Wild Turkey. I grabbed a crystal beer glass off a shelf, then my photo album, and set the album on the desk before wandering over to the fridge. I put in some ice, grabbed two cans of Coke, and sat down at the desk. Four fingers of Wild Turkey and the rest Coke fixed the drink up just right, and I took a long drink off it before opening the album.

Innie was the first page. Eight pictures of her, the first two from High School, the others taken when she went to college. She was in her ROTC uniform in the last two pictures. I worked my fingertips under the top picture and slid out the photo I'd hidden from anyone who decided to peruse my pictures.

We were all three in the crib. Me, Innie, and our brother. Me and Ineda were cuddled up close, our brother away from us by a hand span. Our brother and Ineda's eyes were closed, their faces scrunched up in that sleeping disapproving look that only babies get.

I was frowning, my eyes open, staring at the camera. My sister and brother had fine dark hair covering their heads, my head was bald. You could see the 'A' drawn on my forehead with a marker to tell me apart from my traitorous little brother, who was the center of the picture.

We were tiny, less than a month old, and you couldn't tell that Ineda and I had been born with cauls.

It was the only picture I had from before.

I reached down and drew the knife from my boot sheathe. It whispered as it cleared, and the hilt felt heavy in my hand. The grooved steel pattern was strange, but let me keep a tight grip once I shifted it.

The Wild Turkey burned as it went down, but I didn't care, using the point of the knife to move the picture to the middle of the desk. I set down the glass, ignored the smell of apple blossoms and a girl's laughter that was only in my mind, held the picture nice and firmly...

And cut Logan from the photo.

When I was done I used my cigarette to burn away the picture, taking empty pleasure in grazing the red hot coal over the paper and watching it discolor, watching it melt away. Part of me secretly wished that he would feel the heat of the coal, that somewhere he was screaming in agony as flesh bubbled and blistered.

But nothing bad ever happened to him.

What I was doing was barely cathartic.

I put the picture back and flipped the page of the photo album. More pictures of Innie and me, this time at our Father's house. The blank expression on my face, the dark circles under my eyes, the pale skin with a smattering of freckles. That strange and silent boy my Father had loved anyway.

No, not my Father, my Uncle. William's Father. My father was a drunk who beat Innie and me on a daily basis. Who gambled and drank away any income the family had. William's Father wouldn't buy himself a paperback book unless the house had enough food for the month. My father took his paycheck to the bar before ever coming home. My father always had an excuse for why we were poor, how it was everyone's fault but his own, how it was us kids' fault.

William's Father was man of accomplishments, who had gave back to the world, who tried to make the world a better place. A man who viewed the future as a shining goal just always out of reach, that could always be improved. A man who loved his children unconditionally, who loved his wife, who's heart was large enough that he adopted the kids that never had a chance.

Kids like me.

I traced William's Father in the photo with the tip of my finger. He was laughing, a massive bear of a man with graying hair and a face seamed with a lifetime of cares and worries and scars. He had a 70's moustache, a flat-top, and a pair of mirrored sunglasses. On his shoulders was a young girl, who was laughing with him, a red popsicle in her hand, the juices dribbling down her wrist. Her blonde hair shone in the sun, a red ribbon in her hair, and a pink frilly dress. She looked closer to five than ten, the scale thrown off by the huge man carrying her through the State Fair to ride on the rides. She was laughing, her eyes wide with wonder at the attractions.

Ineda. My twin sister.

Just behind his leg, peeking around to look at the camera, was a pale little boy with dark circles under his eyes. One arm in a cast, rumpled blond hair, thin limbs all elbows and knees like only a little boy. The clown makeup on the little boy's face couldn't hide the dark circles, and the eyes looked empty, looked like they were staring out of the picture at something behind me in the barracks room. His face was chubby, stark contrast to the skinny body that the clothing billowed out around. The Superfriends T-shirt, the shorts, the tennis shoes. In the hand opposite of the cast was cotton candy, almost hidden from the picture.

Me.

I took off my shirt and looked at my left shoulder. There, inscribed in ink, was her name. I'd had it done the last night of Basic Training, a jailhouse tattoo like a lot of the other recruits had gotten. The guy who had done them was a skinny black guy who had learned how to do it from his brother.

Tera Louise Stillwater, in the shape of a cross. Tera Louise vertically, Stillwater horizontally to form a cross. The thread wrapped needle had hurt, but I'd just sat there and watched it done, fascinated how it worked.

Tera's name.

I wanted it gone.

I stood up and walked over to my wall locker. I fumbled the keys a bit but got it open, staring in the mirror for a long moment.

The skinny kid in the picture was long gone. I still had some baby fat in my face, but my hair was reddish blond now, my face narrower, my cheekbones more prominent. My green eyes were still surrounded by dark circles but that had more to do with three weeks at Atlas and a bottle of Wild Turkey than anything else. Six foot tall and two hundred pounds. Where the child had been skinny, I'd packed on the muscle. More than when I had in High School from working on the farm during the summers, more than I'd had in Basic Training. My neck and shoulders were thick and I tensed them, staring at my reflection.

The boy from the picture didn't really exist any more. Maybe around the eyes, maybe the baby fat in the face. But the boy was gone.

I took out a rag and an AAFES pilot's knife from my dresser and walked back to the desk. I set then down, pulled out my Zippo and lit a cigarette before setting the Zippo down. I had another can of lighter fluid in my desk, that went next to the bottle of Wild Turkey. I grabbed the bottle and put the rag over the top, inverting the bottle to wet the rag before setting it down.

Another long drink off of my mixed drink and I flipped open the lighter with a snap of my fingers, then sparked it off before setting it upright on the desk. I used the rag to wipe off my tattoo and set it down.

The knife's wrapped leather hilt felt odd in my hand. Warm. I put the tip into the flame and watched, lifting it up now and then.

When I felt it was ready, the tip no longer smoking, I put my elbow in front of me on the desk, angled the knife, and ran the heated tip down her name.

It didn't hurt enough to penetrate that emptiness that filled me.

The lighter had to be refilled twice by the time I was done. It was a deep burn, through the layers of skin. It was a physical depression in my flesh shaped like a cross. Ironically over my smallpox vaccination scar.

I set down the knife and lit a cigarette before snapping the lighter closed.

The room was still only lit by the streetlights outside and the moon. It was dim, and dim was good.

Dim, I couldn't see what I'd become.

Photos piled up as I pulled every picture with Tera in it from the album. When I could I'd cut her out of the picture, when she was the focus of the picture I just used my boot knife's razor edge to slice her free.

Right after I'd finished and dropped her into the trash there was a banging on my door.

"Stillwater, you in there?" Nagle. She of the nasty attitude and large breasts.

I got up and answered the door after she'd hammered and yelled a second time. She stared at me for a long moment before speaking.

"You have a phone call," she told me.

"Who?" I asked. Her eyes kept looking at the weeping burn on my shoulder and then at my face.

"She says she's your sister. Een-ay-dah or something like that," Nancy said.

I just slammed the door in her face and went back to sitting at the desk.

"Fuck you too, asshole!" Nagle yelled through the door.

I had said I'd talk to her if William had called her. If he'd called her, he would have come up here and gotten me himself.

So I wasn't breaking my promise.

I couldn't refuse Innie. I could refuse Nancy. She was part of my crew, one of my Atlas thugs, and I didn't owe her anything.

My little cassette deck/CD player lit up when I hit the power button. I was planning on buying a bigger stereo - hell, I had it on layaway, but right now Spinny would work just fine. The CD player whined as it came up to speed and I tapped the button to select the song I wanted to listen to there in the dark.

The bottle felt fine in my hand as I leaned back in my chair at the desk.

Twisted Sister's "Burn in Hell" played quietly on repeat as I nursed the bottle and stared at the cinderblock wall in the darkness.

I could still hear Aine's laughter.

And the lizard's hisses of primal rage.

Biological System Error

Warning System Error

Warning System Damage

Reset reset reset

Rolling over hurt. Hell, breathing hurt. Knives into my chest with every inhale. I opened my eyes and saw nothing but darkness and white. My hands had gone numb, my whole body covered in pins and needles. My knees hit a wall and I groaned. I tried to curl into a ball when I realized I was outside. In the snow. In the dark. I tried to rise and failed.

The memory of Tera telling me that she had fallen in love with the wrong twin, that my mother had explained it to her, and couldn't I be happy for her. Oh, and by the way, no visitation for my son.

Red hot rage flared up, but died just as quickly, leaving nothing behind but emptiness.

system failure

The voice was mechanical in my head, a dispassionate poorly done copy of a woman's voice.

There was a hiss of anger and fear and my body started moving. I struggled to my feet, clumsy and spastic, but made it. I stood there, bent over slightly, panting, with one hand against what I thought had been a wall but had proved to be the loading dock instead.

My mother screaming in court that naughty boys need to be punished, that she only accepted Jesus' authority. That I should be stoned to death.

Red hot anger that faded away before it could fully bloom, leaving nothing behind.

system failure

The voice again. Who the hell was speaking?

The wind was buffeting me, trying to knock me over. Snow was hitting me, coating me, and the cold was leeching away my body heat. I knew I didn't have long outside, already there was the urge to lay down and take a nap, just to sleep for a few minutes to regain the energy I'd need to keep going. I couldn't feel anything but pins and needles any more.

Logan, my twin brother, smiling as the wet leather belt whistled through the air to slap across my back. My hands were spread apart and I was leaning forward, using my arms to help support me. In between my hands was a picture of Jesus, looking upwards at Logan, with his crown of thorns.

Anger then died before it was even realized.

system failure

I know! Shut up!

The meat machine that was my body kept staggering forward, I was forcing it to move when it didn't want to. The little lizard was doing everything he could to keep us moving. Disconnected images kept popping up, memories that had nothing to do with anything. Every time the lizard tried something new I got an image. The images and memories were scattered, seemingly unrelated.

Another shuffling step. Then another. I was moving slower, the loading dock on my right barely felt by my numb hand.

A teacher screaming at me that I was faking it, that only retards couldn't speak, as she bent my fingers backwards to get me to talk. The snap of broken bone.

Nothing. Just nothing.

system failure

I KNOW! SHUT THE FUCK UP!

This time anger welled up. Would that stupid bitch shut up? I was having a hard enough time fighting the goddamn wind and snow to... to do what?

The anger faded.

system failure

I heard you the first time, lady.

The ache in my head had become remote, distant, as I moved down the loading dock. The lizard hissed again and more images appeared.

Nancy holding onto me while I seized on the mattress we'd set on the floor. Her face was crudely stitched and tears fell onto me as she cried. "Don't leave me, Ant, please."

My sister, crying in the rain. "Please don't tell."

Bomber laying on the mattress, flushed and feverish. "I'm dying, ain't I, brother?"

Westlin on the tarmac of the lower helipad, crying. "Is the evac coming, Stillwater? It hurts."

It was an inferno. It was a typhoon. Raw red rage, so much anger it felt like I was going to explode. I was aware I was screaming as I bulled forward through the snow, my left arm thrown up in front of my face, my right hand keeping contact with the loading dock.

system reset

Those goddamn bastards had dumped me off of the dock, thinking I was dead or dying. They hadn't even taken the time to finish the goddamn job. It was fucking insulting is what it was. Major Mallory and SFC Tashton had to know that their new friends had killed me and dumped the body outside.

And now they planned on killing my friends.

The image of the Colonel appeared in my mind, and the rage got hotter when he said "SEAL Team Three", the words appearing as little pink bubbles that popped and left behind the taste of over-ripe blackberries.

The image of the guy after the briefing, his uniform clean and presentable, his hair in regs, holding out a brass coin slightly bigger than a silver dollar. It was a BUDS coin, carried by people who passed Basic Underwater Demolition School.

"Three" was all he said, showing me that coin. The coin that every SEAL I'd ever met had in his pocket. It was all he needed to tell me who he was with.

I stumbled on the steps, but managed to regain my balance and switch my touch from the loading dock to the railing.

To me it wasn't cold out, my self-image had me fueled by hatred and rage, the snow melted before it could touch me, consumed by the fury that energized me.

I refuse to die on this god-forsaken mountain

The top of the steps. Across the patio. Into the recessed entryway that led into the hallway that connected the near stairwell, the Ready Room, and the Orderly Room. The loss of the wind was remote and distant to me. I moved up to the door, grabbed the handle and thought better of it.

When I pulled my hand away there was a slight stinging pain, but I didn't care.

...rip tear smash hunt kill break eat stalk breed hurt food blood meat yum...

The broken window was still uncovered, the shards of glass still in the frame. I could see into the hallway, which was dim, only wan light from the orderly room and the Ready Room illuminating it.

In the hallway stood one of the fake SEALs. He had his back to me, holding his weapon by the carrying handle. His boonie hat was dropped back, exposing the back of his head. He was paying attention to the person in front of him, unaware of me in the window, silently pulling out the pieces of glass from the metal frame.

Aine stood in front of him, facing me, her eyes wide and her lower lip held between her teeth as she breathlessly hung on every word the guy was saying. She ducked her head shyly before she spoke, saying something to the guy. He nodded, and her hands moved. From the looks of it she had one hand on his chest and I could see she was cupping his cheek with the other.

While I watched she walked the guy backwards, stopping to stand on her tiptoes and graze her lips across his. Her eyes were bright, luminous in the dim light. The shadows made her seem exotic. A heart shaped face framed by reddish auburn hair, a dusting of freckles across her pointed little nose, red lips drawn up in a bow, and green eyes too wide for her face that had the longest eyelashes.

"I'm shy, I don't want anyone to see," Aine giggled as she guided him backwards. "I don't want your friends coming out of the Supply Room or the Orderly Room and think I'm a slut."

More steps backwards. Her words were plain as day, his words were lost in the wind and the pounding rage.

"I wanna kiss in the snow. I want to feel the snowflakes on my breasts," she breathed. Her accent gave her voice and exotic lilt to go with her exotic features. She let go of his cheek and started to undo the buttons of her dress, still guiding him backwards. "I love nature."

The knife was an old companion in my hand. The fire ants that crawled over my skin and tore at it with their mandibles were old friends. The cold emptiness inside me was gone, I was nothing but rage wrapped in a sausage skin.

Three buttons and her light cotton dress fell open, exposing her small breasts. Snow swirling in through the window landed on them, dusting them with snow that was somehow less white than her alabaster skin. The guy stopped at the window, his body blocking most of it, the bottom of the windowsill just below his waist. I saw one fat fluffy snowflake land on Aine's bright red nipple and just sit there.

The guy started to reach for her.

Aine began to lick her lips with that bright red tongue as I brought up the knife, her eyes growing impossibly larger, green pools to drown in.

I reached for him.

The lizard licked his chops.

Aine's nipples hardened.

...and we all went marching down, into the ground, to get, of the cold...