A HEMPEN ROPE

Wednesday, November 10, 2015

2158 HOURS

"Central to Six-three David. Ten-two watch command forthwith."

Keegs picked up the handset. Before affirming the broadcast, he looked at me with darted eyes.

"This is not good, Kelly," he said. I watched his face tighten, widening his eyes. He held his breath, gritting his teeth, before slapping his thumb against his leg.

When he finally exhaled, he put the handset before his mouth and depressed the PTT.

"Six-three, David. Copy." His response was harsh and short as if he sensed something that I didn't. But I did. I experienced the same fathoming when Theo stopped us in the tree line. And when those moments creep back into my thoughts, and I share the nightmare over again, it always begins in that God-forsaken tree line.

I veered off the road, and Keegs activated the flashers.

I leaned against the headrest and stared at the stained ceiling fabric. The meteorologist from Keeg's favorite radio station confirmed that we were now on the edge of the storm. The nor'easter winds had increased, and the rain drove against the windshield and hood. I watched the lamp poles bend as the traffic lights swung hard.

It could have been the reacquaintance with Fire Team Lost Boys or the memory of a girl beaten in the moon dust, but my stomach dropped, flushed with fear. I squeezed shut my fist, fighting the finger tremors.

Stay frosty, Kelly. Situational awareness.

I thought I was dying, my whole body shaking as I slowly extracted my phone from my pocket. I felt suffocated, my heart beating erratically in my chest. My mouth was dry, and I could taste the chalky, chocolate-colored dust coating the plains of Afghanistan.

"Holy shit, Keegs," I said. "I don't know if I can do this."

My fingers shook so much that I struggled to type in my pin code. I held my breath, trying to keep the fear from overwhelming me, waiting for my heart to stop.

What the hell is happening?

"Kelly," said Keegs. "Take a deep breath, my man. You're fine, I promise."

With tears in my eyes, I looked at him and then turned away.

"This is fucking ridiculous," I said.

I took a shallow and staggered breath as the tears fell. Keegs unbuckled his seatbelt and turned in his seat. He put his hand on the back of my neck and squeezed.

"Kelly, whatever happened is beyond our control. Just like the girl and the Taliban, all we can do is the right thing with what we're facing."

I nodded, swallowed, and swiped the screen with my thumb. Then, after putting in the pin, I pushed on the small white telephone surrounded by the blue circle. Putting the letters into the search bar, Lieutenant Chaney's number came up, and I dialed.

"Deep breaths, brother," said Keegs. "Remember, we're safe."

I listened to the intermittent beeping and buzzing of the ringtone. My anxiety levels overrode my ability to control them. When I heard the click on the line, accompanied by the sounds from the watch commander's office, I felt the urge to disconnect.

Lieutenant Chaney answered and gave the obligatory greeting. But, unfortunately, his deep, droning voice confirmed what I feared.

"Kelly," said Chaney. "First, a reminder that you are on a recorded line. Second, are you on the road?"

"No, I'm pulled over on the shoulder, and you're on speaker."

I closed my eyes as tight as I could and clenched my teeth. Then, as I flexed my jaw, I breathed out of my nose and waited for the news.

"Listen, there's no easy way to say this," he said.

There was nothing but darkness and silence.

"Staff Sergeant Beck committed suicide forty-five minutes ago. He shot himself with his service weapon. Patrols from the eight-eight found him in his sister's car near the beach."

I was numb. Everything vanished, and all I saw was the driving rain and hail bouncing off the blacktop.

"I'm sorry. I know he was close to your old man."

I didn't say anything. I wish I could say I was stunned, but truth be told, I knew this was coming. Though Staff Sergeant Beck said nothing to the contrary, I had that feeling. And there was nothing I could do because it was just a feeling. Had he mentioned or intimated even the thought of it, I would have done something. And although I didn't know what that something was if he threatened to take his life, I would have acted.

"Internal Affairs Bureau will want answers from the two of you about the call at Mill Pond," said Chaney. "Get your stories sorted."

I looked at Keegs. His eyes were closed, and his head tilted backward. With his palms on his thighs, I watched his face wrinkle.

I turned my attention back to Lieutenant Chaney and swallowed.

"Do you want us to come in?" I asked. My voice stammered as I lost my breath mid-sentence.

"Umm, I don't think—I don't—never mind. Stay on the road. The storm is worsening, and we'll need response units," said Chaney. "Honestly, Kelly, I would have done the same thing."

I don't remember hanging up the phone or what happened next. Instead, I retreated back to when my mother was alive, and she would read to me. Because of Staff Sergeant Beck and his recitation of The Pan and JAS Hook, I remembered my mother's song, which always made me smile.

"Yo ho, yo ho, the pirate life,

The flag o' skull and bones,

A merry hour, a hempen rope,

And hey, for Davy Jones."

I couldn't help but smile when I heard her voice. Yet, I still felt the emptiness as I remembered the moment I heard about her death. And despite my family, a palpable absence filled my heart that night.

As the sound of the banshee wailed and the smell of the rain overwhelmed me, a sobering realization struck me.

"Some day, the clock will run down, and he'll get you," I whispered.

Keegs ignored me. His elbow was propped on the door with his head in his hand.

"Keegs, I don't want to die like that."

I curled my hand before my face and pinched my nose with my thumb and middle finger.

"I'm terrified of not having the love of a wife and children. But even more to do so alone and in misery."

"You'll never be alone, Kelly," he said.

"I might always be alone. And that, my friend, is the fear that haunts me."