Disarmed

ALIZA MANN

SOUL MATE PUBLISHING

New York

DISARMED

Copyright©2012

ALIZA MANN

Cover Design by Rae Monet, Inc.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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Published in the United States of America by

Soul Mate Publishing

P.O. Box 24

Macedon, New York, 14502

ISBN-13: 978-1-61935-162-2

www.SoulMatePublishing.com

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

For Ryan, Keisha & Justin

I would first like to thank my family for their never ending support of my endeavors, for cheering for me when I needed it, for going to pick up coffee in the middle of the night, and the millions of other things that you’ve done to make my life easier.

I am eternally grateful to Soul Mate Publishing for accepting ‘Disarmed’ and helping to make a dream deferred come true.

Thanks to my critique partners-in-crime, Lana and Reem! You guys are awesome and I don’t know what I would have done if you had not provided with emergency editing and for occasionally talking me off the ledge more times than I can remember.

Thanks to my friends and extended family that constantly encouraged and provided the love and support that I needed.

Thank you GDRWA for filling 3 hours every third Tuesday with more information than I would have gained in a year on my own.

If it was one thing that Jessie Workings hated, it was the endless parade through the old neighborhood every time he returned home to visit his family. His mother, Jewell, loved to walk in a few minutes late to church after everyone was seated so they could look up and find her handsome Marine in his dress blues escorting her down the aisle.

As they entered the warm atrium of Wolf’s Creek Evangelical Church, the eyes of the uniformed ushers cut into him as he strode past their statuesque figures. Their eyes said things that no one would dare verbalize. A ripple of
good mornings
rumbled across the room.

Momma Jewell had no doubt talked him up for the last week, starting with the moment he called to alert her to his homecoming. A tall African-American man opened the door for them. He recognized him as Warren Jennings, who owned the neighborhood ice cream parlor. Jessie had spent many years in his red leather seats lapping up banana splits and homemade milk shakes.

“Jessie Workings. Ain’t you a sight. Welcome home, son.”

With a halfhearted smile, Jessie gave a cursory nod. “Thanks.”

“Hi, Ms. Jewell. How are you today?”

“I’m blessed. And you, Mr. Warren?”

“Fine. It’s a beautiful morning.” The white dentures appeared unnatural against his brown gums.

Jessie watched the interaction with no desire to communicate with Mr. Jennings, on any level. He was a commendable, upstanding man in the community, but one more reminder that Jessie would never be like him. He was a killer, a failure, through and through. If they had a clue, he wouldn’t be so revered by his neighbors.

Warren pushed the heavy wooden doors open. The sun spilled into the foyer, flooding the compact area with colored rays of the stained-glass windows. The church was nearly a hundred years old and had many of the original fixtures and decorations still intact. The giant windows had been there for as long as Jessie could remember, but he sure didn’t feel like the same person.

“Thank you, Mr. Warren.” Jewell’s words were barely a whisper. She made eye contact, smiling as she passed her many dear friends. “Hello,” Jewell acknowledged and waved to her friend and confidant, Lenore, as they passed her seat at the end of a back pew.

Lenore tipped her head sideways, smiling up at Jessie. Normally, Jewell would sit in the back of the church and gesture to Lenore, then narrow her eyes whenever a younger member of the congregation went by in a scandalous dress.

They neared the front of the church, his mother's designated seating preference during moments when she was particularly prideful. She gave a gentle nod to Mr. Hollis, the Head Deacon. Another wave went to a couple of ladies that sat together with their hands folded neatly on their laps.

This time, however, the visit was extra special. Jessie was straight off a commendation for outstanding bravery, on top of being plastered all over the local news, and hadn’t been home for over eighteen months. His mother surely thought he would be ready to calm down, pick a nice girl to marry and eventually have some grandchildren for her to dote on until she passed away at a delightfully old age, having lived a wonderfully full life. She was more concerned with this visit home since he’d been injured so gravely during his last tour.

There was only one major problem with that plan. It wasn’t his plan and marriage was the furthest thing from his mind. He was too busy focusing on his orders to get some counseling and a signed psych release prior to returning to his command. The orders had come directly from the highest stars and weren’t debatable. His plan was a tad bit simpler. He would see a local shrink while getting in some good, old-fashioned R & R.

Once the choir finished singing, Pastor Hayden took the podium. Since the pastor was a particularly eloquent speaker, Jessie wasn’t opposed to hearing his sermon.

“Good morning, good morning to you all,” the pastor started. “I tell you, God is good all the time.”

As was customary in Jessie’s church, the audience, in unison, responded with a robust, “And all the time, God is good.”

“Amen. He is good, especially since our church son, Jessie Workings, has returned to us in one piece, and of sound mind . . .”

Jessie nearly laughed aloud. On one hand, his superiors thought he was as crazy as a bag of hammers, but back home, he was known as a hero. The irony of it was unsettling.

“I won’t embarrass him with grand gestures, but we are thankful to have you back home.”

Jessie smiled, reluctant to turn and face the beaming faces of the congregation. They didn’t know what he’d done. How he’d failed his team members. “Thank you, Reverend.”

By the time the services ended, Jessie knew his idea would prove difficult. There were nearly a dozen women who were suspiciously seated near the pew that Momma Jewell, as she was known around West Memphis, had insisted on taking.

Jessie glanced around to find a wink, a smile, a skirt hoisted dangerously close to the tops of stockings. Crossed legs and billowy, short skirts; low-cut blouses that exposed lacy pushup bras overflowing with supple skin. The women had brought out their big guns all for him. Full, pastel lips smiled at him with that dewy, just-licked appearance.

He gave polite nods in their direction, and smiled. A few months ago, those same women wouldn’t have made it out of the church parking lot before he would have secured their panties or given his eyetooth for a shot at any of them. Unmarried Southern women who were dangerously close to their sell-by dates would chance a few scathing looks in a house of God for a successful man in uniform.

But that didn’t include Mavis. There was a time when he thought no woman held a candle to her. Of course, he was grown up now and had experienced a great deal more than he had back then. Still, he scanned the church to see if she was there. He liked seeing her when he arrived home. This time was no exception, and for some reason, he wanted to see her more than ever. She had been a mainstay during those long months of recovery, a constant visitor that had occupied every hallway in his mind. Much to his disappointment, he didn’t find her in attendance.

Before the preacher said amen, there was a line of the ladies, all buxom beauties, waiting in the atrium of the church to welcome the hero home. All smiles and sweet perfume, the first to approach him was a girl named Marilyn, the Valedictorian from his graduating class. Her hair was still the color of honey. She sashayed past, pointing her skinny finger to the back of the church. An invitation that Jessie wasn’t open for, so he turned his head, pretending not to see her.

“Let’s head to the car, Mom.” Nudging her elbow, Jessie quickly stood from his seat. He glanced around the church floor once more, hoping to spot Mavis. Still no sign of her.

“All right, Jess. I have a lot to do before tonight anyway.”

As his mother stood, he took notice of her spry gait. She wasn’t hobbled or broken. She would do just fine without him. Just fine, if one day he never returned.

He escorted his mother quickly past the well-wishing women that told him with their eyes that they would suck him dry and then cook him homemade biscuits and grits in the morning. Marilyn made a beeline for him, but her efforts were averted by a quick maneuver to the exit doors. He tugged his mother beyond the sea of wet panties to the Lincoln, seating her shotgun on dark leather seats that must have been uncomfortably warm beneath her chiffon dress. She gave him a warning glance. He knew the intent of the visual scalding was to punish him for his not indulging her efforts to find him a bride. She’d at least expected him to be polite.

He took his seat behind the wheel and rolled the notion over in his head. Taking a bride and then not being able to sleep in the same bed with her for fear he would snap her delicate neck, confusing her with an insurgent, was not an appealing thought. Or her suffering from his sporadic and incessant need to copulate in order to forget the horrors of watching his friends die violent deaths and then picking up tiny pieces of them from the desert floor in hopes of gathering enough of the same person for his or her parents to have a funeral. He wondered how many times he’d sent the wrong body part to the wrong set of family members.

His mother’s angry voice cut into his thoughts.

“You could have said hello to some of your old friends, Jessie. It was borderline rude the way you hustled me out of there.” Her southern drawl prevented an angry tone, but he knew her well enough to know that she was quite pissed.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I’m just a little tired this morning. The flight was exhausting and all I could think of was getting home and into something more comfortable.”

“Yes, well, I guess I can understand that. Oh, I meant to tell you that a doctor’s office called to confirm your appointment for Monday morning.”

Jessie only nodded, not wanting to let on that he wasn’t the one who’d made the appointment. Sergeant Major, Manito Owens, never trusted Jessie’s vow to seek help. He was smart enough to know that something wasn’t quite kosher with Jessie for the last few months. And Jessie himself had known ever since the bullet seared through his body as he reached for Antoine. Dissident and angry, he just wasn’t ready to confront the issue. The war was painful to think about. Even before the death of his friend, the fourth tour had been difficult. Hallucinating, bad dreams, reckless behavior, at least that’s what the report said.

“I wrote the number down. It’s on the coffee table.”

His mother pensively awaited an answer, but Jessie simply continued along the short trek from church to home, five blocks away.

Opening the car door, he helped her out of the car. She paused for a second and then hugged him. Her insistence in her letters that he return the moment that he was able had not escaped his attention. His absence had affected her too deeply. He’d been gone this time a little too long.

He pulled away and stared into the tears that pooled in his mother’s eyes. Remorse and regret filled him. He knew she wanted to know. Not about what he’d gone through, but where the soul in his eyes had gone. How could she help him? And as much as it pained him, there was no way that he could subject her to the horrors that he’d lived through. Not the agony of the field, nor the painful recovery that he’d undergone.

“I’ll be back, Mom. I’m going for a ride down the highway for a couple of hours. I’ll be back before dinner.” He leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. Her skin was still as soft as when he was a small boy, and she smelled like her Avon-scented lotion.

“Boy, you get back here on time. You hear me? I’ve invited people over.”

Jessie nodded before hopping onto his Harley, even though he knew her plot to force the Workings clan on him for a family dinner in advance. A sit-down dinner was something that he would never have consented to on his own.