The Final Line (16 page)

The melody made something in Corey’s chest ache. Sean’s smooth voice blended perfectly with the musical notes. He sang the first verse about a woman upset by another failed relationship and angry with those around her who judge her. Something about it made Corey think of Aimee.

Sean hummed through most of the second verse. He sang a few lines about a man with sad eyes and a beautiful smile. The man was always alone, even when he sat in a crowded room. Corey’s heart broke for the faceless young man.

The chorus of the song was angry. It expressed frustration with people living in the past or paralyzed by fear. Corey could relate to that. It had taken him years, and some angry words from Jonah, to stop living in the past.

The third verse stole Corey’s breath. He knew Sean was singing about the agony of writing his music. He sang about how the songs fought their way out of him and letting them out was the only way to ease his pain. Agony gave way to irony when Sean sang of how the songs were taken from him and when they were misunderstood, the agony returned.

As the final notes of the song faded away, Corey swallowed past a lump in his throat.

Sean’s voice was suddenly right in Corey’s ear. “Oh shit. You’re not saying anything. You hate it, don’t you?”

“No!” Corey blurted. “Fuck no. It…it made me
feel
a lot of emotions.” He didn’t know the words that would say what it was he was feeling. He wasn’t even sure what it was he felt. “I’m just not smart enough to say it right.”

“Don’t
even
go there!” Sean said angrily. “You and I both know that’s bullshit.”

“I seriously don’t know how to tell you what I liked about that song or how it made me feel,” Corey protested. “It’s not bullshit.”

“Fine,” Sean said tightly, and Corey knew they were far from done discussing this. “So name one emotion you felt while you were listening.”

“Sadness,” Corey replied without thinking.

“Which part?”

“The second verse.”

“Even though it’s not finished?” Sean sounded surprised.

“I guess.” Corey shrugged even though Sean couldn’t see. “What made him so sad in the first place?”

“I don’t know. Which is why the verse isn’t finished.” There was something different, something odd, in Sean’s voice now. “You know what I’ve been wondering? Why you joined the Marines. I asked you how long ago you joined, but I never asked why.”

Corey’s head spun with the change in topic. “Um…I needed to make a change.”

“What were you doing before you enlisted?”

Having this discussion with Sean was worse than when he’d had it with Jonah. “Going to school.”

“So you dropped out of college to become a Marine?” To Corey’s surprise, Sean’s voice held no judgment.

“Yeah.” He didn’t want to have this conversation. He wanted to keep secrets from Sean even less. When Sean remained silent, Corey heaved a resigned sigh. “My girlfriend of four years dumped me and moved out.”

There was a long, tense silence.

“Girlfriend?” Sean didn’t mask his surprise.

“I had to get dumped and join the Marines to figure out what she already knew,” replied Corey. To his surprise, that confession hurt less than it used to.

“How long did it take you to sort it out?”

“I caught on pretty quick. Accepting it took a few years longer.”

“Is that why you used to drink?”

Sean’s intuition was astounding. “I used to tell myself it was because my heart was broken, but yeah, it was easier to avoid myself if I was drunk. I used to hide out in my room on base and get drunk at night so I didn’t have to think about it. That’s how I spent my twenty-first birthday.”

“That’s so sad,” Sean said quietly. “I feel bad for you but I know you don’t want pity. Still, that’s a hard way to grow up and find yourself.”

Corey was distracted from answering by the sound of Sean once again playing the guitar.

“So, question from the list of things to ask when getting to know someone,” Sean suddenly asked, the music stopping abruptly. “Are you out to your family?”

The shift was so unexpected, Corey wasn’t sure he heard correctly. “Uh…my ex-girlfriend outed me when she left.”

Sean started to strum the guitar again as he said, “That’s just brutal. How did they handle it?”

Corey shifted uncomfortably on his rack. “They didn’t really react. I think they thought it was just a phase.” He snorted self-deprecatingly. “They were more upset that I joined the Marines.”

“Worried about you getting hurt?” Sean asked.

“That and they always pictured me going to college and getting a nine-to-five job, buying a house nearby so they could visit their grandchildren.” Corey sighed. “You know. The usual.”

“Are you an only child?” Sean was playing the same few bars of music over and over.

“I have three younger sisters,” answered Corey. “I was
the son
. Even now, they’re baffled as to why I’m still a Marine. I think they thought I’d do four years, realize I was really straight, and come home to finish school and get married.”

It sounded like Sean hit a few wrong cords on the guitar. “Do you ever think about doing that?”

“I’ve been away from home too long now,” Corey said with a sigh. “Getting married, having kids, and getting their needs met secretly might be how gay men hide it in the mid-west, but it’s not for me.”

Sean laughed. “There are a lot of gay men in Hollywood who live that way, too. It isn’t just the mid-west.”

Corey joined in with Sean’s laughter. “You’ll have to tell me some names, sometime.”

“You can guess a few of them,” Sean said conspiratorially.

“So, what about you?” Corey asked. “Are you out to your family?”

Sean laughed heartily. It was a deep, rich sound that filled Corey with warmth. He couldn’t help but smile in response.

“My family says they knew when I was a toddler that I was gay.
And
an actor,” Sean said around bursts of laughter.

“Were you
fabulous
as a kid?” Corey asked.

“There are pictures of me playing dress up in my mother’s clothes and putting on musicals,” Sean replied. “I’ve got an older brother and sister and I used to recruit them as supporting cast.”

“You, my friend, are a cliché,” Corey said between gasping laughter.

“Well, I was until I hit junior high. Then I realized I liked sports as much as drama club.”

“And now you’re a sexy mix of butch and fabulous.” Corey squeezed his eyes shut and bit back a mortified groan.

“Is it a mix you like?” Sean asked quietly.

Corey wanted to make a clever comment. He wished he could think of something witty to say. “Yeah, it is.”

The silence dragged on and Corey had no idea how to break it. He’d put himself out there and now Sean wasn’t making any comment.

“Since you’re obviously not going to ask, I think you’re a sexy mix of strong and gentle.” Sean managed to sound both fond and annoyed.

Corey cleared his throat. “That’s good. Now can we talk about something else?”

Sean laughed softly. “And you call
me
a cliché.”

At Corey’s urging, Sean told him about his brother and sister. Afterward, he told Corey about the big audition he had the next day. The third time he yawned, Corey couldn’t quite keep it silent.

“You need to get some sleep,” Sean declared.

“I’m fine,” Corey insisted. “I can function on very little sleep.”

“There’s no reason for you to just function,” Sean argued. “You should be getting enough rest right now.”

“Yes,
Dad
,” Corey whined in jest.

Sean laughed and Corey wondered why he couldn’t always be this funny.

“Call me tomorrow night,” said Sean. “I might still be driving home so you can keep me occupied. And if you have a bad dream tonight, call me. I’ll be awake for a while.”

“Good luck tomorrow. You’ll impress the hell out of them.” Corey’s chest tightened with an unfamiliar sense of pride and admiration.

“I’m glad you think so.”

After Corey ended the call, he stripped down to skivvies and climbed back into his rack. He was already relaxed, his eyes heavy and refusing to stay open. He was pretty sure he’d sleep through the night again.

§ § §

Corey broke cover and charged across open ground. He fingers ached as they gripped his M16. His breathing roared in his own ears but he wasn’t winded. Something else made him breathe hard. All around him, small plumes of dust marked AK47 rounds hitting the ground. Corey kept running.

He spotted a burned out truck and ran toward it. Corey took cover, slamming his back against the flattened, oversized tire. He aimed his weapon around the side of the tire, seeking a target.

Corey wondered what an Iraqi village was doing in Afghanistan.

“You’re with me, Yarwood!”

Corey ducked back behind the tire. He glanced over and saw Sergeant Carver crouched behind the front fender. It didn’t make sense but Corey would follow Sergeant Carver anywhere.

“Three…two…one,” Jonah shouted over the deafening gunfire.

Corey burst from behind the truck. His heart hammered as he and Jonah sprinted toward the front door of a dwelling. His legs burned, even though it was a short distance. Corey could hump twenty miles in full pack. He shouldn’t be fatigued.

He slammed his back against the wall beside the wooden door. Jonah was on the other side.

“Make entry, Staff Sergeant,” Jonah ordered. His blue eyes were hard and intense.

Corey did not want to enter the house.

“You have to enter the house, Yarwood,” yelled Jonah.

“Due respect, Sergeant, I’d rather not.” Corey had never refused an order in his entire career. There hadn’t been many he’d felt the need to question, either.

“Get inside that room and face what’s in there, Staff Sergeant,” Jonah insisted. His expression was compelling.

Corey’s chest heaved with each breath. He could barely hear over the sound of it. He felt every beat of his heart in his throat. He gripped his M16 with sweaty palms. Corey swallowed down his nausea and stepped away from the wall. He gave a mighty kick and planted his boot right beside the lock mechanism.

The door swung open, hitting the inside wall with a thunderous crash. The ensuing silence was deafening.

Corey stood frozen in the doorway. His Oakleys were effective against the outside sun but left him blind against the darkness spilling menacingly from inside the structure. Corey wanted to turn and run. He wanted to wake up so he didn’t have to cross the threshold.

His breathing was out of control. With each gasping inhalation, Corey smelled the sickeningly sweet scent of fresh blood. His heart slammed against his ribs and his pulse hammered in his throat, his temples, and his hands as they gripped his weapon.

Corey’s legs were leaden as he took one hesitant step forward. Darkness enveloped him and he blinked as his eyes adjusted. The heat was oppressive and sweat rolled from beneath his Kevlar and down his face and neck.

He took another step. His boot made a wet sucking sound as he pulled it from the floor. He stood in something sticky. Corey had to tug his foot free with every step. The tacky, wet sounds drowned out his gasping breaths and thundering heartbeat. Breathing through his mouth did nothing to mitigate the nauseating smell of fresh blood and evacuated bowels. These were the smells of fresh death.

Corey tried to swallow but his mouth was dry. He blinked again and saw movement across the room. He swung the muzzle of his weapon in that direction.

Sergeant Nygaard stood across the room. A small group of women and children knelt huddled at his feet. Nygaard held his M16 pointed at the back of one woman’s head.

“I need your help, Corey,” Nygaard pleaded. “You have to help me.”

“Help you with what?” Corey demanded.

“You gotta have my back, that’s what Marines do,” Nygaard continued as if Corey hadn’t spoken.

“Have your back with what?” Corey shouted, not lifting his cheek from the stock of his M16.

“You ordered me to,” said Nygaard, his eyes were wide open and wild.

“I didn’t order you to do
this
!” Corey cried out angrily.

“You have to help me keep the secret.” Nygaard’s expression was crazed.

Corey’s finger twitched on the trigger. “You did this shit all on your own. I don’t have to help you with any fucking thing.”

“You have to make them be quiet.”

“Make who be quiet?” Corey was afraid he already knew.

Nygaard gestured toward the women and children at his feet. “Make them be quiet.”

Corey sighted down the barrel of his rifle. He chose one of the kneeling women as a target. Her eyes met his and they were filled with anger and accusation. Slowly, he squeezed the trigger of his M16. The weapon roared as the firing pin struck the base of the casing. The rifle recoiled hard into Corey’s shoulder.

He sat up in his rack, the shouted word “No!” dying on his lips. Corey wiped sweat from his face with both shaking hands. He couldn’t catch his breath. His heart beat so fast, for several seconds he thought he was dying.

Shoving off the bedclothes, he swung his legs over the side of his rack and fumbled to turn on the bedside lamp. The dim light did little to push back the threatening shadows. With barely a thought, Corey picked up his cell phone and located Sean’s number.

To Corey’s relief, his call was answered on the first ring.

“Are you okay?” Sean’s question was softly spoken.

Corey couldn’t answer. He couldn’t form the words. He sat with his forehead in the palm of his hand and tried to slow his breathing.

“Corey, remember to breathe in for a count of eight. Breathe out for a count of eight.” Sean spoke slowly, his voice quiet, but Corey could hear the concern. “That’s it, slow it down,” he encouraged.

Finally, Corey felt in control of his body again. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“What for?” Sean sounded exasperated.

“Half the time when I call you I’m freaked out,” he replied. “You must think I’m a fucked up mess.”

“I think you’re doing pretty damn good considering you’ve been through something I can’t even conceive of. Tell me what you remember.”