The Final Line (17 page)

Corey released a shaky breath. He fisted his free hand and pressed it hard to his mouth. Not everything was clear, but he remembered more this time than he ever had before. The Iraqi village in the middle of Afghanistan; Jonah encouraging Corey to do what he had to do, standing at his back as he did; dead women and children; Michael Nygaard responsible for the slaughter; Corey’s culpability. Even awake, when he closed his eyes, Corey could see the haunted, accusing eyes of the innocents staring at him.

“Corey, if you don’t want to tell me about it, at least write it down and go talk to a professional about it,” Sean pleaded.

“I was in combat,” Corey blurted. “But the location didn’t make sense. Jonah was there but he shouldn’t have been. He ordered me to make entry into a structure. That asshole Nygaard was there.” He inhaled deeply, struggling for words.

“But none of it was real,” Sean said calmly. “It didn’t really happen and nothing can hurt you.”

The sound of quiet guitar music reached Corey. It was a quiet song and Sean strummed lightly. Corey rolled his head to ease the muscles in his neck and back. He took a deep breath and it came easier than it had just moments before.

“The room was full of dead Afghani women and children,” Corey said. “And I think Nygaard killed them. He tried to get me to help him, like implicating me would keep me silent.”

The music stopped for several seconds before it resumed. “But you aren’t going to keep silent, are you? You’re going to tell the truth about what you know, right?”

“Right.” It was the one thing Corey was sure of.

Neither of them spoke for a long while. Corey lay back down on his rack. He sighed heavily, feeling his body relax finally.

“I finished the verse to the song,” Sean said after awhile.

“Good. I knew you’d get it figured out.” Corey tugged the covers up to his chin. “Can I hear it?”

Sean played the song from the beginning. Corey listened to the second verse closely. Sean sang about a soldier, all alone on his birthday and getting drunk. The verse saddened Corey slightly, as Sean sang about how beautiful the soldier was when his smile chased away the sadness in his eyes.

“What do you think?” Sean asked when he was done.

“That’s amazing. You’re a fucking poet.” Corey’s eyes were too heavy to open and his tongue was thick in his mouth, making it difficult to speak.

“I don’t know about that,” Sean said dubiously. “But I do know that you need to go back to sleep.”

Corey realized he was nodding off, even as they talked. “Okay. Call me tomorrow?”

“Absolutely. Good night, Corey.”

“’Night.”

Corey ended the call and set his phone aside. Just as he drifted off to sleep, he realized the new verse of Sean’s song was about things Corey had confessed to him about why he’d left home.

Corey was astounded; Sean had written the verse about him.

CHAPTER NINE

Corey concluded his segment of the classroom instruction they were conducting. He kicked the students loose for a short break. His work was done for the afternoon, thanks to Master Sergeant Whitfield.

He was ten minutes early for his appointment with the doctor. There were a few other enlisted Marines in the waiting room, but no one Corey knew. He settled uncomfortably into a chair that let him see the entrance door and the door to the back office. He tried to read the outdated magazine but he couldn’t concentrate. He sat instead, fingers laced, his leg bouncing violently.

Luckily, they didn’t make Corey wait too long. A nurse appeared and called his name. He did his best to keep up the small talk he knew was expected. She was fast and efficient at getting his vitals before leaving him alone in the chilly exam room.

Corey had always hated exam rooms. He hated the way the paper crinkled every time he moved, it always seemed so loud in the empty rooms. The charts and posters that were hung on the back of the door and on the walls were enough to make him paranoid about every small ache, pain and freckle.

A knock at the door gave Corey a warning just before the doctor entered. A tall, dark haired man, wearing a blue dress shirt and matching tie, entered the room. He was smiling. “I’m Doctor Goldman.” He held out his hand and Corey shook it, impressed with the strength of his grip. “You must be Staff Sergeant Yarwood.”

The doctor sat on the low, rolling stool and reviewed Corey’s thin chart. He asked a few questions for clarification, before setting the folder side. “So, what is it I can do for you, today, Corey?” His expression was expectant, as if he already had an idea of what Corey’s complaint might be.

“I’ve been having trouble sleeping,” Corey said, tugging at the cuffs of his uniform blouse. “It’s starting to affect more than just how tired I am during the day.”

“Understandable. Sleep deprivation has an impact on your overall health.” Goldman took a deep breath. “How long have you been back from deployment?”

“Nine months,” Corey replied. “I kept waiting for it to get better as I adjusted to being back.”

“That sometimes happens,” the doctor said easily. “But nine months is an awfully long time for it to keep going on. Is it just trouble getting to sleep or do you have trouble staying asleep, too?”

Corey sucked in a sharp breath. He ran one palm along his thigh while he gripped the side of the exam table with the other. “Sometimes…I wake up from a nightmare and can’t get back to sleep.”

Doctor Goldman nodded knowingly. “Are you having flashbacks or anxiety attacks too?”

Corey started to answer in the negative, before he remembered that day he’d sat in his Jeep and desperately called Sean. “I hadn’t until recently. No flashbacks, but I had a panic attack a couple of days ago. At least that’s what I think it was.” He described what had happened, what he’d felt. When he told about calling Sean, Corey simply called him a friend.

Goldman stood up and pulled his stethoscope from around his neck. He listened to Corey’s heart and his breathing. He took his pulse, palpated his glands and examined his eyes and ears. “You guys are all in such good shape and good health, but that’s no excuse for me to get lazy in my due diligence.”

“I appreciate that, sir,” Corey responded automatically. He always appreciated it when someone insisted on doing a good job, at all times.

The doctor resumed his seat on the stool and took out his prescription pads. “I’m going to give you a prescription for a common sleep aid,” he said as he wrote. “But I’m also referring you to the Warrior Clinic for counseling.”

Corey sighed and ran both palms along his thighs. “Yeah, I sort of expected that.”

Goldman looked up at him in surprise. “I usually get more of an argument. You guys usually think you’re too tough to need help.”

“Well, a couple guys I really respect told me recently that it was time to talk to someone about some of this stuff.” Corey ran a hand over his mouth and down his chin.

“Good for them.” The doctor tore two sheets from his pad. “Get this filled at any pharmacy. Come back in a month and we’ll see how you’re doing.” He handed Corey the second sheet. “Take this down the hall to the clinic and have them schedule you an appointment. No reason not to get that taken care of since you’re here.”

Corey chuffed a laugh at Goldman’s too bright smile. “No, you’re right.”

As they both stood to leave, Doctor Goldman turned toward Corey. “You’re going to be fine, Corey. You’re getting help before anything gets out of control. You really will be okay.”

“Thanks.” Corey’s face warmed at the sincerity and concern in the doctor’s expression.

It was a short walk down a deserted hallway to the counseling clinic. The discreetly labeled door opened into a warm and inviting reception area. To Corey’s relief, there was no one there except the receptionist. She greeted him as soon as he entered.

Corey crossed to the desk where she sat. He guessed she was about his age. “How can I help you, Staff Sergeant?” she asked, openly eyeing his insignias.

Handing over the paper Goldman had given him, Corey replied, “I guess I need to make an appointment, ma’am.”

She never lost her smile as she read Goldman’s scrawl. She handed over a clipboard with a sheet already attached and a pen held on by a string. “Why don’t you fill this out while I pull up the schedule and see what works best for you.” She paused, making her next words almost sound like an afterthought. “Be really, really honest with your answers. No one cares how you’ve been coping and nothing leaves this office. But it’s easier to figure out just what kind of help you need if we have all the accurate information.”

Corey nodded his understanding and took a deep breath. As he answered the questions, Corey understood the reason for her request. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, resisting the urge to lie or at the very least downplay. He was truthful about the level of his alcohol use. He was relieved he could honestly answer ‘no’ to all the questions about his level of off-duty violence. He described his issues with sleep, answered no to flashbacks but yes to anxiety attacks.

The question about erectile dysfunction brought him to a full stop. He ran the back of his hand over his forehead. Fuck. Reluctantly, he answered yes.

He handed the clipboard back to the receptionist. “My current billet is BRC. I regularly put in sixteen-hour days. I’m not sure I can make it back in here in less than a week, when we have night training.”

“Doctor Ingram keeps Saturday hours specifically for Marines like you,” she said brightly. “Eleven a.m. this Saturday?”

Corey stood dumbfounded for several seconds. He should have known they would have a solution to any excuse he could muster to avoid getting help. “I have night training Friday. Anything in early afternoon?”

Her smile widened. “One p.m. is open.”

“That’ll do,” he replied.

She jotted the appointment down on a little card and bid him a good day.

Prescription filled and back in his Jeep, Corey tried to call Sean. He was pleased when the call was answered.

“I was just wondering when I was going to hear from you,” Sean greeted him.

“I just saw the doctor and I’m on my way back to work so I thought I’d call.”

“How did it go with the doctor?”

Corey filled him in on the events of the last hour. “So, we’ll see if the meds help and then I get to find out just how fucked up in the head I am.”

“You’re not fucked up. You’re completely treatable. So, I was thinking,” Sean hesitated, “maybe we could go to dinner or something, Friday night.”

“We’re conducting night training Friday night,” Corey told him. “It’ll be one or two a.m. before we’re done. I know you’re always awake that late but I’m going to be wiped. And I have that appointment Saturday.”

“Okay, it was just a thought,” Sean said tightly. “But you have stuff to do, and that’s cool. I should let you go now, you probably have to get back to work.”

Corey was stunned by Sean’s rapid change in demeanor. His tone of voice was strained. Corey knew that tone, he’d used a few times when he realized he was being blown off. “Are you working this weekend or something?” he asked quickly.

“No, not really,” Sean answered quietly.

“Then what’s wrong with Saturday night? My appointment is in the early afternoon, after that, I’m free.” He kept his own voice enthusiastic so Sean would know he wanted this.

“Saturday is great.” The pleasure was back in Sean’s tone and Corey silently breathed a sigh of relief.

“I gotta get back to work but I’ll call you tonight.”

“I’ll answer.”

§ § §

When Corey arrived at the counselor’s office on Saturday, the outer office was empty. Not even the receptionist was there. An inner door stood open. A tall, middle aged woman appeared.

She smiled. “You must be Corey.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, rooted to his spot.

“I’m Doctor Ingram. Come on back.” She stepped aside and let Corey step past her into the back office.

He shouldn’t have been surprised the doctor was a woman. He buried that thought. Glancing around, Corey realized the inner office was more like an inviting living room. There was comfortable looking furniture arranged in a loose circle. The desk in the corner was the only indication this was a place of business.

“Sit where you’d like,” Doctor Ingram said. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Dropping down onto a loveseat, Corey discovered it was as comfortable as it appeared. He picked up a nearby throw pillow and placed it in his lap, idly plucking at a loose thread.

Ingram set a bottle of water on the table in front of him, along with a box of tissues. That made Corey nervous. It was bad enough he had to talk about this shit, he didn’t want to become a blubbering idiot.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, never letting his manners lapse.

The doctor settled into a large, square, well-stuffed chair. She curled her legs beneath her. Corey recognized the form he’d filled out the other day, set on top of a legal pad. “Now, Corey, don’t worry about what I write down. I’m not making a diagnosis. I’m not speculating. I take notes on things I want to remember to ask you so I don’t have to interrupt you while you’re speaking. I’ll also have things I’ll want to revisit during future appointments. Okay?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Corey replied. It sounded reasonable.

“There are a couple of things I want to go over so I’ve got a clear idea of what we need to work on.”

Corey nodded.

“I’m guessing it’s the nightmares and insomnia that are causing you the most trouble?”

“Yes, ma’am. Doctor Goldman gave me a prescription for that. It’s only been a couple days but so far, things seem better.”

“Good. That’s really good. You’ve reported only one anxiety attack. By taking care of the sleep issues and coming here, you’ve probably headed off more frequent and more severe episodes, so that’s also good.”

Doctor Ingram paused and Corey wiped his sweaty palms on the thighs of his jeans.

“You’ve reported no flashbacks and no hyper-vigilance, but I’m willing to bet you have very mild symptoms and just don’t recognize them.” The doctor canted her head as she regarded Corey closely. “Do some of your memories seem more vivid that others? Do you lose time? Several minutes where you don’t know what you were just doing? Are you uncomfortable in crowds? Do you feel aggressive if you don’t have a wall at your back and all exits in view?”