Free There Will Be Killing by John Hart

you want to take his weapon and hold it for him.”
    At first touch, Romero seized the gun closer. The corporal persisted and one-by-one pried Romero’s fingers off the M16 while he filled Gregg in. “We were up near Dalat. Out on the wire all night and when we came back in Lieutenant Jones—he was Romero’s long time LT—was sitting there at our meet-up point with his own head cut off and sitting in his lap. Romero freaked out about the Boogeyman story that’s been making the rounds and…and we just didn’t know what to do.” Finally, the corporal extricated the weapon from Romero’s possession. Gregg exhaled the breath he’d been holding as the corporal set the gun a safe distance aside and put a supportive arm around his comrade.
    â€œYou did the right thing coming here.” Even though Romero showed no signs of comprehension or ability to engage in conversation, Gregg hoped on some level he still had the ability to respond. Gently, Gregg assured him, “You are okay and safe with us. I’m Dr. Kelly, let me talk with you for a little bit while your friend waits outside.”
    The friend took his cue to exit, Romero’s M16 in hand.
    â€œAll right Sergeant Romero,” Gregg said gently, “come on over here and have a seat in this chair . . . right there, that’s good. Make yourself comfortable. How about a cold can of Coke?”
    Romero, having mechanically followed instructions to sit in a chair beside the desk, looked up at Gregg. “Coke?”
    â€œGot one on the way,” Gregg assured him, keeping his voice real nice, soft, easy like the calm lap of a wave. “So, Romero, could you tell me your first name?”
    â€œMike?”
    â€œMike, good to meet you. And where do you come from?”
    Hertz appeared with soda in hand. He held out the can but Romero’s gaze didn’t move.
    â€œThe Coke is here whenever you want it, Mike.” In the few seconds Gregg took to reframe his question, J.D. pulled up the extra chair and jumped in.
    â€œHey Mike, it’s Dr. Mikel, and I’m just here to help Dr. Kelly, and you know, Dr. Kelly is here to help you. But we can’t help you much without knowing more about your situation. Did you get a ‘Dear John?’”
    Romero slightly shook his head.
    â€œThat’s good, glad to hear. Have you got someone waiting back home?”
    Romero nodded, just barely. “New baby.”
    â€œCongratulations! What’s your baby’s name?”
    Romero stared blankly ahead, suddenly blinked. For a moment his eyes seemed to come into focus. He almost smiled. “Judy.”
    â€œJudy will be really happy to see her daddy come home. But you have to help us by answering a few questions.” Gregg cut J.D. with a censoring glare but J.D. ignored him, continued to hijack the session. “Mike, can you remember being out in the field and seeing or hearing anything strange or unusual? Think hard and—”
    â€œThat’s enough,” Gregg sharply whispered when Romero’s inhale/exhale became so rapid he was panting like a dog that had chased down a rabbit—no, more like the rabbit being chased.
    â€œTake it easy, Mike,” Gregg told him in the gentle, quieter voice he used when a situation was getting dicey. “You don’t have to remember anything right now. Mike look right at me now, focus on me and know that you are safe here and—”
    â€œNOOO!” Romero surged from the chair, his eyes bulging at something in some other place that only he could see. He started to run and Gregg leaped in front of him, arms splayed to block the exit.
    â€œIM STAT! STAT!” While Gregg yelled for the sedative, J.D. calmly stood, applied some form of pressure to Romero’s throat with a single hand, and within seconds Romero’s eyes rolled up and he collapsed in J.D.’s arms.
    â€œSleep tight, sweetheart,” J.D. muttered,