Free If I Should Die (Joseph Stark) by Matthew Frank

his relief in watching her go. ‘You think I pushed her away. That I’ve deliberately distanced myself from anyone who might care about me, that I’m fearful of intimacy, friendship, love, that I’m scared of getting close to another human being in case I have to watch them succumb to some invisible IED fallout.’
    ‘Isn’t that what you’ve done?’
    Stark considered telling her about Kelly, but that would further misdirect her. ‘Perhaps I’m just ashamed of my physical disability.’
    ‘Are you?’
    ‘Or maybe it’s the mental scars I’m hiding. Perhaps I’m afraid of letting someone love me, lest the monster inside ever slips its leash.’
    Hazel frowned. ‘I can’t help you if you don’t take this seriously.’
    ‘I don’t think you can help me all that much either way.’
    ‘Why do you think that?’
    ‘Look, Doc, I’m tired and tetchy. I’m tetchy because I’m tired. All I want is to be able to sleep at night without waking up screaming. I want to dream about something else.’
    ‘And I want to help you with that.’
    ‘Then stop changing the subject just because you can’t handle it. I don’t wake up screaming about imaginary girlfriends or my mother’s passive-aggressive cotton-wool act!’
    ‘Now you’re getting angry.’
    ‘This isn’t angry. Angry is how I feel about the spiteful fuck with the remote trigger. Angry is how I felt when those fuckers kept shooting at me even when I was running away with a wounded man over my shoulder. This isn’t angry, but it’s starting to get there.’
    ‘Perhaps we should call it a day.’
    ‘Perhaps we should.’
    Stark stalked back into the station, hungry and vexed.
    Fran glanced at the clock. ‘Your manicure and facial overrun again?’
    ‘Something like that. Is it okay if I grab some lunch?’
    She rolled her eyes. ‘Go on then, but don’t dawdle.’
    Stark brought a sandwich to his desk and went back to his filing. Fran went out and he soon found his concentration wavering. He was half asleep when his phone rang. Switchboard announced a Captain Pierson for Constable Stark and put her through before he could respond.
    ‘Hello?’ said the voice to Stark’s silence. ‘
Hello?
’
    ‘Who’s calling, please?’ he asked, stalling.
    ‘Captain Pierson for Corporal Joseph Stark, is this he?’
    Stark hesitated.
    ‘It’s a simple enough question!’
    Her accent was that clipped kind of posh, every word shaved bald,upper lip genetically inert. That was okay, but the cold, hard certainty in her tone spoke of privilege at its worst. Stark took an instant dislike. ‘We have a Constable Stark,’ he suggested levelly.
    ‘Put him on, then. I don’t have all day,’ said the voice, frostily.
    ‘Can I take a message?’
    ‘He’s not there?’
    ‘Perhaps I could take a message.’
    ‘I’ll wait,’ said the voice.
    Stark considered putting her on hold for ten minutes but decided he was being childish enough already. Besides, he’d have to talk to her eventually; winding her up further wouldn’t help matters. ‘I shouldn’t like you to waste your time. I’d be happy to take a message.’
    ‘I’ve left several already, for days in fact.’
    ‘Perhaps one more will do the trick.’
    Cold silence flowed from the receiver but stubbornness trumped impatience. She tutted. ‘Very well. Please tell him, for the umpteenth time, to call me at his
very earliest opportunity
.’ Stark dutifully repeated the number back to her and she hung up without another word. It was a shabby thing to do but Stark was shabby in condition and mood, and with that tone she could wait another day.

6
     
    The IED explosion and the sight of the Land Rover teetering above him on two wheels before it crashed back down on to four snapped him awake.
    Lying on his back, waiting for his heart to slow and the phantom tinnitus to fade, he let the memory roll on in his conscious state. So much confusion, shouting, screaming, and cutting through it a cold,