Free The Hermit by Shayne McClendon Page B

story, Ryan?”
     
    He
didn’t pretend to misunderstand.  He’d known it would come to this, that the
time to tell her about his own past couldn’t be avoided forever.  “Daphne, I…”
     
    “Ryan, nothing you tell me will change the way I see you as a person, as a man.  Nothing .  And I need to know about you, you know so much about me.  More
than either of us wishes you did, I think.” 
     
    “No,
Daphne.  I could never know too much about you.  No matter your scars, inside
and out, you fascinate me.  You make me feel.  That is exciting and
frightening.”  Pulling on a jacket, he stepped outside with a pack of
cigarettes he kept for emergencies. 
     
    She
heard him light the match and said, “You used to smoke.  You gave it up but you
still need one when you’re really stressed out, don’t you?  I’m sorry I’m
pushing, Ryan.”
     
    “No,
Daphne…you aren’t pushing.  Of all people, you have a right to know.”  He
cleared his throat and took a long drag of the cigarette.  He’d always loved
smoking, no matter how bad he knew it was for him.  “I joined the military
right out of high school.  My family was dirt poor and I wanted to be able to
get a good education.  Back then, that meant enlisting in the service.”
     
    He
paused, closing his eyes for a moment to gather strength.  “In the Marines, the
higher ups realized I had skill with a rifle and sent me to sniper school.  All
those years of hunting deer really paid off.  Making me even more valuable was
that I was able to execute targets without all that pesky guilt afterward.  If
I read the file on a target and knew, knew they were scum, I could take
them out and go have pancakes.”
     
    Sucking
in a lungful of air, he heard Daphne say, “After I killed Winston, my only
thought was finding a shower and a steak.  I couldn’t have eaten it but that’s what
I wanted.  I’ve never felt one moment of guilt for stabbing him to death.  I
wish I could have been with you to watch the other two die.”
     
    “I’m
glad you weren’t.  You’ve seen enough violence in your life, baby.”  He took a
drag of his cigarette, “I was part of a special team for four years, and I was very good at my job.  The military put me through medical school and found another
area I excelled in.  When I returned to the field full time, I functioned as
the team medic and executioner.  A strange combination, I guess.” 
     
    He
paced the porch, smoking.  “I met a woman in the Congo.  Officially, we weren’t
there but that was where I was stationed for most of my military career.”  His
eyes stared off toward the mountains, seeing the jungle and a small village.  “She
was kind and funny and knew I was fucked up but didn’t seem to mind.”  Ryan
shook his head.  “I took care of her.  Made sure her and her family had what
they needed, which took shockingly few American dollars to accomplish.  I’d see
her every few months when I got leave and her people accepted me.”  He took a
long drag and whispered, “A year after we met, she got pregnant and had a
little girl.  We named her Natalia.  I only saw her once.”  He rubbed his eyes
hard, wishing he could stop seeing the past. 
     
    “A
gorilla group invaded her village.  Killed all the men, beheaded the children. 
They raped the women again and again before they left them to die.  It was a
message to other villages in the territory not to resist their occupation,
their brutality.  When our team arrived, every building was slowly burning,
despite a misting rain.” 
     
    He
swallowed hard and lit another cigarette with a shaking hand.  “I found her…the
mother of my child…in a pool of her own blood.  She was still alive.  As much
pain as she was in physically, the psychological damage was much worse.  With
the last of her strength, she held what was left of our daughter in her arms. 
She begged me, pleaded with me, to kill her.  To end it and let