Saving Emmy by Rayne Lewis

Chapter 16

The guys had been gone four days. Ember worried about the boys and would finally breathe in relief once they were back on US soil. T spent the last two days helping her at the range. She met with some sales reps earlier in the morning, and now she was straightening out inventory in the back vault when T started to talk.

“Gotta see my doc today, at one. Going to get the dressing removed, and they’re going to check my vision.” He didn’t turn to talk to her, just kept stacking boxes on the shelves.

Ember didn’t know how to respond to that. That’s good or Hope it goes all right really wasn’t a great response to what was at stake. She had a feeling T must’ve been feeling nervous; he was never chatty.

“Thought you could drop me off and might want to stop and visit your dad while I’m at my appointment.” Ember heard a bit of trepidation in his voice. She didn’t want to point it out, knowing T was probably feeling vulnerable. “Don’t want you to be bored waiting on my ass.” T took off his hat and put it back on, pulling the brim down and adjusting it comfortably to rest on his forehead. “Not sure how long I’ll be. Wouldn’t want you just sitting around.”

Yup, he was nervous. Ember sensed he wanted her to go along, but didn’t want to ask outright and show his hand. His uneasiness punctuated in his offering for her not to come along. She didn’t want him to go alone, so she put the ball back in his court. “I think I’d like to go along...if you don’t mind.”

T didn’t respond.

“I mean, I wouldn’t want you to get bored being alone, so I might as well be bored with you, right?” She chuckled hearing it fall flat, “I mean, I'd feel better if I could tag along.”

He knew she was agreeing to go for his benefit without saying it. She was skirting and dancing around the elephant in the room to save him face.

“Wouldn’t you feel more comfortable hanging with Pops?”

Em loved hanging in the hardware store with her dad. Even though she knew all things hardware having grown up around it, she always seemed to pick up a little morsel of knowledge every time she was around him. She wouldn’t mind hanging with her daddy, but she needed to go with T instead. “Nah, he’s been busy lately. Been working the afternoon and evening shifts. Maybe we can stop by the store after your appointment.” Then she added, “Seeing as all goes well.”

T stopped all movement mid-air and then continued stacking the boxes of ammo. She noticed the stutter in his movement. Shit! Why’d I have to add that last bit?

Awkwardness sat between them for what seemed like an eternity but in reality was only a few minutes. Both worked in silence until all the boxes were stacked.

Trying to fill the void, she asked, “Wanna hit the range?”

Throwing lead and burning bullets was always a tension reliever for her. She spent time with the guys shooting at her range or at Hellforce. It was always fun to get a little friendly competition going, especially with T-BAR. T, being the sniper for the Hellforce team, gave Ember an unspoken bond with him. She loved all the guys on the team. They razzed her like a little sister and respected her as a former soldier. But, T and she connected unlike any of the others. Some siblings bonded over shoes and fashion, Ember and T bonded over steel and lead. They knew each other’s unique skill, and they knew each other's demons, an unfortunate bonus that came along with each sniped kill.

T rested his hands on the shelf, staring forward, and Ember could see the muscle tick in his jaw and flex at his temple.

“Got a new rifle that I’m dying to try. My .338 is—”

“Can’t.” T-BAR’s clipped word cut her off.

Ember didn’t understand. She waited a moment for him to continue, but he didn’t. “Can’t? Can’t what?” Her question was sincere.

T adjusted his hat again and straightened the already perfectly stacked boxes on the shelf. He concentrated on aligning the boxes. “Haven’t shot since...the eye.” He gestured to his covering but didn’t break concentration with the shelf.

Ember didn’t know. Slate hadn’t said anything, but then again, she hadn’t shot with the guys since the whole meltdown at Hellforce. She still didn't understand though. She’d known people who lost vision in one eye who were able to continue shooting. Trying to nudge him to have a little fun and relax, she pushed and feigned concern and arrogance, trying to get a rise out of him. “Ah...don’t want to lose to a girl? I can understand your insecurities to have—”

“I’m fucked!”

The crisp words startled her. T was facing her now and she could see the spent anger and hurt in the expression he was poorly masking. “Dominant eye.” He pointed at his eye covering.

Ember thought back to times they’d shot together and realized he was left eye dominant. Shit! Why hadn’t that occurred to her? She closed her eyes a moment and hung her head. “I’m sorry, T.” It was a breathy whisper but she understood his frustration. How a loss of the dominant eye was a marksman’s nightmare. His perspective and perception was lost. Both eyes were crucial when shooting, so T’s dominant eye now gone was devastating.

On a mission, both eyes were crucial for peripheral vision. Although some novice shooters tended to close one eye to focus and bring a target into sight, closing one eye on the battlefield could bring about certain death. Both eyes open allowed a shooter to see a target and also see their peripheral surroundings, or any threats coming from either side. Closing one eye compromised fifty percent of the field of vision. Losing a dominant eye was a killer. Little could be done to compensate. It would be a whole new world of training to be cross-eye dominant.

“Can’t hit the broadside of a barn.” T tried to lighten the mood by exaggerating. The deep rise and fall of his chest showed he was holding his composure. He bit the corner of his straight, pursed lip and ran it through his teeth.

“I am sorry, T.” Ember repeated, a little louder this time, and her honesty could be heard in her words. “It’s my fault.” Her eyes were still closed and she shook her head. “Not being a martyr here, I’m saying it really is my fault. Not directly, but it is.” Every time she looked at his patched eye, she couldn’t help but think the decisions that led to T-BAR being alone on that mission were her fault.

It seemed everyone was harboring some degree of guilt and blame.

She felt his arms wrap around her. “None of that, love,” he said firmly, his slight British accent making the word “love” more tenderhearted. “None of this is your fault. A lot of us made mistakes, bad calls and bad judgments, but not one of those things falls on you.”

“You say that, but it is my fault. It all leads back to me.” Her arms hung at her sides and the top of her head was pushed against his sternum. “Not playing emotions here, just hardline facts.” Ember wasn’t one to throw herself a pity party or to garner attention by playing poor me, I’m a victim games. She was a strong woman who didn’t have to wrap insecurities into fishing for sympathy.

He didn’t break his hold but loosened it a little. “Did you quit your job at Hellforce?”

Ember didn’t say anything.

“Were you too stubborn to make amends?”

Again, Ember stayed quiet.

“Did you make the bad judgement call to flank away from your teammates' cover?”

Ember shook her head.

T stepped back, forcing her to look up at him.

“Did you jam my rifle or not have my sidearm accessible?”

She stared up at him.

T tilted his head slightly to elicit a response.

“No,” she said softly.

“Did you attack me?”

“No,” she spoke a bit louder.

“Did you jack me in the eye with my rifle?”

“No!” She practically yelled in frustration.

“Then, stop it!” T-BAR yelled back at her. “You didn’t do a damn thing to make this happen,” he pointed at his eye. “A lot of us made mistakes, none of which you asked any of us to make. You aren’t Slate. You aren’t King. You aren’t the bastards that wailed on me. You aren’t me, and you sure the hell aren’t to blame for any of this, so get that right out of your head!” T’s breathing was heavy. He was controlled, but his temper was seething. He ran his hands down both sides of his face, smoothing out his mustache and the short stubble of his five o'clock shadow that appeared by noon. He brought himself into check. His voice softened. “You’re carrying guilt that isn’t yours to carry. Why take a burden that isn’t yours?

“It’s not going to change anything. It’s not going to heal this. It’s only gonna make you feel like shit.” He shifted his weight. “I don’t blame you. Don’t blame yourself.” They both stood facing each other. “Come here.” T held his arms out and waited for her to embrace him. She went willingly. “I know you feel like this is your fault, and believe me when I say it absolutely isn’t.”

He rested his chin atop her head; T being six-three towered over her short five-foot-three frame. “I spent a lot of time pushing and assigning blame. Hell, I blamed everyone at some point or another. Comes down to a lot of bad judgement, but no way do you factor into the equation.”

Ember leaned into him and quietly listened. Without lifting her head, she asked, “T?”

“Yeah?”

“What if it doesn’t get better?” She reached up and clung to his forearms. “Your eye, I mean.”

“I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about that exact scenario. In the chance that my vision doesn’t recover, or recover enough to rejoin the team on missions, where does that leave me? Hellforce isn’t just a job, it’s who I am, not just what I do or an extension of myself. Just as in the Army, being Delta is in me.”

“God, I feel bad even saying it. Stupid superstitions. I don’t even want to put the thought into the universe.” Ember couldn’t look at him. She felt an ache in her heart on his behalf. She knew what it was to be a soldier. She knew, through Slate, what it took to be the ultimate elite, to be Delta. Soldiers weren't made; they were born. Truth to the fact that T joined Hellforce when he could have gone back into everyday civilian life after leaving Delta. It’s who he was down to the soul and marrow of his bones. A protector of the innocent. If he couldn’t return to the team, Ember didn’t know how he’d carry on.

“It’s the mantra that never leaves my mind.” He stood still, running the question over in his thoughts. “I asked King the same thing.”

“What’d he say?” Ember spoke into his chest.

“Don’t be an idiot.”

Ember jerked back and his arms fell away from her. Her petite frame stood like a giant; all sass and no bullshit. Her brows furrowed in anger and confusion won out. “Excuse me?” She put sass on that, tipping her chin down and raising her brows. She better have heard him wrong, for his sake, because there was no way those words just came out of his mouth. She may be small, but she was feisty.

T held himself, a smile eating up the expanse from ear to ear.

Light dawned and she realized he was referring to King’s reply to his question and not calling her an idiot. She did her best not to smile, pursed her lips hard and squinted her eyes.

T mimicked her stance and sour-puss face.

She tried but couldn’t hold the ruse any longer and burst into laughter. “Damn it! You're an ass!” She threw a jab at him with her finger landing square on his chest, as he still had a grin plastered across his face.

T let out a laugh that came from his toes, up through his chest, and out of his mouth. His head thrown back to the rafters, he laughed. It wasn’t that funny, but damn, it felt good to see T laugh. It’d been such a long time since he laughed, genuinely laughed, that the sound just belted out.

Ember was now laughing because he was laughing, not even sure what they were laughing about, but it was good.

Finally composing themselves, she asked again, “So, what did King say?”

“He really did say, ‘Don’t be an idiot,’ but after that he said not to worry.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Yeah…but he said I’d always have a place at Hellforce. Might not be in the field, but he’d make sure that I was involved on some level of the missions, be that consulting, logistics, strategy, tactics, basically everything I do now, except I won’t board the bird.”

That thought hung in the air between them. King would make sure he was still on the team...still involved, just not in the manner of execution.

“And you’d be good with that?” she asked with hesitation.

Having T plan and organize was great and all, but execution of a mission was where the guys crushed it. As Eli had told her many times, execution was the reward of the job and also a labor of love. Not to be misconstrued between the reward of mission execution and the reward of financial benefit. She knew the guys made a big bank, and King took care of his men both in the field and in the pocket. Each man earned an exorbitant amount of money for risking their life each time they set foot in places worse than hell.

But, even without the payday behind each mission, the guys would do the mission regardless. Just as when she was enlisted, it wasn’t about a paycheck. It was because each man believed in the cause. And, her friends did the job to free one more child from the sex trade, to keep one more woman’s body from being defiled, to bring one more captive home to their family. The mission didn’t depend on a dollar amount. The mission to free the innocent was priceless; an unmitigated love of the job.

T-BAR mulled the question over in his mind, just as he did when King gave him the reassurance. Would he be okay being behind the scenes? Could he be okay behind the scenes? Would not being an active part of the mission still be satisfying? As much as it killed his heart to not be next to his brothers in the thick of the fire, it would kill him even more to not be with his brothers at all. Period.

“Don’t borrow trouble.” Ember’s voice broke him from his thought.

“What?” T hadn’t caught what she’d said.

“Don’t borrow trouble. My dad always says it to me. Says I’m an over thinker,” which she knew she was, “and I bring worry where it doesn’t belong. Guess we shouldn’t think about what could happen, until we know what will happen. We should wait and see what your doctor says.”

T sat on the thought.

Ember continued, “‘Today is the tomorrow you worried about yesterday.’ Mom would tell me that when I’d overanalyze and overthink trivial things. I think it’s a quote from Dale Carnegie. Mom always had a saying for everything. Took me forever to figure that one out. My adolescent brain trying to untangle that, whew...like a tongue twister for your mind.”

T gave her a chaste kiss on the forehead. “Guess we'll find out at one o’clock. Until then, it’s moot.”

* * *

Ember and T sat in the tiny exam room, the sterile smell of antiseptic in the air, the telltale smells of a doctor’s office. The examination chair was rather comfortable with padded faux leather with armrests helping him relax. “At least I’m not on a flat exam table with the white crinkly paper,” he said. “Reminds me of a meat market butcher’s paper.”

Ember sat against the wall in the most uncomfortable plastic chair studying the posters of eyeballs, muscles and lenses. For something that seems so simple, the human eye was extraordinarily complex. The intrinsic nature was fascinating for an organ most took for granted, because it’s just...there, not really appreciating it until it’s not. She stood and fingered the pamphlets on the wall rack, ‘You May Have Cataracts’ Hmmm. ‘What You Should Know About Glaucoma.’ Interesting. ‘Macular Degeneration & You: Knowing the Early Signs and Premature Blindness.’ Well, that just sounded terrifying.

The room was silent; no chit chat or small talk. What could be said that wasn’t going to make the uncertainty more prevalent? Both had the same question running on a loop in their minds, so they just waited...and waited some more.

“Wish they’d just get their ass in here and get this over with,” T spoke first. His impatience was rare. The man had the patience of a saint, which let Ember know by his outburst he was hanging by a thread. His head fell back against the headrest and he closed his eye. By the bate of his breath, she knew he was cadence breathing, a controlled rhythmic breathing to clear his mind. She could only imagine the anxiety welling within him. With their skill set, controlled breathing was a technique that was second nature. Controlling your breathing; elementary. Matching your breath with your heart rate; Breathing 101.

She left him in his trance and turned back to the wall of booklets. ‘Answers to your Questions About Astigmatism’ hmmm...interesting. Just as she grabbed the pamphlet the door opened and the doctor entered. Ember froze like she was caught by the principal doing something forbidden. The doctor gave her a genuine smile. T’s head came forward, and he straightened in his seat. The moment of truth was upon him.

“Mr. Kingston, good to see you again.” Ember didn’t know if that was Ophthalmology humor or if the doc just didn’t realize what an asinine greeting it was. T shook her outstretched hand quickly as if wanting the introductions and pleasantries out of the way so they could get down to brass tacks and learn what his future held.

Ember took her seat in the torturous chair and waited to hear the verdict. She glanced over at T and gave him a quick wink and a smile.

T, being an ass, motioned towards her with his patched eye, mimicking a wink beneath the wads of gauze that covered it, making her giggle. Even at this tense moment, T still had his humor, although Ember guessed it was more of a nervous humor to cut the tension they both were feeling.

The doctor crossed the room and dimmed the lights to a minimal glow, using the opaque filter covering the overhead lights. The room sat in a translucent dimness but with enough light to clearly distinguish their surroundings.

Guessing what they were thinking, the doctor said, “So the light doesn’t intensify the sensitivity of your sight.”

His sight. Did the doc know more than she told T-BAR after his surgery? Was she sending an omen of T regaining his vision, or was she just hoping, like they were, that T would have vision once the gauze was removed?

But, even if he regained his sight, in order to get back on the gun, T had to retain 20/20 vision. It was an absolute in their profession. No wiggle room. A sniper had to have an eagle's eye to sit on the rifle. A scope was no good if you couldn’t see through it. You needed the ability to see a gnat on a target's shoulder in order to have perfection as a sniper. No shot was worth taking without absolute certainty that it would be precisely on target.

“We’ll remove the bandage and let your eye get adjusted to the sensation of the open air and the darkened light before you open it. I want you to keep both eyes closed. Don’t open your right eye as your left eye adjusts. When I tell you, you can then open it slowly, letting in as much light as you feel comfortable. No race. No time limit. Just as you feel comfortable, that’s the pace I want you to go.” Her voice matched the softly-lit room.

She went to the small sink in the corner, washed her hands and dried them thoroughly, then donned a pair of purple medical gloves. Ember thought the color was calming, better than the boring off-white latex she’d seen other doctors use. She was wondering if the calming effect of the color was the reason they used them, or if that was just the color the gloves came in.

The doctor took a seat in front of T, and it broke Ember out of her idiotic wonderings about the purple gloves. T took in a deep breath when the doc asked, “You ready?”

“Yes.” Both T and Ember answered in unison causing the doctor to laugh.

“Okay, then. Let’s get this dressing off and we’ll see if you can see.”

The waiting was agony.

T’s body tensed as the doctor used a solution to peel the tape off his skin. Ember assumed it was dissolving the adhesive. It looked painful, but T didn’t flinch. After she removed the tape, she removed the protective plastic shield that was holding the gauze to his eye. Ember felt her heart rate increase. The anticipation was killing her. She couldn’t imagine what T was feeling.

* * *

T wanted to rip the damn thing off and open his eye. The painstaking time the doctor was taking was worse than the torture he and the team received overseas. He cleared the memory from his mind and concentrated on the moment in front of him. He kept his breathing paced and kept his adrenaline from spiking. In a few moments, would he see? Breathe, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. Slow and Easy.

“Just going to remove the gauze, and we’ll have you adjust to the diffused light. Keep your eyes closed.” The doctor removed the top layer of padding and then slowly peeled away the pad of gauze against his eye, revealing a lubricated film over his eyelid and surrounding his eye.

“Is there going to be any scarring, Doc?” He didn’t care about scars. Hell, he knew scars were the badge that you survived something bigger than yourself.

“Don’t worry T, your beautiful face is still flawless and you’ll still have ladies beating down your door to get into your drawers.” Ember kept the mood light. “Although, by the number of girls that have notched your bedpost, I think your mug is about the last thing they’re concerned with.”

T laughed and the doctor chuckled. When he’d first learned he had an orbital fracture and needed surgery to repair it, he envisioned a gnarly, jagged scar across his eye.

The doc followed up, “The small incision made by the surgeons left a one-inch scar on the outer corner of your eye, but cosmetically, it will heal and be unnoticeable to those who aren’t the wiser.”

T-BAR felt the coolness of air across his cheek and over his eye. The pressure of the bandages being removed was a sense of relief. He wanted to jack his eye open and look around the room.

“Okay,” The doctor said in her gentle tone, “everything looks good, nice and healed. The incision looks great.” She examined around his eye, the bruising almost gone, dulled to a yellowish-brown. She lightly patted and pushed around the socket, asking him if it hurt here or there. So far, everything seemed to be going well.

“Things look good, Mr. Kingston. Before you open your eye, tell me, do you see any sensation of light or are things still dark?”

T took a minute to explore the sensation of what he may, or may not be seeing. “I think I sense light...faintly.”

The doc hovered her flat palm in the air in front of T’s right eye and then moved it away from his face to the side. “Do you see a change in the sensitivity of the light?” She moved her hand a few more times, giving T time to notice if he could sense a change. He heard Ember hold her breath.

* * *

Ember watched as the doctor hovered her hand in front of his eye.

“It’s dark now.” T spoke with a calm timber. There was no sense of hesitation or nervousness.

The doctor removed her hand. “And, now?”

“It’s lighter.”

The doctor kept her hand away from his eye. “How about now? Any change?”

A shot of adrenaline spiked in Ember’s stomach. The feeling of driving country roads over hills, experiencing the excitement of the rise and fall came over her. Ooh, fake out! Ember knew the doctor was testing to see if T really was sensing a difference or if his mind was imagining the change in light, guessing it’s presence and absence.

Immediately, T said, “No. It’s still light.”

Ember wanted to howl with excitement that he had some sense of sight, even if it was just light sensitivity. His eye was recognizing the changing difference. The doctor handed him a tissue and told him he could start to open his eye, keeping his good eye closed.

He pulled in a deep inhale, and Ember saw the flutter of his eyelid slowly start to lift.

* * *

T felt the pit in his stomach sitting like a lead weight. He tried to open his eyelid, but it felt like it was fused together. The sensation was strange. He pulled with his upper brow, and squinted his good eye tight, willing his injured eye to open.

Utter darkness.

Then...light. Blinding, piercing, hot-white light danced in his vision as he fluttered his lid. His eye started to water.

“That’s good. You’re doing well.” For a moment, T forgot the doc was even there. “Use the tissue if you need to dab the tears. Don’t apply any pressure, just lightly dab.” T inwardly laughed. She sounded more like a mother coaxing her child than a medical doctor.

The waiting was agonizing, but the sensation of actually seeing, something, had him in knots.

It took a few minutes but, wincing, T opened his eye completely. His eye darted around the room searching for something to come into focus.

The silence in the room was deafening, hanging there, mocking time, as everyone waited for him to say something.

“Mr. Kingston?” The doc was about to ask a question but T beat her to it.

“Colors. I can see shapes and colors...but it’s murky.” He paused, trying to focus on anything.

The doctor grabbed a few medical swabs from a sterile packaging. “Close your eye, please.” Her tone was motherly. Soft and light. “This may feel a little scratchy, but I need to remove the antibiotic ointment.” She brushed the pad lightly against his eye. T resisted the urge to pull his head back, thankful that the chair had a headrest. She continued to pat and dab.

When she removed most of the ooze, she placed a pad in T’s hand and told him to remove any remaining ointment that may bother him, so he dabbed lightly around his eye.

T opened his eye again, searching for a focal point and instant rivulets of tears started to flow. “Is it too much light?” Ember asked. Instead of answering, he lifted the pad to his cheeks and dabbed at the wetness falling down them.

“Mr. Kingston? How is the vision now?” The doctor had worry in her voice.

His eye found Ember. “You’re wearing your cross.”

Ember’s chin began to quiver. “It’s the cross Slate gave me each time he deployed as Delta, and now when he leaves on missions with Hellforce, when he can’t wear it in the field. It’s his grandfather’s World War II cross he wore in battle. T, if you can notice this small, ornate, silver cross, then…” Ember broke into tears that morphed into sobs.

Everything was different now. T could see.

* * *

Mitch Hayes dipped the wire brush into the bucket of solution and continued to scrub the outside wall of Hayes’ Hardware store. The spray paint wasn’t coming off as well as he’d hoped, but with a little more elbow grease, the brick-faced facade facing Main Street would be back to normal. The words One of Three would be gone by the day’s end.