Page 16 of The Darkness Within

“This place, BALLS, helps vets after the Army is done with them. Things like physical therapy, employment, education, and therapy.”

“So why am I here? And why are you here?”

“Because sometimes, we can all use a little help, including you. Especially you,” he mumbles under his breath as he turns toward the double doors. Mandy leads me into the gym, and I have to admit, it’s pretty impressive.

“This is the physical therapy room. State of the art equipment and certified physical therapists on staff every day, free of charge.” Mandy surveys the room and spots someone he knows, waving to them as he shouts, “Hey, Riggs, are you coming?”

“Yeah, let me wrap this up and I’ll be right there.”

The name Riggs has my head turning sharply, and that’s when I remember where I’ve heard of this place before. “Riggs? What are you doing here?” His smile is instantaneous.

“Sergeant Sommers, I wondered when you would come to see me. I’m glad you finally made it.”

“I’m not here for you.”

The smile falls from his face. “Here with Mandy?”

Mandy chuffs. “He owed me a favor and I’m collecting.”

“Clever, Cahill. I like the way you operate.”

Mandy chuckles. “Don’t be late.”

“I’m right behind you,” Riggs calls.

I follow him out in a hurry, feeling like I’m standing in a pressure cooker under Riggs’s scrutiny. “Where are we going now?”

“I’ll tell you when we get there,” he says, just like he did earlier when he was trying to get me into the car.

Armando Cahill is a manipulative son of a bitch, and you can’t even blame him for it because his heart is in the right place.

I follow him down a long corridor, a right turn, and another long hallway before we get to some classrooms. There are already men inside, big, scarred men, some missing legs, all of them covered in tatts, seated in a circle.

“What’s this?” The fine hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. Something doesn’t feel right.

“Support group. Welcome to the Bitches with Stitches.”

Jesus Christ, I walked right into this like a rat chasing a chunk of cheese. “Support groups aren’t my thing.”

“Well, whatever you’re currently doing isn’t working out for you too well, so sit down,” Mandy says without a trace of empathy.

I don’t really have a choice because he drove me here, so it’s either sit in here, or sit out in the lobby with Margaret Anne. Taking a seat between Mandy and a guy covered with tattoos with one leg, I keep my head down and my mouth shut. Maybe no one will notice if I doze off.

An annoying clacking sound pries my eyes open out of curiosity and mild annoyance. Knitting needles?

“Did I forget to mention we knit? It’s therapeutic,” Mandy explains.

He must be full of shit. These guys look like a lot of things, but not one of them looks like a knitter. But sure enough, each one of them is knitting something. A guy with flaming red hair and hot pink yarn is knitting what looks like… “Is that a pistol?”

The man looks up with a smile. “It’s a gun cozy. Keeps the dust off of Beretta.”

Is that what he named it? He named his Beretta, Beretta? Maybe he’s here because he has a head injury in addition to his missing leg. There’s another man to my left, next to the guy with one leg and tatts, who seems to be knitting… “Is that a butt plug?”

“See,” he says to the man between us, elbowing his ribs. “I told you that’s what it looks like. It’s a tree for our Christmas village,” he explains.

The man seated between us is laughing too hard to comment, and so is Mandy, but silently, behind his hand. And if all of this isn’t enough to make me run for the hills, what happens next has me pushing to my feet.

“All right, gentlemen, quiet down. Let’s get started. We have a special guest today, a newcomer that I want to introduce you to.” Riggs locks his eyes with mine, and my throat closes.

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