Page 15 of Tormented Heir

He’s strapped. Explosives bulging, a detonator in hand.

I aim, but his hand presses the detonator.

Wind brushes my forearms and face first. A harbinger of what is about to hit.

Everything slows as if the events are happening click after click in a slideshow.

Click.

My finger tenses on the trigger.

Click.

The wind turns hot.

Click.

I squeeze and discharge my weapon.

Click.

The wave of heat and pressure hits me.

Click.

I fall backward.

Click.

The boom hits; the noise like anti matter sucking air from my ears.

Click.

Silence.

5

DIMITRI

29-YEARS OLD

San Francisco

“Did you understand all of that?” The doctor smiles at me.

Her words are muffled, but I can understand her. I’m not stupid. I frown and glance around the soulless room.

The bed I’m sitting on is single and spotless. The room is clinical, but cards on the window ledge give a false sense of cheer.

My head hurts, and things are still kind of fuzzy. I don’t remember much after the blast. My first full memory is being in the medivac chopper. I hadn't thought too much about my hearing. My mind was consumed with the pain in my leg and the sight of Mickles bleeding out in front of me. They’d packed his wound and re-packed it. So much fucking blood.

The doctor clears her throat, snapping my attention back. She’s in her mid-forties and looks like the sort of competent person you’d want to deliver this shitty news.

The first thought that hits is that my military career is probably over.

My second is that being partially deaf in my left ear wouldn’t be so bad, if only the infernal fucking ringing would stop.

“There are things we can do. Treatment options.”

---