Page 7 of Shadow Running
“It wasn’t your fault—” I started to say, but she interrupted me.
“Oh, but itwas.I let my personal life interfere, and when you’re in the military, you owe it to your men to be present at all times.When others’ lives depend on you, you push everything else to the side.My negligence caused thirteen deaths, and ten soldiers to end up permanently scarred and disabled.I resigned my commission and came back home, but there was no place for me.”She sighed.
I could feel the pain in her voice—the emptiness and regret.I wanted to say something to make it better, but I knew that any platitudes would bounce off.She needed serious counseling, and even with help, I didn’t know if she’d ever be able to let it go.
“I couldn’t adjust to civilian life again.So I just…drifted.My daughter had pretty much forgotten me—she’s sixteen now, and I haven’t heard from her in several years.My father, a military man himself, was so disappointed in me.I have no one.I eventually ended up here a few years ago.The Soldiers of Misfortune.This is where I belong.”She raised her head, and while there were no tears on her face, I could feel the ones hiding inside.
I wanted to help.I wanted to extricate her from this encampment and reunite her with her daughter, but I also recognized that wasn’t going to happen.She was paying penance for something that would probably haunt her forever.
“I’m sorry,” I said, reaching out the only way I could think of.“Is there anything I can do to help?”
Patricia smiled, then—a genuine smile.“No, but thank you for asking.Anyway, Give A Hand Up—GAHU for short, if you live around this camp—is suspicious as hell.Several of our members have gone missing over the past few months, and each time, they became involved with the organization.So if you want to find out what happened to Greg, I’d start there.”
“Thank you,” I said, jotting down notes.
She shivered and glanced at the sky.“The night’s going to be clear, which means cold.I’d better make the rounds and see that the burn barrels have enough fuel.”
I paused, then asked, “Is there someway I can help?Can I give you some cash?Or buy food for the encampment?I’d like to contribute in a way that actually helps.”
Patricia thought for a moment.“There are several old soldiers here who need help but they’re scared of going to the hospital.If there’s a way…”
I thought for a moment.“I’ll try to arrange for a healthcare provider to come down and give checkups for everyone.I won’t promise more than that, but I’ll do everything I can.”I stood, sliding my hands in my pocket.I had a fifty in there, and I folded it into my palm, then asked, “As far as Give A Hand Up—what’s the name of the person who reaches out to the soldiers here?”
“James Appleberry,” Patricia said.“I don’t even like being around him.”
“Got it,” I said, reaching out for her hand.“Thank you—you’ve been such a help.”
As she took my hand, I pressed the fifty into her palm, then before she could say anything, I saluted her, and headed back to my car, thinking about how many stories these encampments held, and how many tales of laughter or tears they absorbed.They were microcosms of society, and every story was unique, every one tragic in its own way.And sometimes, the best we could do was to catch a glimpse from the outside, pressing our face against the window leading into their world.
CHAPTERTHREE
On the wayback from the encampment, I texted Dante.“Do you think your Aunt Tilly might want to take on a community project for homeless soldiers?”
He called me, so I put the phone on hands-free mode.I told him about the encampment.“They need health care, given some of the old soldiers are too frightened or paranoid to go to the VA hospital.Or any hospital, really.I was thinking Tilly might point some of her charity work their way?”
“I’ll call her right now.I’m pretty sure she’ll go for the idea.”
“There’s a woman there name Patricia.Tragic story, but she’d be a good liaison between the camp and the doctors.”
“I’ll put in a call right away.”
“Thanks,” I said, feeling that—at the least—I’d tried to do something.”
Next, I stopped at the police station and asked for Destiny.She was our main contact with the police and she worked near the office.
Destiny was a tall black woman, sturdy—with pretty features and a gentle demeanor.We were always cautious about how much we asked of her.The last thing we wanted was to get her in hot water.Most PI agencies had a connection with a cop or two, and they acted as unofficial liaisons.
Destiny was no longer a first responder.She had been promoted to detective with the investigation bureau, and now she did more thorough investigative work into all sorts of crimes.
She was at her desk when the receptionist buzzed me through, after an officer patted me down.I was on the approved list of visitors, but they still wanted to make certain I wasn’t bringing a weapon into the office.They couldn’t do anything about my powers, but then again—they didn’t really know about them, and I aimed to keep it that way.After handing over my dagger and getting a receipt for it, they let me go back.
I wove my way through the desks, finally coming to one near the back.Destiny was sitting there, staring at a pile of photos and a thick file folder.She looked up as I appeared.
“Kyann—hello, it’s been awhile,” she said, waving me over to her desk.“Sit down.”
I caught sight of a photo that looked pretty grim—blood and brain splatters all over the concrete.It wasn’t the worst thing I’d ever seen, by far, but neither was it picture-pretty.
I grimaced.“Oh, lovely.”
