Page 83 of Betrayed in the Dark
I approach slowly, and his eyes look up at me as I do. I don’t wait for him to tell me to leave again; instead, I lift the washcloth toward his temple and press it against his overheated skin. His eyes close, and his body slightly relaxes at my touch.
I hesitate before I softly ask, “What did you dream about?”
He stills beneath me, the muscles in his shoulders tightening.
A moment passes before he says, “When I was taken in Iraq.”
My heart races as anxiety courses through my veins. I remember every second of fear that overwhelmed me during those few days—days that felt like a lifetime of uncertainty. Days when, for the first time in my life, I felt powerless.
It was almost exactly a year ago when I was told that Eli had been captured and taken to an unknown location. It was almost exactly a year ago when my life changed forever.
And not for the better.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask.
He sighs, pulling back the blankets and resting against the headboard, his eyes closing.
Disappointment fills me at his reluctance to share this part of his life with me—a part I know I have no right to pry into. I try not to let it affect me as I bite my lip and step toward the door. If he wants to be alone with his thoughts, I will respect that and walk away.
Suddenly, I’m stopped as he wraps his fingers around my wrist. I glance over my shoulder, and my heart cracks at the anguish I see in his eyes.
“Stay,” he pleads, spreading his legs to make room for me. I place the washcloth on the nightstand and climb onto the bed, fitting myself against his body as he pulls the blankets around us, cocooning us in warmth. His arms wrap around my waist. “I need to have you in my arms to tell this story.”
I find one of his hands and intertwine our fingers, gently squeezing to reassure him that I’m here.
He exhales, his chest rising and falling steadily beneath me. “I was deployed to Iraq with my unit. A country where I had been stationed several times before. We had been there for weeks, assisting the Iraqi forces specializing in security measures and operations such as counterterrorism and targeted strikes.” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “One day, we were returning to our base when our vehicle got stuck in some mud. At the time, we didn’t think much of it, but now I’m positive it was a trap set for us.”
He looks down at our joined hands and brings them to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles before exhaling slowly.
“The three men I was with were the bravest individuals I knew—funny, smart, and just all-around great guys. Harry was married with three kids and a fourth on the way. John was a single bachelor who loved to travel. And Steve couldn’t wait to propose to his girlfriend when he returned home.” A tiny smile appears on his face. “He carried that ring with him everywhere we went. No matter the mission, that ring was always by his side. It was his special item.”
“His special item?”
“We had a little tradition. Each of us kept one item with us at all times—something that helped remind us of home and why we were there, fighting. Harry had one of his children’s favorite stuffed animals. John had his favorite player’s football jersey. And Steve had that ring.”
I turn closer to him, assessing his downcast features. It doesn’t escape me that he’s been talking about these men in the past tense. “What was your item?”
His lips part, and he pauses a moment before saying, “Just an old watch from my dad.” He looks to the side, dragging his fingers through his hair. “Anyway, after our vehicle got stuck, we played Rock-Paper-Scissors to see who would sit behind the wheel while the other three pushed the back of the truck outof the mud. I won.” A solemn laugh escapes his lips. “Although it feels a lot more like I lost everything that day. I, umm…” Clearing his throat, he continues, “I was behind the wheel, stepping on the gas while Harry, John, and Steve used all their strength trying to get our vehicle out of the mud. We were too exposed and needed to get out of there quickly before being spotted. Eventually, the car moved forward, and I drove a good distance away from them, ensuring we were out of the worst of it. I looked in my rearview mirror and watched as the three of them were jumping up, quietly pumping their fists in the air, excited for us to finally be on our way back to base. And then…”
His eyes blur as if he’s no longer here with me but reliving that moment with them. I tighten my grip around his hand, and he shakes his head, looking down at me.
“You’re not there,” I tell him. “You’re here with me.”
He leans forward, pressing his lips to the top of my head. I feel a tremble pass through his body, and I twist in his embrace, wrapping my arms around him.
He exhales and wipes at his eyes. “The three of them were facing me with damn big smiles, proud of themselves. They didn’t see the man approaching behind them. They didn’t see the grenade in his goddamn hand. But I did. I saw every fucking thing.” He looks up at the ceiling. “I jumped out of the vehicle as fast as I could, aiming my rifle, but the three of them were in my line of fire. I couldn’t… I couldn’t make the damn shot, and so, at the exact moment I screamed at them to run, he dived for them. He activated the grenade and threw himself at them in a suicide mission…killing them.”
His eyes water, but he doesn’t shed a single tear. He fights it, even though he doesn’t have to—especially not in front of me.
I reach up to cup his cheek. His glossy eyes meet mine, causing my own to well up with tears. “Let it out, Eli,” I whisper. “It’seating you up inside when it’s not your guilt to carry. Don’t hold it in any longer.”
One tear rolls down his cheek, and I catch it with my thumb, gently wiping it away.
“After that,” he starts. “Everything happened so fast. I was ambushed by three men and taken to a warehouse. That’s where they kept me tied up. They…” He looks down at me, fighting with himself to continue, unsure if I can handle the truth.
“I can handle it,” I tell him, not sure if I actually can, but I need to be here for him however he needs me to be, even if it’s just to listen to him tell his story.
“You saw my back that first night I moved in here, and well, that was from them. They would torture me when they were bored, usually by burning me. The pain was so bad I would pass out. Maybe for minutes or maybe hours. I lost track of time.”
