The Face in the Window

First Lieutenant James Hopkins silently maneuvered his way through the darkened kitchen, barely sloshing the drink in his hand.  He braced one palm on the frame, gazing out onto the serene lake surrounded by a forest of pine trees.  He bought this cabin, as well as the land, when he had just gotten back from Afghanistan.  He thought the scenery and peace would help him forget about his military time.  He had been wrong.   

    His beloved shores around the navy blue waters were filled with war.  Men and women of all colors and cultures rushed to one goal: the hostages.  Their mission was to successfully bring back the hostages, who were also part of their squadrine.  It was a get in, get it, and get out situation.  It was not so.  

    Their commander issued the green light motion, in which he and his men crept in.  The sand brick prison had little to no security, so that was the easy part.  The hard part was actually retrieving each life inside the small cell, and getting out alive.  Truly, the only successful thing about that mission was getting in, and getting the men and women out.  In total, there were eight of them.  Two women, and six men.  Among those men was Lance Brown.  

Lieutenant Corporal Lance Brown, also known as Lance the Lance, was a boy from South Carolina.  He lived with his wife, with a baby on the way, in a small farmhouse on his parents’ street.  Lance and James had been the best of friends, often passing the time on base with a game of poker.  Back then, James was in debt twenty three dollars.  He had promised Lance he would pay him back as soon as they were back home.  Lance scoffed and muttered, “That’s what they all say before they screw me over.”  James had no intention of that.  A date and time was set before Lance had gone missing.  There was going to be a barbeque at James’s cabin, Lance would bring his wife and baby, and James’s wife would serve her famous potato salad.  He envisioned smoke rising from his grill, them laughing over a joke Lance cooked up, and a back porch sunset with his wife resting on his chest.  His friend would look over at him while holding his baby, and smile that poster boy smile he always had plastered on his face.  James thought he might say, “We should do this more often.”  

His back porch cookout dreams were crushed the day of the mission.  

“Come on, guys,” he had whispered to the six.  “We’ve got to go.  Now.”  They complied willingly, being led off by his troop of trained operators for these kinds of missions.  James himself had been one. When he saw Lance’s brutalized, bloody face among the six, he winced.  

“You okay?”  He whispered to him, coming to his aid. 

He nodded.  “I’m good.  Let’s just get out of Dodge.”  

James had smiled, and began leading the group out.  What they hadn’t known was the security wasn’t dwindling, it was multiplying.  They were waiting for his troops to come through the prison doors.  And that’s really when all hell broke loose.  

The blazing, banging, whizzing of bullets flying past would’ve scared anyone, but not the troop.  They fired back at the same rate, hoping they hit.  Somehow, the troop managed to dwindle the opposing side’s forces down to just two.  Then it was only one.  Before anyone could stop the man, he took out the pen to a grenade, and threw it.  It landed right at James’s feet.  At the time, it seemed everything was in slow motion from there.  

Lance flew to his feet, and pushed James away.  While James was falling to the sand, he could’ve sworn he saw Lance smile his same old smile, and whisper something like, “Don’t forget my twenty three bucks.”  That was the last thing Lance Corporal Lance Brown said.  That was the last heroic deed Lance Corporal Lance Brown did.  

He saw her reflection in the window before he felt her place her arms around his waist.  Sighing, he rested his hands on hers where they rested against his abdomen.  

“Are you coming to bed?”  Nicole Hopkins whispered against his back.  His wife of four years was the love of his life, that much he knew.  He had met her on the side of the road.  She had her truck on a jack while she fiddled with her tire.  

“Need help?”  He asked, leaning casually against the bed of the truck.  

She glanced up at him, put the finishing touches on, and removed the jack.  “Not anymore.  I could’ve used you a few minutes ago.”  

He looked her over from head to toe, and grinned.  “Now that you mention it, I actually need some help.”  

She crossed her arms over her chest.  “With what?”  

He stepped closer, pulling out a pen and paper.  “This blank piece of paper is missing something.  Say, I think it’s missing your number.”  

She had to force herself not to laugh, but she smiled.  As she turned around, James tried again.  “Please, ma’am.  I’ve been trying to find the missing piece for days,” he looked her over.  “And I think I’ve found it.”  

They shared a few drinks, had long chats, and married that next year.  The year before he shipped out overseas.  

She brought him back to the present by coming around to his side, and placing a hand on his chest.  “Are you thinking of him?”  

He sighed, she could read him like a book.  “Aren’t I always?”  

Supplying comfort, she rested her forehead by her hand.  “I’m so sorry, James.”  

He nodded, pulling her in for an embrace.  “I am, too.” 

Sighing, she angled her head back up at him.  “Come to bed.”  She didn’t wait for him to answer when she set his drink down, and grabbed his hand while leading him to their bedroom.  

It was comfortably modest, and always had been, with an oriental light blue rug over the floor, and a king size bed with satin sheets and a comforter to match the rug.  The drapes hung limply now, but when the windows were opened, they would sway gracefully in the breeze that made the pine trees sing.  Pictures of them on their wedding day painted the walls, as well as pictures of each set of family, and trinkets kept on shelves.  Every time he glanced over at that one shelf of pictures of him and his war buddies, he grimaced.  One was of him and Lance Brown, just the two giddy, young soldiers in their uniforms.  His wife pulled him away from the photo when she turned his head with her finger.  

“Stop that.”  She whispered.  

His brows furrowed, although he knew what she was talking about.  “What?”  

“That whole guilt thing.  Lance knew what he was doing, and he saved your life while giving up his.”  

He sighed, running his fingers through his already messy hair.  “But he had a wife and kid, for Pete’s sake.”  

She nodded.  “I know, and she’s a nice lady with a very cute baby.  But Lance didn’t sacrifice himself so you could wallow in guilt,” she stroked his cheek.  “He wanted you to live, but now you’re practically a ghost.  Like you roam these halls until…”  She wanted him to place a time slot there.  

He sighed again.  “I don’t know how long, Nicole.”  

She slowly bobbed her head, sending her shoulder length hair down her front.  He always liked her red hair, it made her seem fiery.  And she was.  

“I understand,” she whispered.  “Just please come to bed?”  

He smiled ruefully.  “I’ll try.”  Recently, or ever since he returned home, he hadn’t been able to sleep well.  Truthfully he could sleep, he was just haunted by dreams.  When your buddy is blown up in front of you, you may experience some gruesome dreams.  

If he was being completely honest, each dream was the same.  It was always him, standing on water, with Lance about a hundred feet ahead.  Lance was dressed as he was the day he died, and looked about the same.  Except for his bleeding legs, and his blood stained face.  His smile was the same as always, and that’s what he always did.  He smiled at James.  

“What is it, Lance?”  He called out.  

In an instant, Lance was standing right in front of James, his smile no longer in place.  “Why’d you do it, Lieutenant Hopkins?”  

He shook his head.  “Do what?” 

Lance scoffed, pacing a tight circle around James.  “‘Do what?’”, he mocked.  “You know what, James.”  

He shook his head again.  “No, I–”

“Don’t start with that.”  

James took a step back when Lance advanced a step towards him.  They danced that dance for about five steps until Lance honed in on him.  

“Why’d you have to do it?”  

“Do what, Lance?”  

“You didn’t even move when I pushed you away!  You laid there like a helpless pup, looking all wide eyed, and lost.  As if you didn’t know I would do it.  So why’d you let me do it?  Why’d you let yourself live with the guilt of my death on your conscience?  Why’d you let me go out that night in the first place?”  

Lance’s shouting made perfect sense.  That night Lance disappeared, James and a few other men were the last to see him. 

“Hey, Lance,” James had called.  “Where’re you headed?”  

He shrugged.  “I’m just going out to see what I can see.  Maybe take a look around, something like that.”  

He nodded.  “Want some company?”  

The other man shook his head.  “Nah, I’ll be alright.”  

“You sure?”  

He nodded, slowly trudging off away from base.  

James’s exact thought as he watched his friend walk away was, Maybe I should go after him just in case, wouldn’t want him getting kidnapped, now would we?  The enemy would probably think he was a woman with that feminine face of his.  He’d laughed, and finished his game with the other men.  

Lance now shook his shoulders.  “You knew it wasn’t safe, you knew I shouldn’t have been alone, you knew it all.  Yet you did nothing.  You did nothing, James.”  

He nodded, feeling his eyes sting.  “I know I didn’t do anything, and everyday since that night I’ve regretted every single one of my actions.”  

“You better.”  

He nodded.  “But, Lance, that was your own doing.”  

His brows furrowed.  “What?”  

“It’s your fault you’re dead, not mine.  Right now, I should be the one six feet under, haunting your dreams.  You didn’t have to push me away from that grenade, and yet you did.  You did, Lance Corporal.  You showed great bravery that day, willing to die for a comrade,” he clapped him on the shoulder.  “You were given a hero’s burial, and your own medal.  You died gallantly, and you died in my debt not only twenty three dollars, but my life.”  

A vulnerable, earnest tear slid down Lance’s cheek.  “I...I what?”  

He chuckled softly.  “You died a daggum hero, man.”  

Lance wet his lips nervously, and smiled.  “You tell me this every time we meet,” he whispered, smiling at his buddy.  “But I can never believe it.”  

He sighed.  “You better start.”  

He nodded.  “I know,” sighing, he looked out beyond at the endless sea of water.  “But I can’t.”  

“Hard to believe a Caroline boy like yourself can become a hero overnight?”  He nudged him as a jest.  

He chuckled softly and shook his head.  “It’s not that, James.”  

His brows furrowed as he stared outward with his friend.  “What is it then?”  

It took him a minute to answer, so James looked across at him.  He was met with the innocent blue eyes of the man he once knew.  Those eyes were once filled with light, and life.  Lance could get drunk off life, that’s how good of a man he was.  He could make you smile even in the worst of conditions, that was Lance the Lance.  Funny enough, those eyes didn’t look like the ones he knew anymore.  They looked like his own.  Bloodshot, watery, sunken, and virtually ghost-like as Nicole had mentioned.  

“I didn’t do it for the medal, or the title of a hero,” Lance whispered.  “I did it because you needed to keep on living, and I had nothing to lose.”  

As this dream had always ended, James awoke with a gasp, and bathed in his own cold sweat.  Nicole was kneeling vigilantly at his side. 

“James,” she whispered, setting a hand on his chest.  “Do you want to talk about it?” 

He shook his head.  “Not tonight, love.”  

She nodded, but didn’t move.  

He laid his hand on hers for a moment, then got up, pouring himself another drink.  

“Where’re you going?”  She whispered, sitting up.  

He laid her back down, gave her a peck on her lips, and whispered, “The lake helps me, especially looking at it from the kitchen.”  

She nodded.  “Don’t stay up too long.”  

He sighed, kissing her again.  “I love you, go to sleep.” 

She curled up under the covers, and looked up at him.  “I love you, too.” 

So here he was again, back at the window, gazing sightlessly out onto the lake.  The moon shone like an eerie spotlight against the cool, crisp surface of blue water, as if it were trying to reveal the lake’s many secrets hidden below.  He nearly scared the daylights out of himself when he caught a glimpse of his own face in the window.  He barely recognised it. 

What used to be long, curly golden locks of hair was now a tattered, untameable mop hanging limply against his shoulders.  His eyes used to shine with life, like Lance’s, and were as blue as the lake in daylight.  Now those haggard eyes glared back at themselves, like they were filled with hatred towards the other man in the window.  He remembered a time, specifically on his wedding day, when he looked like Prince Charming.  Now what was he?  A haunted man.  His cheeks were the color and texture of parchment, and concave.  His jawline was even more pronounced now, due to the lack of nutrients entering his body.  Yes, this certainly must be rock bottom, he thought as he stared vacantly at the man in the window.  A man whom he did not know.  

So here James was, in the middle of the night in his night clothes staring listlessly out onto that forsaken lake.  And this window.  Why this window, his favorite window to look out of?  

“Because you needed to see this.”  The familiar voice of Lance Brown whispered from outside the window.  The man gazing back at James was no longer himself, it was the young Lance Corporal.  He was wearing khaki pants with a blue polo shirt, the color of his eyes.  He set his fists in his pockets and grinned that poster boy smile. 

    “See what?”  James whispered.  

He stepped aside and let James look back out onto the lake.  “This.”  

“What about it?”  

He sighed.  “Just look at it.”  

James didn’t know what he was looking for, and he didn’t know how long he’d been up.  But the sun rose just above the horizon, casting a golden glow onto the lake’s surface, showing the breathtaking sapphire color of the waves.  The shoreline, littered with tiny gray pebbles, seemed to embrace each stroke of the water’s cool touch.  

“I know what you’ve been thinking about,” Lance began.  “But there is truly beauty behind the shadows in this world.”  

James looked across at him.  “Why are you telling me this?”  

He sighed.  “Because I know what you’ve been thinking,” he looked down at James’s wrists, and his temple.  “Frankly, you have much more to live for.”  

He scoffed.  “Like what?  My buddy’s dead, my dreams are plagued, I’m practically dying already, and I don’t want to do this to my wife anymore.”  

“Exactly.”  

His brows furrowed.  “Are you supporting this now?”  

He shook his head vigorously.  “No, no.  You don’t want to do this to your wife.  She’d be devastated if she found you on the floor one day.”  

He thought about it, and nodded slowly.  “I wouldn’t want to do that to her.”  

“So get help.”  

He chuckled softly.  “I don’t need help.” 

“That’s why they all say.”  

He shot an evil glare at his former friend, and whispered, “How do you suggest I ask for help?”  

He sighed, motioning back towards the house.  “When Nicole wakes up, get all this off your chest.  Talk about your dream, say what it’s doing to you, and she’ll know what to do.  Trust me.”  

James always had trusted his friend, so why not now?  He nodded slowly.  “You have a way with words, Lance.”  

He shrugged indifferently.  “Always have, always will.  Even in death.”  

James chuckled.  “Even in death.”  

“Get some sleep.”  

He arched a brow at him.  “Are you going to join me?”  

He shook his head.  “Probably not tonight.  You’ve had your fill of little ol’ me.” 

The Lieutenant chuckled.  “Yeah, I don’t think I can take much more.”  

He smiled sympathetically.  “I’ll leave you be.  For tonight.”  He added with a wink.  

Chuckling, James shook his head.  Just as fast as he came, Lance was gone again.  James stared back at the lake for a moment, basking in the rays of dawn.  It was a new day, for a new light was shining upon James Hopkins.  Smiling like he hadn’t in years, he made his way back to his wife.  When he laid down, he pulled her close to his chest.  She stirred, then continued to breathe evenly, and deeply.  He smiled and gave her a peck on her forehead.

“Good night, or morning.”  He whispered, smiling as he closed his eyes.  Tonight, his dreams were no longer haunted.