The Old Soldier's Dream

Booker stirred restlessly in his sleep, plagued by a familiar nightmare.

The wind howled like a banshee. He ran, barefoot and shirtless, unmindful of the marbled gray rocks strewn across patches of dying grass. Snowy curls of kinky hair glistened wetly against the dark skin of his chest. His arms pumped madly, his breathing hitching in and out in short gasps. A warning stitch dug painfully at his side, but he couldn’t afford to stop.

He wasn’t going to make it in time.

Around him, the darkness seemed to thicken, blotting out all but two pairs of pale hands on the ground a dozen or so yards ahead. They clutched and clawed at the sparse grass and dirt, at roots buried deeply in the earth. Their owners hung precariously over the cliff's edge. Every passing moment brought them closer to death as their hands began to slip. Their screams mingled with the raging wind as they begged him for help.

Screaming in desperate defiance of fate, Booker leaped forward. Jagged pieces of rock left a half-dozen cuts on his chin and chest as he slid ominously toward the cliff’s edge, kicking up clouds of dirt and mud. Another moment and they’d be lost forever.

His hands closed around clammy skin. “I got you!” He shouted hoarsely. An odd mix of triumph and fear swept through his body. He’d reached them in time, but it wasn’t over yet.

Somewhere nearby, a baby began to wail.

Booker’s arms hung painfully into the open chasm, pulled by the weight of two friends dangling beneath him. Their wide-eyed faces stared up at him, imploring. On his left, Percy tried unsuccessfully to pull himself up, drawing furrows on Booker’s rigid forearm with torn and bloody fingernails. On his right, Sable hung silently, but no less desperate. Her pale face seemed to be wasting away already, as though death had already laid claim to her long ago. If either he or one of them let go, they would drop into the endless black chasm beneath them.

As though reading his thoughts, Percy screamed, “Don’t let go!”

“I won’t,” Booker yelled back, “but hurry! I can’t hold out much longer!”

The baby’s wailing grew louder as if responding to Booker’s weakness.

He was terrified. Worse. He was tired. Sweat soaked his arms and mingled with the dirt, making a crude sort of mud. His strength was ebbing quickly. The choice became obvious then. He would have to drop one to save the other. The thought sickened him. He couldn’t – wouldn’t - do that.

Sable’s blue-eyed gaze caught Booker’s. Her fear was gone. She smiled sadly. He shouted, “Don’t!” Then she let go, and he didn’t have the strength to hold onto her alone. She slipped from his grasp as if she were slathered in butter. Booker’s fingers snapped together as she fell into the chasm.

The baby’s wail increased until its sound drowned out the howling wind.

“Sable, No!” Booker’s scream seemed to go on forever, ripping from his throat like razor blades. Hot tears blurred his vision as he sobbed her name over and over. At some point, he remembered Percy and shifted against the cold earth, intending to use both hands to pull his friend away from the abyss.

But it was too late. Percy was gone, too. Only the bleeding furrows raked into his forearm showed proof he’d ever been there at all.

The baby’s wailing reached a crescendo. Booker joined his voice to it, howling in pain and fury. Lightning split the sky in two, chasing him out of the dream and into wakeful shudders.

***

“So, Francis called me the other day,” Percy said. “Told me you flipped out on her or something.” He sipped his beer and winked. “I told her I’d talk to you about it but that you were probably just worried you’d left your diaper at home, being an old man and all that.”

Percy chuckled, but Booker had never felt less like laughing. He felt like iron chains were tightening around his stomach, squeezing acid into his throat. His mouth tasted sour. He was lost in an endless desert without a compass, sure that any direction he chose would be the one that led to his downfall.

The nightmares were becoming unbearable, threatening to shatter Booker's sanity. He had to confess to Percy soon before they consumed him entirely. Besides, he owed his friend at least that much.

But once he did, their forty-plus-year friendship would almost certainly end. It might also spell the end of Percy’s marriage. And what about Sable? Didn’t he owe his continued silence to her? He’d known her for longer, after all. Was her continued friendship worth any less than Percy’s? 

Sable wasn’t here, though. Percy was.

The night was growing late. They sat together in Percy’s kitchen, drinking Bud Lite and reminiscing about the good ol’ days. Well, Percy was anyway. Booker had barely touched his. The blue and white can sitting on the coaster had grown warm in the last hour; the beads of condensation evaporated, just like his peace of mind.

“What’s wrong, brother? You look like you’ve swallowed a bucket of spoiled lemon juice.” Percy’s weathered face was lined with concern. He gripped Booker’s shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Come on, man, out with it; what’s got you looking so ugly?”

Booker could only stare blankly for a moment. The concern in Percy’s gaze made what he had to do feel so much harder. He suddenly wished Percy would sneer or crack a cruel joke at Booker’s expense. Do anything but continue to look at him with such open regard. But that wasn’t Percy’s way. It had never been.

They’d been friends forever. Since the army days. Booker signed up in 1968, not yet a full day past his 18^th birthday. Sable had seen him off to boot camp, her wet tears still warming his clean-shaven cheeks as the bus pulled away from Annapolis, carrying him to an unknown future. Thoughts of Vietnam were at the forefront of his frightened mind, but as it turned out, he never set foot in that hellhole.

After a year in service, Booker had been convinced to join a medical research volunteer program in Aberdeen, Maryland. They promised him an easy couple of months. No KP duties, no guard detail, weekends off, and such. Instead, what he got there had been the worst experience of his life. The Army Chemical Corp subjected him to several experimental drugs, mostly LSD and BZ. 

The experience was hell, but he’d also met Percy, a fellow volunteer soldier. They’d become immediate friends. Percy’s sense of humor and iron will were exactly what Booker needed during those nightmarish weeks and later through the most depressing times when life had seemed meaningless. Without him, Booker had little doubt he wouldn’t have survived the years between then and now.

After they’d been discharged, Booker brought Percy back to Annapolis and introduced him to Sable. Watching love bloom between his two best friends was like watching the sun rise over a distant horizon on a clear day. It made all the horror he’d endured in the Army feel worth it.

Now, though. God help him, it would all end.

“Percy,” he said, “I have something I need to tell you.” His voice was choked with grief. “Something you aren’t going to like.”

***

“I think maybe I’ve had a little too much to drink,” Booker muttered to himself. Quite the understatement. He felt like he’d just come off one of those Tilt-A-Whirl rides at the state carnival. The room wasn’t quite spinning yet, but it would be if he didn’t stop.

Percy was . . . somewhere. For now, Booker sat alone at the bar, inspecting the last bead of bourbon through the haze of the shot glass. He’d tilt it left, watch the golden-brown liquid slide with it, then tilt it to the right. Fascinating.

“If someone stared at me the way you stare at that glass, handsome, I’d be tempted to take him home and give him something to make his eyes pop out.”

A woman stood beside his seat, facing the bar, smelling of sweet perfume and light sweat. Not at all unpleasant. He thought he recognized her. A beautiful woman with olive skin just beginning to show wrinkles, her dark hair highlighted with streaks of gray. Hazelnut eyes containing twinkles of amusement stirred some vague part of his memory but slipped away before he could grab hold of it. That was happening more and more these days.

He leaned back far enough in his seat to get a good look at her considerable assets. “Baby, if I stared at you long enough, I wouldn’t be able to walk out of here without people pointing at my pants,” he said.

She laughed then. A charming, light sound that put a smile on his face and sent shivers down his spine.

“Do I know you, beautiful? You look so familiar.” Booker squinted, but that only blurred the shape of her face, so he gave up. Her name would either come to him or it wouldn’t.

“You’re always so funny when you’re drunk,” she giggled. “Funny and flirtatious, you old hound.” She caught the barman’s attention and waved him over. “Where’s Percy?”

“He’s . . . uh, I don’t know, exactly. Somewhere here, that’s all I know.” He rubbed absentmindedly at the stubble on his cheek. “We’re celebrating, I think.”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “You think?” She ordered a rum and coke, sliding her credit card to the barman. “What are you celebrating?”

“I – uh, it doesn’t matter,” he muttered. The truth was, he couldn’t remember that either. He really had drunk too much. The last time he’d had this much had been, what, after leaving the Army? He cleared his throat. “I’d rather talk about you, gorgeous. What are you doing here?”

“Smooth,” she said, her lips pursed in amusement. “I’m looking for a lover this evening.” Eyeing him up and down, she grinned wickedly, “you know anyone who might fit the bill?”

“Oh, I think I might know someone,” he grinned in return, and ordered another drink.

***

Sometime later, his senses returned to the sound of heavy breathing. He was lying in a strange bed, in a strange room. The air was cool, but his body felt hot. There was movement atop him, at his waist. Someone close by moaned breathily. He focused on the sound, bringing his mind fully awake, and gasped as recognition rocked him like a hard slap to the face.

“Sable?” His stomach lurched. He tried to pull away. “Sable, what the fuck?!”

She stopped grinding on him and opened her eyes. Bewilderment replaced the look of heightened pleasure on her face. “I was just about to come, what –“

“GET THE FUCK OFF ME!” Booker shoved her, repulsed. She fell off him with an indignant squawk. Scrambling sideways, he nearly fell to the floor in his hurry to get out of bed. He snatched his clothes off the floor, then recognized the cheap carpet, the small desk next to the bed, and the cheap walled air conditioning unit. They were in a fucking hotel room. “What the hell are you – we doing?”

Sable’s face darkened as she struggled to sit up, pulling the blanket over her breasts. “I was having some of the best sex of my life before you went all crazy on me! What the hell is wrong with you, Booker?”

He opened his mouth, but suddenly, it was all he could do to avoid throwing up. A wave of sudden nausea hit him. He staggered backward, turned, and began pulling on his pants.

“Are you actually leaving?” Her incredulous tone was laced with anger. “What the fuck, Booker? Where are you going to go? I drove you here, remember?”

He didn’t remember. He didn’t want to. Booker wanted to forget this whole night and pretend it never happened. He threw on his shirt, picked up his shoes, and stumbled out the door, trying not to vomit.

Later that night, he’d had the nightmare for the first time.

***

Booker trailed off, his voice hitching. Tears streamed freely down his face, blurring his vision. He had felt the wall between them grow with every word, felt his friendship slipping away like an eel through his hands.

“I – I’m so sorry, P-Percy. I s-s-swear I d-didn’t nuh-know it was her.”

For a moment, Percy only stared at him. His eyes shone with unshed tears; his face twisted into an expression Booker didn’t recognize at first. When he raised a trembling hand, Booker flinched, expecting Percy to hit him. Instead, Percy gently laid his hand on Booker’s shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze.

“Oh, Booker. What they did to you, to us, was so fucked up. I’m so sorry, brother.”

The statement startled Booker out of his emotional state. Percy was sorry? Why should Percy apologize to him?

“It never gets any easier,” Percy continued, and now there was a hint of anger in his voice. “I hate it every time I have to tell you.” He looked into Booker’s confused, tear-streaked face and smiled sadly. “Sable is dead, brother. Been gone for almost 20 years now.”

Booker blinked. “What? No, that’s impossible. I just told you I was with her two weeks ago.”

But Percy was shaking his head. “No, brother, you only thought you were with her. It’s the LSD, man, and the BZ. You had another hallucination. You’ve had them since leaving Edgewood, the fucking bastards. But they – the hallucinations, I mean – started getting worse once the dementia started. I’m sorry, brother, but you didn’t sleep with Sable. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“But I, no, you’re wrong, I - “

“Sable died giving birth to my son, your godson, Lucas. Remember? It was Francis you went to the hotel with the other night, not Sable. I told you, she called me, telling me you freaked her out, man. That was her in the hotel room.”

Could it be true? Booker thought about how hard it was to remember some things and realized it could be. He thought of the Edgewood experiments, the hallucinations, the inability to focus, and the torment he’d gone through. How Sable and Percy had helped him live with the trauma for years afterward.

But he didn’t remember her dying. And yet, maybe a part of him did. In his dream, she had died to the sound of a baby’s wail. Lucas’ wail. It had to be true.

Percy bent over Booker and pulled him into a silent embrace, trying to comfort the old soldier as he sobbed.