Shadows in the Light: Oscar’s Story

Hey, all. So this happened. I started writing something for Oscar and he insisted that I had to tell the whole story. The problem with that is it took us back a decade or more, and when I finished, I was already at 40k. I wasn’t going to release it as a novella, so thought I’d do it on my blog. Every Monday, I’m going to post a chapter of the story. There are twelve and the ending will take us to a point where we can begin a story for Oscar and Max, with a little Haven and Sammy thrown in for good measure. Please note, this has not been professionally edited. If you see something seriously wrong, let me know and I’ll fix it.

Without further ado, here’s chapter one:

Twelve Years Ago

They say that the mirror never lies. Well, if what mine was saying turned out to be true, it was a fucking douchebag. For the first time in eighteen weeks, I dared to step in front of the damn thing and really give myself the once over. Probably shouldn’t have, because believe me, it wasn’t a pretty sight.

Across my body were jagged pink lines where the shrapnel ripped through me. They were fading, unlike the jumble of memories in my head. I remember the white-hot pain as the pieces seared through my flesh. Looking at me today, you wouldn’t have guessed at one time I had been referred to as a pretty boy. Of course, this was before puberty. Dark hair with even darker eyes framed a face with soft, delicate skin that had never seen a zit in its life. I could walk in a room and heads—guys and girls—would turn in my direction. All that changed as I matured—well, physically at any rate. My body grew thicker, the layer of baby fat increased to more than love handles. My neck, which had never really been something to speak of, disappeared between my head and oversized body. It seemed overnight I went from being a twink to becoming the elephant man.

Still, I was loved by my parents. They doted on their little Oscar, and told me that I shouldn’t pay attention to what the kids at school said, because I was lovely inside and out. I snarkily told them they should invest in a good pair of glasses. They shook their head and ruffled my hair. Still, they reminded me every day how special I was to them, and even if no one saw it now, one day everyone would. It made my teen years bearable to me.

Then came the day I got home from school and found a line of police cars outside the little store we ran. I stood in shock as a policewoman hustled me to a waiting van, which whisked me away to a place for me to stay temporarily. All the while I cried, asking what was going on. I could see the looks of pity on their faces, and I knew. Later another officer came and explained that my parents, whom I’d loved more than life itself, had been murdered in cold blood. Oh, the police said it was a botched robbery. The store had been hit more than once, so it was possible, I guess. Still, I was seventeen, and the life I thought I was going to have went out the window. There wouldn’t be living in the sweet house where I grew up. I wouldn’t inherit the store and grow old there like my parents. I wouldn’t find someone to love. No, that life was denied me by the rage that filled me. I hated everyone and everything.

After I discovered no one wanted the sullen teen who stayed in his room all the time, I figured out I had a choice. I could continue the way I was going, or I could step up and be the man my parents saw. I chose the latter option and joined the Marines. Fortunately, my eighteenth birthday was close enough that there wasn’t any hassle about my choices. It took a lot of time, and a shit ton of patience, but eventually the Corps gave me a new family. We were close, because you needed to have your team’s back. When they found out I was gay, not one of them gave a shit. Did they tease me? Hell, yes. Constantly. But not in a mean way. More in a ‘you’re our family and only we get to talk to you like this’ kind of way.

To them it was a fact of life, and I was their brother in arms. They took me under their wings and helped to shape my future. Together we worked to changed our bodies. Where I had been a hefty teen, I cultivated muscle. I was now a hulking bruiser. Six foot six, two hundred fifty pounds, and all of it lean and mean. They nicknamed me The Little Hulk, which was funny until we stripped off and went to the shower. When they saw what I had swinging between my legs, that name got changed to something a lot less flattering. Still, it was in fun, especially on the night I found Merkowitz waiting for me, desperate to know if I could get it up. I did and despite claims of being straight, he started out on his knees before I bent him over in the shower for my first ever sexual experience. I think it was better for me than it had been for him. I became cocky, while he endured some ribbing for the trouble he had getting over the wall on the obstacle course. We never told anyone what happened, it was never repeated, and as far as I knew, no one ever found out about it.

I tore away from my thoughts and tried to get back to perusing my reflection. As it usually did when I started thinking about my life, my mind refused to let go of the past. I scrubbed a hand over my hair. When I was younger, I’d kept it long. The weeks I’d gone without access to a barber had it growing back, curling at the ends. I preferred it shorn almost to the scalp.

The biggest change, though, was my outlook on… well, everything. When I was younger and coddled by my parents, I thought I had a near perfect life. Turns out everything I believed was colored by the freedoms I had. Once I got out into the world, I had to change my ideals because I saw too many who didn’t have even the basic necessities. My country, great as it was, had little problem turning a blind eye to the realities of life. I could no longer afford to be that person. I had to be better.

After we finished training, we got sent to the Middle East. Let me tell you, it was a total shit hole. It brought everything I learned about the US into razor sharp focus. You don’t know how much you miss things like clean water and a bed that you don’t have to turndown to ensure that nothing crawled in to escape the godawful heat. Guys finding a snake or scorpion in their beds wasn’t uncommon. Of course, having someone put it there so they could have a laugh at your reaction was just as likely. As much as it sucked, I was there with guys I’d literally become a man with. Ones who I forged friendships that would last a lifetime. Unfortunately, it turned out that life was pretty short-lived.

My squad of six men was sent to secure an area. To this day, I can’t recall why we were there, and what memories I do retain are hazy at best. Flashes of light, loud bangs, screams of dying men. I remember Patrick Murphy, a man of flame red hair, some of the greenest eyes, hovering over me, that perpetual smile of his assuring me everything would be okay. He knelt there, telling me he’d get me out, and we’d be fine. He put his hands under my armpits and dragged me away from—something. Then the expression on his face changed to one of shock and disbelief when part of his head was blown away. I remembered the light in his eyes went out as he toppled forward, the weight of his body as it covered mine, his blood as it seeped into my jacket. I pushed him off and grabbed his weapon. I don’t remember anything after that, except the doctors telling me how lucky I was that I survived with only a bunch of cuts.

Lucky. Fuck that. Losing my second family was worse in many ways. While I would always miss my parents, these were men who’d chosen me to be part of their lives. They weren’t my blood, but they were my brothers. And now they were gone. In one hellish instant, they went from being living, breathing people to corpses. That rage I had experienced at the death of my parents flared back to life, stronger than ever. I vowed to keep that in my heart, because it was what would keep me from being hurt again. No more would I allow myself the illusory family that let me have it all. Never again.

I was in the hospital for a little more than a week. The place was strange. I didn’t see anyone who wore a military uniform. What I did see was a wave of people who bustled around like ants. They were all dressed in crisp white jackets looking as though they were models instead of doctors. They rarely spoke to me, other than to ask me how I was feeling. Beyond that, it was mostly a lot of uh-huh and okay. When I asked why I was in a private place, instead of being in a military hospital, I was told that it would be explained in due time. That time came just prior to my second week when a tall, thin man, with bright blue eyes and a pencil-thin mustache stepped into my room. He dismissed the doctors who were checking on me. As soon as they scurried off, he closed the door. He didn’t say anything for a long while, just stood there and stared at me.

My anger at being looked at like a bug flared. “Can I help you?”

His gaze ran over my body, and a slight sneer crossed his face. His expression didn’t change as began to rattle things off. “Oscar Lee Goodwin, born December 23, 1985 to Myra and Jason Goodwin. Parents both deceased. No siblings, no immediate family. Decorated Marine, sole survivor of  the 2005 attack on the Kenpa weapon depot.”

Hearing my life from his lips pissed me the fuck off. I tried to get out of bed, but moved too quickly. Shooting pain up my right side forced me back onto the bed, clutching at my ribs. Still didn’t stop me from giving the bastard a death glare, though.

“Who the hell are you?”

For the first time he gave me a smile. It wasn’t pleasant, more like someone who wasn’t used to social pleasantries. When I thought about it, I realized it reminded me of a snake sizing up a mouse. He stepped over the the bed and extended his hand. “My name is Knight and I’m trying to determine if you’re going to be a member of my team.”

 

Six Years Ago

“You know what? Fuck you.”

Knight sat behind the big oak desk, his Cheshire grin in full force. It hadn’t improved any since I met him. “So you don’t want the job? That’s fine. I’m sure I can pass it over to Rook. He’ll probably have someone who’s willing to take it and get it done every bit as well as you could. Maybe I’ll ask him if Haven’s available.”

Haven. Again. I hadn’t met the man yet, but he’d apparently impressed the right people. Knight had lorded over me the fact that he’d not only gone through his training in record time, but he also tossed his gun to the guy in charge, telling him he couldn’t very well use it when it had been loaded with blanks. That kind of pissed me off, because I tried shooting the fuckers who got in my way. Carefully planted squibs made me think I’d gotten a killshot in, but it was all a bunch of bullshit. When I reached the end of my test, I was pumped and ready for more action. You’ve got no idea how quickly it sucks the wind from your sails to find out you’d been played. Which was exactly what Knight was doing now.

I got good marks in my training with the organization. Hand to hand, I didn’t find anyone I couldn’t take. My skills with a weapon were equally impressive, once I got done with my rehab. But no matter what I did, all I heard about was Haven. Was I jealous? Maybe a bit. Still, Knight assured me that I was every bit as good—if not better—than Rook’s guy. I wanted the chance to test that theory in the worst way.

Knight had a way of getting under my skin. Since that day in the hospital two years ago, he’d been on my back, pushing me to be better than I was. As much as I learned in the Marines, he and the group he represented taught me so much more. They gave me purpose that went beyond the Corps. Where I fought for nameless, faceless enemy in the military, Knight sent me to help people directly. I found out about them and made a connection to their anguish. Helping them helped me by bleeding a bit of that anger from me. It never lasted long, but the rare moments when I felt fully human, were something I cherished. And helped when I fucked my way through everyone I met.

God, those were the days.