Sunken Graves, Alan Lee [all ebook reader .txt] 📗

“Dismaying, isn’t it. I see your pity,” said Lynch.

Her voice sounded small. “That’s not pity, it’s compassion. I honor our veterans.”

“It happened outside Darzab, Ms. Hathaway. A skirmish between Taliban and ISIS. Officially the American forces weren’t involved. But if you pull on a few unofficial levers you see Daniel was there, the Green Berets on loan. You see, the skirmish was over and Daniel survived intact, until he didn’t. He and his small detachment were returning. Something went wrong and his own friends launched a salvo at him.”

As Lynch spoke, he watched the color drain from Jennings’ face and he found it exquisite.

Jennings cleared his throat. “That’s true.”

“Of course is it. I don’t lie.”

“An Apache got jumpy. We took a volley of hellfire. No fun.”

“Daniel the medic survived but the others didn’t. A medic not worth his epsom powder, apparently. Did you know, Ms. Hathaway, that the Jennings family tree has an odd shape? They produce only boy babies. No girls. It’s real, look it up. For generations, not a girl has been birthed. A bizarre genetic trait, isn’t it, the men providing no X chromosomes.”

Hathaway appeared dizzy. Overwhelmed and weak. Lynch pressed his advantage.

“Within Daniel’s kin, the boys join the military. Every single male. Yet Daniel is the first to be discharged due to friendly fire.” Lynch felt dizzy too but his was from intoxicating mirth, delighting in the sheen of perspiration on their faces. It felt so good. He closed his lips and sucked the taste of blood from his teeth. Swallowed. “I wonder, Daniel, sometimes at night when you’re lying in bed awake, sweating from the PTSD, from the existential angst and sexual frustration, do you question whether your friends shot you on purpose?”

“That’s enough,” snapped Hathaway.

“I bet you wish the hellfire had consumed you. I wish that sometimes, about myself. What a high.”

“Mr. Lynch, it’s time for you to go.”

“Is it?” Lynch made a show of looking at his watch. “For you, I’ve got all the time. But perhaps you’re right—this conversation would be better over drinks.”

A knock at the door. Another intruder and Lynch rolled his eyes. These teachers with nothing to do other than mingle and chat.

It was Coach Murray. Whistle around his neck.

“Hey,” he said. “I been looking for you, Jennings.”

Lynch stood. Tugged his shirt and jacket into place.

“You have practice now, Coach Murray. Or did you get yourself fired already?”

“Nah, championship game is tomorrow, Lynch. I was wondering if Jennings wanted to address the team. Give us that Green Beret perseverance speech. Ms. Hathaway, you want to come too?”

It was a lie. Lynch’s animal instincts were keen on fear and he sensed it from Murray. Fear and some defiance. The man kept his eyes locked on Lynch, like a good football coach, but was breathing heavily—he’d run here.

Sent by Angela Pierce, more backup. All of these fools trying to slow him down.

Lynch’s vision began to turn red and cloudy at the edges, a dangerous sign. When he died, it would be from a heart attack.

“You cowards. Absolute cowards…” He closed his mouth before blood trickled out. His gums throbbed with his pulse. A long pause and he swallowed. “I’m leaving. You boys hold each other and run back to Ms. Pierce and everyone have a good cry. Maybe your periods are in sync, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Lynch went for the door, moving like an angry hippopotamus, heavy, shaking his head. Murray gave way, backing toward Jennings’ desk.

Near the bookshelves, Lynch caught sight of novels waiting to be taught, neatly stacked. He took one.

“Catcher in the Rye. Read this one, Daniel? It’s about a pissant little boy trying everything to be happy and nothing works. Maybe you can relate.” Lynch threw the book in a soft frisbee-toss and it landed on the floor next to Jennings.

“What about this one, Daniel, The Invisible Man. Do you feel unseen? What a coincidence, you were just invited for a speech. Too bad you can’t live up to your name.” Lynch threw that book too, harder, and stoic Jennings caught it.

“Mr. Lynch, please leave,” said Hathaway.

“Oooh, this one, Daniel, The Right Stuff. You and Chuck Yeager, losers who never got picked.” This novel was in hardback and he flung it. The cover opened like an airplane’s flaps and veered it off course. The book landed on Ms. Hathaway’s deck and knocked a picture frame to the floor. The glass shattered.

“Hey, easy now, Lynch,” shouted Murray.

“Next, To Kill a Mockingbird! What’s the matter, Daniel, losing your innocence and faith in mankind? There’s NO Atticus Finch to save you!” Lynch threw the book and missed Jennings, who’d stood. The book hit the wall and the binding broke and the pages scattered like a shot pigeon.

“Lynch!”

“Maybe Moby Dick! Think you can handle your white whale, Sergeant fucking NOBODY!” Lynch howled the insult. The novel, heavy, four hundred pages, was a fastball at Jennings’ head and he ducked, slipping. Instead of hitting him, the book connected with the electric pencil sharpener across the room. Batteries and wooden shavings erupted as a mini grenade.

Lynch was gone before they could recover. He frothed crimson into his jacket sleeve, held to his mouth. He hoped Jennings would come after him. He hoped the grunt would hop hop hop this way and get his back broken. There was no question who’d win a contest of brute strength.

But Daisy Hathaway couldn’t see him like this. Not like this, Mr. Hyde peeking through the curtains, grinning and mad.

Lynch had enough self-awareness to know it better to wait. She would be worth the effort.

Jennings’ pulse hadn’t risen. He’d used the antagonism to force focus and he’d deal with the anger and fear later.

Hathaway lowered unsteadily into her teacher’s chair.

“Jesus,” said Coach Murray. “I mean Jesus help us.”

Jennings let the book he’d caught, The Invisible Man, drop onto the desk.

“I’m ready,” he said, “to deal with this.”

23

Lynch called his office manager to cancel the rest of his appointments that day. When Jerry balked, Lynch threatened