The Last Hour (Thompson Sisters), Sheehan-Miles, Charles [reading an ebook .txt] 📗

thing. This is ... not exactly the same, but similar to a civilian grand jury. If we recommend going forward with a court-martial your status will likely change. Do you understand? This is a capital case. In the meantime, you’re restricted to staying within 50 miles of Washington, DC at all times.”

I shuddered. “You’re saying I could get the death penalty.”

“That’s correct. Which means, if we move forward with charges, you’ll probably be confined. But I’m depending on Major Small’s recommendation. Don’t make her look bad.”

I swallowed. “What happens next, sir?”

“I’m going to ask you to sign that you understand the rights I’ve explained to you.”

My phone rang.

“Sorry,” I said. I reached in my pocket and silenced it. Colonel Schwartz slid a sheet of paper across the desk. I read it in detail. It was what he’d said and nothing more. I signed it.

“All right then. I’ve spoken with the Hospital Commander. You’re relieved of duty for the rest of the day. Go home and collect yourself, and you should hear from your attorney by 1700 hours.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. I felt like ... like a little kid. Like I was in front of my dad at ten years old, terrified because I’d gotten in trouble. But this was so much worse.

“You’re dismissed.”

My mouth was dry as I said, “Thank you, sir,” and started to step away.

I stopped when he said, “Oh, Sergeant. One other thing.”

I looked back. “Yes, sir?”

He sighed. “Some bright soul over at the Pentagon decided to announce the investigation. You’re probably going to get some media inquiries. May I suggest not speaking with the media for now?”

“Yeah,” I said, then automatically corrected myself. “Yes, sir. I won’t be talking to any reporters.”

He nodded, and I turned and walked out. Smalls followed me. I turned to her and said, “You ... why?”

She shrugged. “Because I believe you, Sergeant. I know it took a while, but you did the right thing.”

I swallowed. “Thanks,” I replied.

“You’re free to go for now.”

I nodded. My hands were shaking as I took out my phone and dialed Carrie.

Don’t look back (Carrie)

I didn’t know what to do. Ray didn’t answer his phone or respond to my text message. I was shaking with anger, and fear, and my emotions were so muddled and confusing I hardly knew what I felt. I finally headed back to my office, and just as I stepped inside, my cell phone rang.

I scrambled for it.

“Ray?”

“Hey, Doctor Babe,” he said. It sounded like he was just trying to sound casual, but it wasn’t convincing.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Um ... can you get the afternoon off? I’ve got trouble.”

“I saw the Post,” I replied.

He was silent for just a second, then spoke, his voice on the edge of desperation, “It’s already in the fucking paper?”

“Yes,” I responded, my voice low. “Are you ... the paper said you’d been charged with murder? Are you ... under arrest somewhere?”

“No. Meet me at the metro?”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes, let me talk to Doctor Moore.”

I had my things together in about thirty seconds and walked down the hall quickly to Doctor Moore’s office and knocked on the door, then opened it.

I don’t know what he was up to in there. Maybe looking at porn or something. But he jerked in his seat, and his face went red.

“Sorry,” I said, instinctively. “Just needed to give you a heads up, I’ve got a personal emergency. I need to go now.”

He frowned. “You’ll need to fill out a leave form, and I’ll approve it.”

He had to be kidding. I responded, “Will do, I’ll get that to you first thing in the morning.” I started to back out of the office, and as I did so, he said, “Well, I really need it before…”

I didn’t hear the rest of what he said, because I was already half-running down the hall. I’d deal with whatever the paperwork was tomorrow. Right now, Ray needed me.

We both walked into the Medical Center metro station at the same time. Ray pulled me into an embrace, the kind of embrace you might give someone when you’re drowning and trying to hang on for dear life. I squeezed him as hard as I could, my arms wrapped around his shoulders, face buried in the crook of his neck.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

He gave a shaky laugh. “It’s been a rough morning.”

“Let’s go home.”

He nodded, and we walked down to the platform to wait for the train. We were midway up the platform, and the sign said it would be 4 minutes before the next southbound train. I had my hand wrapped around Ray’s right arm, and my eyes fell on a woman who sat looking at an iPad. She was staring at Ray with undisguised alarm.

I glanced up at him. Take him out of the camouflage and put him in a dress uniform, and he didn’t look at all different from his photo on the Washington Post’s website. I think he was oblivious, but it was clear the woman wasn’t. She got up and walked to the other end of the platform.

Fuck her. I tugged on Ray’s arm and took the woman’s abandoned seat.

Ray told me, in halting, barely articulate sentences, about the morning he’d had.

I fixated on one thing. “So this isn’t a court-martial? It’s more like a grand jury?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I’m supposed to get a call from an attorney today.”

“I’m iffy about an Army lawyer. Won’t he just ... throw the case or something if the Army tells him to?”

Ray shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Do you mind if I call my Dad about it? He must know somebody.”

“Of course.”

With a loud roar, the train rushed into the station and we boarded.

We didn’t talk on the ride back to the condo. Instead we just sort of huddled together in our seat, his arm around my shoulder. It was only one stop, but it felt like the ride took a million years. I’d never seen Ray this far