When Will It Stop?

This story is by James Gregory and was part of our 2024 Spring Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.

Danny leaned over and clicked a fresh lithium-ion battery into his prosthetic ankle. As he settled back in his chair, John Denver’s Country Roads started playing on his iPhone. Forgetting his exhaustion from yet another long day at his modest, two-bay auto repair shop, he punched the phone and bellowed, “What’s up, needle dick!”

“Hey, douchebag! How they hangin’?”

“For you, Lance Corporal Fitzpatrick,” he barked, “That’s ‘How they hangin’ Sergeant Douchebag?’”

The response was a drawn-out guffaw. “Yep. Same ol’ Sarge…”

Danny grinned and his hazel eyes sparkled, softening the hard-chiseled face and cleft chin most women found appealing and almost as many men found intimidating. “Well Fitz, if you weren’t the dumbest fucking Marine I’ve had the honor to serve with in Afghanistan, I wouldn’t have the compunction to ride your candy ass.”

“Compunction? Your beautiful wife teach ya that highfalutin word, Danny Boy? Hell, I always knew you married above your station. Anyway, how are Patricia and Kassy?”

Danny chuckled. “Yeah, and Debbie didn’t settle when she married you, you knuckle-dragging SOB? They’re great, man. Kassy’s growing like a freaking weed. Now, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Just been thinkin’ about the squad, ya know? Since ol’ Uncle Sam pulled outta the ‘Stan last year, I’ve been noodling a lot about Slim, Bear, JR, and Rocko and the others we lost over there—and for what, man? For what? I miss the hell outta them, ya know? Do you think about ’em, DB?”

Danny’s hand shook as he rubbed his face and, with a bitter hoarseness he couldn’t control, said, “All the time, dude. All the fuckin’ time.”

“Well, I just wanted to tell ya I love ya, DB, and thanks again for saving all our shit back in the ‘Stan.”

Danny stared at the titanium skeleton where he once had a left leg. “Hey man, that’s all in our past.” But as he said it, he knew better. No. It isn’t—and it probably never will be… An ice-cold shiver sliced down his spine. “This ain’t like you, dude. What’s going on?”

Fitz groaned. “Ah, man… Debbie freakin’ kicked me outta the house. She said every once in a while, over these four years we’ve been outta the Corps, she’d been afraid for me—like I might off myself or something, ya know?” Fitz laughed but it sounded hollow. “However, she said my stewing over the ‘Stan all the time has filled me with so much rage she’d become afraid of me. That I might hurt her or our boys. You believe that shit? She tried to take me to the hospital, but I refused. I said I could handle it. That’s when she tossed my ass out, telling me she, Shawn, and Danny still loved me, but I needed to get my head straight—and the first step was to go to the VA hospital. How could she think that, DB? I’d never, ever hurt them.”

Danny’s heart broke as he heard the tortured soul, his best friend, sobbing over the phone.

“Brother, you listen, and you listen good. I’ve been there, done that.” Before Fitz could interrupt, he continued. “Ten months ago, Patricia kicked me out too. I’d gone back to drinking. I mean, big time. She said I was slipping back to the dark side. That I needed help—and if I wouldn’t get it, she couldn’t accept the risk of me being around Kassy and her.”

“Dude, you never told me! Y’all seemed invincible.”

“Well, being messed up in the head ain’t something easy to share, right?” He waited for a reaction. None came. “The point is, with the help of the docs at the VA and going back on the meds, I got better, and Patricia and I are doing really well now. I know you won’t hurt your family. Debbie’s simply scared, and I bet you are too. Hell, I know I was. But, just like us, y’all can beat this.”

“That’s just it, DB. I’ve done all that PTSD bullshit! The meds, the VA, group sessions with other vets, all of it. Nothing’s worked, man. Maybe I am a freakin’ nut case. Maybe it’d been better if I’d died alongside our brothers…”

Danny struggled to stay calm. “Stop that shit! Look, Shawn, if you’d been KIA, there would be no Shawn Junior or Danny! Debbie needs you and your sons need their dad. Who’s the best person to catch a baseball or football with them? Who’s going to show them how to skip rocks across a lake, or teach them how to drive a stick shift? You, dude. You!”

Fitz yelled, “Dammit, don’t you think I know that?”

 Yes, Danny thought. Get angry. I need you angry. He exhaled, aimed his last weapon… and fired.

“That’s it, Marine! I don’t wanna hear no more of your petty ass bullshit. I’ll grab a plane and be there before you know it. Until then, you will sit tight. You read me, Lance Corporal Fitzpatrick?”

Danny was unprepared for his friend’s gentle mirth. “I know what you’re doing, man. You’re the finest sergeant I’ve ever known, and you’re my closest friend—but my family’s safety is, and always will be, priority numero uno. Don’t worry. Everything’s gonna turn out fine. You’ll see. I love you, Danny Boy, Semper Fi.”

The phone disconnected. “Fitz? Fitz?” He redialed… Voicemail.

Mumbling, “No! No! No!” he scrolled for Debbie’s number. Taking a deep breath, he whispered, “C’mon, c’mon.”

The phone rang three times—an eternity.

“Please pick up. Please pick—”

“Hello—”

In a careful, neutral voice, he said, “Debbie. It’s Danny. Where’s Fitz?”

Startled, Debbie said, “W-Why h-hello, stranger. I figured I’d be hearing from you. He’s at our cabin in the Smokies. Why?”

“Debbie, I just got off the phone with him. I think he’s going to hurt himself.”

“Oh God, no!”

“Deborah! I need you to listen to me, okay?”

“Y-Yes.”

“I tried to call him back but couldn’t get through. I need you to hang up, call 911, and tell them where your cabin is. Can you do that?

“Oh, d-dear God, Danny. I was so scared. He wouldn’t see a doctor. I didn’t know what else to do. I love him so much. If I thought he was going to hurt himself, I never would have—”

“I know, sweetie. It’s not your fault. You need to call 911 right now. Can you do that?”

Sniffling, Debbie said, “Okay. Okay… I can do that.”

“Thatta girl. I’m hanging up so you can make that call. I’ll be standing by if you need me.”

“O-Okay. Bye.”

Danny pocketed his phone, slowly stood, and hurled his laptop computer against the wall.  He needed to do something, anything, but it was all out of his hands. I can’t sit around here waiting for Debbie’s call and I definitely can’t let Patricia see me like this… Fuck it. Grabbing his keys, he drove off to where he could achieve blessed if only temporary, relief.

 

⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕

 

Danny strode into his old bar. The place hadn’t changed a bit. The dark-stained wood floor still creaked, the tiny booths were adorned with the same putrid green tablecloths, and it hadn’t lost its seductive aroma of stale beer and spilled whiskey. He grabbed a seat at the empty bar top. The bartender, Ernie, glanced at him while pouring a beer and did a double take. “My, my. Hey there, Marine!”

Danny nodded once in response.

A minute later, Ernie said, “Here’s your double bourbon with one rock. It’s been what, seven months?”

Danny gave a half-hearted smile. “Yeah, Ernie, something like that.” Hell, he thought, it’s been nine months and seventeen days, but who’s counting…

“Well, welcome home partner.”

Danny tilted his glass in salute and set the drink back down as Ernie walked away. He reached into his wallet and pulled out a creased photo. It was his squad, taken the week before they deployed. They were in their “battle rattle” and holding beers while celebrating Private First Class Bobby “Slim” Austin’s twenty-first birthday. Five months later, Bobby and three of his squad mates would be flying home in body bags.

He lifted his glass again. In the dim light, the amber-colored ambrosia glimmered. The fragrance of smoky oak and caramel tantalized him. He longed to feel the burn of the almost magical elixir as it rolled over his tongue, warmed his body, and deadened his senses. He whispered, “Semper Fidelis, lads…”

Lionel Ritchie, singing Three Times A Lady, echoed from his pocket. He set the drink down, untouched. It was Patricia. He declined the call. Not until I know, babe… He stared at his glass, then the photo. He continued locking his gaze between the two until the single ice cube floating in his bourbon was only a sliver.

His phone buzzed.

It was Debbie.

Danny closed his eyes, offered up a silent prayer, and accepted the call.