Restore Read online

  “You forget my beer?”

  Taking out a bowl, I start cracking eggs. “How about, like, not tying one on tonight, Mark?”

  He turns the bottle in his hand and then starts peeling the label off. “Trying to tell me what to do?”

  “No. I’m simply looking out for my friend.”

  Mark purses his lips while shaking his head. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

  The first whiff of steak hits my nose and my stomach growls. Changing the subject, somewhat, I say, “If you want, I’ll talk to Steve about you staying in the main house. You don’t have to sleep in the—”

  “I’m not staying in New Mexico.”

  “What do you mean by that?” I lean against the counter, turning my back to the stove. “You’re on payroll—”

  “Never asked to be. Remember, that was your doing?”

  Glancing back at the skillet, I lower the flame and flip the meat. “What do you plan on doing then?”

  “Returning to Michigan.”

  “Why? There’s nothing for you—”

  “Ko is there.”

  Once upon a time, before Ko Castaneda’s ambition got the best of her and I included her in my twisted mission, Mark had a passing interest in her. They never hooked up, though, because she couldn’t deal with his arrogance. He claimed he couldn’t get tied down with a female who had more determined than he was. So this sudden intrigue about Ko concerns me.

  “Since when did you care about Ko?”

  He shrugs. “She’s alone that’s all.”

  “Her fault.”

  “True, but she didn’t anticipate her mother’s rejection.” Mark glances up. “When Taft caught up with me, I was helping Ko find someplace to live.”

  Returning to the steak, I say, “I’m really sorry she’s having a hard time, but she should have thought about that before betraying us. I would have gladly helped her.”

  “Do you think—”

  “No! Like, don’t ask me to help her! I won’t jeopardize my marriage for her.” Plating the meat, I start the eggs in the same skillet. “Ko Castaneda isn’t worth it.”

  “Regardless of what you think, I’m still leaving.”

  Although I know it’s the best thing for all of us, I don’t like the idea of Mark being so far away. We’ve always looked out for each other. Thanks to Rihana and Viyan, my life changed. I don’t do shit just for the fun of it anymore. Mark has no one in his corner but me. His parents separated, and his father disowned him years ago. It’s not like he’s going to go to his uncle Leon or his twin cousins Griffin and Gliese. That would require him moving to Canada—not happening.

  “Help Ko and, like, come back. We could use you here. I need you here,” I say with my eyes focused on the eggs. If I look up… I’m not good at saying goodbye, especially to this man.

  Chair legs scoot across the ceramic tiles. Footsteps shuffle behind me. Mark’s warm hands land on my shoulders. “It’s better this way, Asher. You have a wife and kid who you love dearly. If you need me, call me. You know I’ll always be here for you.”

  I don’t turn around until I hear the door open. My heart skips a beat, and a knot twists in my gut. “I thought we were eating.”

  “Naw. I’m not that hungry. I’m gonna pack my gear and have Niang take me to the airstrip.”

  A lump forms in my throat. “Call me when you get to Michigan.”

  “I’ll send you a text. Go kiss Viyan for me. Tell her Uncle Mark loves her.” Mark lingers in the doorway for a minute before pulling the door closed behind him.

  And just like that, he’s gone again.

  —

  In the morning, a representative from the United Nations arrives at the airstrip with a team of bodyguards. The group meets most of the morning. Close to noon, the door to the ready room opens. A heavyset man steps out with two guards tugging Salk between them. Restraints are on the former leader’s wrists. He sneers at me as the group passes.

  Steve joins me in the hall. “It’s all over, Asher. I turned over your recording. Salk and the other leaders will stand trial for their crimes.”

  “What happens to the country?” Great that the bastards will be held accountable for their actions, but someone has to lead the people.

  “For now, the military will be in charge.”

  Riza? That can’t be good. “What about the clones? The Helix?”

  “That’s going to be complicated. I’ll be working with a task force to find the families for the Helix members.”

  “Good for them, but the clones?” Butterflies dance in my gut.

  “The U.N. will house them.”

  Now I’m seeing red and have to tuck my hands into my pockets. “You mean that the clones will become, like, prisoners. That’s unfair. None of those kids asked for that fate.”

  “It’s not about being fair. It’s about what’s best for them. At the moment, officials don’t know what to do.” Steve and I walk out the building where a Jeep and a driver waits. “Keep in mind what’s truly important. Finding someone to lead the AR is the prime directive. Taking care of a hundred clones, unfortunately, isn’t a priority.”

  —

  Much later, I’m enjoying my family. Viyan plays at my feet while Rihana sits beside me. We’re still staying in the main house for now. Everyone I love is around me.

  Mama Sibley enters the family room carrying a tray with coffee and mugs. “I might have a suggestion for you,” she offers.

  Steve smiles broadly. “What’s your suggestion, Sibley?”

  “You know before the New Order took over and the United States fell, we had the opportunity to put a woman in office.”

  “You’re not wanting to run, are you?” I ask my grandmother.

  “Hell no. I wouldn’t want that headache for anything. But I do know someone. Her father ran this country quite successfully. Her mother even ran for president. I heard the woman might be interested.”

  My grandfather puts his arms around her waist. “If you think this person might be interested, give her a call. This country doesn’t need any more scientists running things.”

  That’s for sure. But it’s going to take a lot more than one person to rebuild our country.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “Imagine safe streets and beautiful homes. Imagine your children getting a better education. The remnants of war still pervade our communities. We can have a better tomorrow. It starts with every one of us.”

  —from the Honorable M. Raman Bashur,

  Kurdish political & religious thinker

  A year later…

  At the urging of my wife and my grandparents, I start therapy again. It’s my third go around. Maybe this time it’ll stick. The first time I tried was after rioters killed my family and my grades slipped. The second time came after I attacked a fellow soldier for some dumb shit he said. I spent a month on a couch before I received the green light to return to duty. Come to think of it, that might be when I earned the rep of ‘take no shit.’ Never backing down to a challenge will do that, I suppose.

  Mama Sibley found me a therapist named Dr. Lee. I still wasn’t on board with counseling, but after another horrendous nightmare—I awakened panicked, clutching my chest, and drenched in sweat—Rihana made the call. She refused to sleep in the same bed with me if I didn’t get some help.

  Dr. Lee’s office is in a dilapidated storefront. Lemon air freshener works overtime trying to cover the smells of dust and mildew. Files are stacked precariously on a rusted metal cabinet in a corner. Potted plants, many of them parched, line the window sill. A small table, to the right of the leather sofa I’m sitting on, holds a crushed box of tissue and a dish of wrapped candies. I suspect the beige shag carpet holds its fair share of mysterious fragments.

  Despite the shabby appearance, the atmosphere is comforting. The inspirational quotes gracing the walls remind me of things my mother used to say—Native American proverbs intermixed with Bible verses. I exhale and lean my head back.
r />   The average-looking Latina, sitting in a comfortable chair with its stuffing leaking out the sides, is from Michigan in my neck of the woods, Taylor. She reminds me of the heavy-set, dark-haired counselor I had in high school. I think her name was Ramirez. Dr. Lee is plump like the former shrink.

  “This isn’t your first time in therapy.” She glances down at the file perched on her lap and says, “You list two different names—Asher Jones and Aza Ahmad. Forgive me if I mispronounced the second one. Which do you prefer?”

  “I’ll answer to either.”

  She scribbles something on her pad. “From what I’ve read, it seems that you’ve been a stickler to rules your entire adult life.”

  I shrug.

  “Let’s return to my question. I asked which name do you want me to call you, not what you’ll answer to.”

  “Is there a difference?”

  Dr. Lee sits the folder on the side table and crosses her legs. “Yes, there is. One implies that you have a choice to make. The other allows me to choose. You’re here to fix whatever’s wrong in your life, which means you have to make decisions.”

  Nodding, I ask, “What if I’m unsure who I am?”

  “Then I would ask, what brought on this uncertainty? Has this been a lifelong issue or a recent development?”

  A thin smile comes and goes on my face. “Depends on what you mean by recent. Does having my whole world upset in high school count as recent or lifelong?”

  “You’re referring to the deaths of your parents and brother?”

  “Yeah. Don’t forget losing my girlfriend, sister-in-law, niece, and nephew.”

  Those words elicit a sigh from the doctor. “That’s a lot of loss to handle.”

  “I didn’t handle it well.”

  “According to your file, you didn’t deal with it at all. Let’s fast forward a bit. You’ve had a successful career with Riza, so I’m assuming you managed your emotions. What’s changed?”

  “Nothing’s changed. It’s more like my past caught up with me.”

  “Is that why you’re here now? Your past is an issue?”

  “No. It’s more like the urging of my family. They think—”

  “I’m going to cut you off right there.” She taps her tablet. “Therapy won’t work if you’re doing it for someone else. This is about you, Asher. It can’t be about anyone else.”

  I nod. So many thoughts swirl in my head. Fletcher once said I was a ‘man lost in the desert.’ At one point in life, Mark thought I should speak with someone when my nightmares started scaring him. It’s what prompted Rihana to make the call. Maybe that’s the starting point.

  “I have these nightmares, terrors if you want to be honest. I prefer not sleeping—that’s how bad they can be.”

  She leans forward and encourages, “Do you think you can tell me about them?”

  I shift my position, and the soft leather squeaks. Just the thought of my nightmares freaks me out. I take a few short breaths trying to maintain control.

  “We don’t have to talk about them today if it makes you feel better.” Her tone is gentle, soothing.

  “No. I’m good.” I clear my throat. “The worst one doesn’t even feel like a dream. I’m catapulted to the night I lost my family. The Street Wars were just starting. It was hot as fuck… I’m sorry.”

  “Apologies aren’t necessary. Use whatever words that make you feel comfortable.”

  “Well, like I was saying it was a really hot night. I couldn’t sleep. In my dream, I go straight from waking up to standing in the center of the street. People move around me. They’re stepping around something in the road. I look down and my mother’s body lies near my feet. People step over her like a pile of rubbish. Gunshots ring out, and I see my father die again. And then I see the truck dragging my brother Shiloh away. Only in the dream, I end up in his place. They’re dragging me away. I die. Every. Single. Time.” I shudder.

  “Wow. I can see how that would keep anyone awake at night.” She taps something on her tablet. “Were you and your brother close?”

  “Yeah. I wanted to be him growing up. Everything he did, I tried to do.”

  “How so?”

  “He married the girl next door after getting her knocked…pregnant. I dated her little sister and got her pregnant. When he enlisted in the National Guard, I wanted to join with him.”

  “Is that what led you to Riza?”

  “Eventually. I joined JROTC in high school.”

  She taps away again. “So what did you want to be when you grew up? Did you see yourself graduating from college?”

  I shrug my shoulders. “To be honest?”

  “I’d prefer it.”

  “Although my parents both graduated from college, I didn’t see it in my future. They were public servants, not a lot of money in that.”

  Dr. Lee points out, “You could have gotten a scholarship.”

  “If I had kept my grades up, but I really didn’t think about college. School came easy to me when I cared about it.”

  “Understood, but there had to be something you wanted for your future.”

  “No.” It’s a sad revelation. “I only remember following Shiloh. He played football and so did I. He screwed up and nearly flunked out of school. I did the same thing and barely graduated.”

  “Maybe, Asher, it’s time for you to get in touch with yourself.” She rises and goes to the file cabinet. It takes a good yank before it opens. After rifling through its contents, she comes back with what appears to be a composition book and a pen. “This is for you.”

  I take the black and white notebook and turn it over in my hands. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

  “I know it’s fallen out of favor, but I like good old-fashioned paper and pen for getting my thoughts together. All I want you to do is write. It doesn’t matter what.”

  “Does it have to be about what we’ve discussed?”

  “No. Write whatever comes to mind.” She places her tablet on a side table and crosses her legs. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Isn’t that your job?”

  She smiles. “You’ve been in therapy twice before. Why now? What brings you back?”

  “Besides the nightmares?”

  “Yes. I get a sense that you’re dealing with a lot of inner turmoil, but you’re guarded, too guarded for someone your age.”

  “Turmoil? That’s a mild way of putting it.” I run a hand through my hair. “Earlier, you asked me what name I prefer. You know the worst thing you can call me?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Traitor. And before you ask why… I hate the word traitor because it feels like someone has caught me in a lie.”

  “Explain.”

  I lean forward and place my arms on my legs. “I’ve been questioning myself about everything I’ve done in my life so far. Before I turned juvenile delinquent, I was a vanilla kid. I didn’t do shit wrong. My parents moved us from California to Michigan and my life changed. I didn’t know anyone. I hated the weather, the food, our house… You name it, I hated it.”

  “Is that when you started patterning your life after your brother?”

  “Possibly, but I can’t be sure.”

  “So what changed you from vanilla to…uh…spicy?”

  “Good one.” I laugh. “Met a girl, the one next door. Because of my brother’s mistake, her parents weren’t too crazy about her hanging out with me. So, we snuck around.”

  “What about that makes you feel like a traitor?”

  “I’m getting there.” I glance down. “My life as a traitor started with another girl…my wife.”

  “Oh, this should be good.”

  I narrow my eyes.

  “Sorry. I just love a good story,” she says with a smile.

  “Then you should get a kick out of this one. My life of drugs, alcohol, and crime caught up with me. The day I met Rihana, I was coming out a courtroom. We spoke briefly. She intrigued me, but I never thought I’d see her again. Time pass
ed, and our paths crossed again. This time, a relationship formed, and I fell in love with her. But we were like Romeo and Juliet. Instead of feuding families, it was religion. I couldn’t marry her without converting.”

  Dr. Lee cocks her head and asks, “So your conversion and adopting the name Aza was all for her?”

  “I didn’t think so at the time. Like I said, I’ve been questioning everything. What if I did this out of love and not because I suddenly embraced a religion? What does that say about me?”

  “I think it says she’s one special woman for you to do that.”

  I disagree. “Makes me a traitor.”

  “You’re too hard on yourself. If she had not been Muslim, would you have still married her?”

  “Without a doubt. I love her regardless of her faith.”

  “Then stop beating yourself up. Ask yourself if you’re going to completely embrace this religion.” A timer goes off on her phone. “Our time is up for today. Same time next week?”

  “Yeah. That’s fine.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  “Freedom and fortitude make good soldiers. It’s their motivation and what secures them when fear takes over. When you lead, you have to be willing to talk about these things. They’ll ask. You have to provide the answers.”

  —from “Reflections on Riza” by Lt. Asher Nicholas Jones

  The next time I see Dr. Lee, I’ve written a great deal in the composition book. My nightmares, however, won’t stop.

  “How are you today, Asher?” She walks around her outdated wooden desk.

  “Just as confused as last time,” I admit and flop down on the couch.

  Dr. Lee studies me for a moment. “Are you sleeping?”

  “I can’t. The nightmares have gotten worse.”

  “How so?”

  “Mind if I lie down?”

  She waves her hand in the air. “Whatever makes you comfortable.”

  I stretch out and close my eyes. “I told you how I switch places with Shiloh in the dreams?”