CHAPTER ONE
Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.
~ Norman Cousins
Silence filled the room, lingering for several minutes— longer than in their previous sessions. Dr. Bailey Clark glanced at the wall clock across from her seat. This was their fifth session, and nothing had changed since their first. His reluctance to open up wasn’t surprising, given her experience with severe cases like his. These therapy sessions weren’t his choice; they were court- ordered. Though she could report him as uncooperative, that wouldn’t heal his illness or solve any problems. His panic attacks and extreme anxiety could escalate into something more dangerous, and it was her responsibility to prevent that if possible.
“Zachary, this is our fifth session, and we haven’t made any headway. At some point, you’ll need to trust me. I am not here to simply report your progress to the court. I am truly alarmed and worried about you,” Dr. Clark expressed as cautiously as she could to avoid him walking out, as he did on his last visit.
She closed her notepad, removed the glasses that sat at the bridge of her pointy nose, and set them aside, hoping the gesture would create some level of comfort and trust between them.
“We can start small, as I suggested on your last visit. Let’s talk about Alison. How did you meet her?” Her voice was now measured, almost a whisper.
Her gestures loosened her client’s tense demeanor. He sighed and took his focus off the blank wall he’d been gawking at for the past fifteen minutes.
In an uncanny way, the soft gray wall brought him a sense of solace. “College, right before I enlisted.” He eyed his hands, now clasped together. “We dated for a year before we eloped. She was pregnant with our first kid. I was deployed to Western Asia on a peaceful mission before Amelia was born.”
“That’s interesting,” Dr. Clark said. “What was the motivation behind your enlistment?”
“My grandfather was a SEAL, a Lieutenant Commander in the US Navy. So was my great- grandfather. My father was a Marine, Brigadier General. Both served our great nation well. It was tough growing up in a family with such high expectations. From the day I was born, I was groomed to serve my country. I guess that was all the motivation I needed. Their life’s mission was accomplished when I enlisted after my eighteenth birthday.”
“Are you in contact with them?”
“That would be hard to do since they both passed away before I was deployed on my first mission.”
“Sorry to hear that. Your mother, any siblings?”
Zachary shook his head, recalling his lonely childhood being an awkward little boy who spent most of his days trapped in a treehouse playing with his military soldier toy kit. Having a fear of rejection by both sexes, making friends wasn’t his forte. He was safer trapped in his own world of seclusion. His father wasn’t an easy man to love or please, and Zachary lived in fear of disappointing him, hence his decision to enlist, hoping to please the old man. His father suffered from alcoholism and constantly ridiculed him no matter how hard he worked to appease him. When he was home, he indulged in activities that initiated violence against both Zachary and his mother. It was a story that was too painful for him to relive or communicate.
Observing his hesitation to discuss his childhood, Dr. Clark smartly took another approach. “Tell me about your first mission. Your time in Western Asia.” Zachary slouched onto the couch and continued to eye his hands. “It only lasted a year. It was exactly as the name conveyed, peaceful. We spent days and nights patrolling small villages and protecting them from their own, the local rebels. We had an agreement with these insurgents to stay away from innocent civilians. A few of us were left behind to ensure that they kept their end of the deal. I remember thinking how tedious the mission was. I was prepared for combat, a more active operation. That dangerous duty I had dreamed of partaking in since I was a little boy playing with my military playset. So, I thought…” His expression turned somber once more.
“I don’t want to push you too hard…”
“I’d like to get this over with. You want to know about my last mission?”
“If you are up for it.” Dr. Clark picked up her notepad and clicked the back of her pen.
“It was exactly what I asked for. I served two tours before I got my other-than-honorable discharge. It was a difficult time for my family. After my first tour, I could barely sleep at night without visualizing the men I killed in combat. The vicious, ungodly, gory crimes I witnessed. The cries of women that’d lost their husbands and sons.
I suffered from severe PTSD, yet nobody cared. They only cared about defending the borders, destroying the rebels, sending you out to kill, kill, and kill. I knew I couldn’t complain because it was exactly what I wanted. I soon realized otherwise. This couldn’t possibly be the life my father and grandfather expected me to live. My mind was sick after my first kill. It was a man you could probably say deserved it. He was a member of a group that terrorized the villagers. Killed men, children, and raped their women, though killing him didn’t bring me solace but rather triggered my first stage of depression. On my second tour, I saw my colleagues being blown into pieces. Do you know what the burning of human flesh smells like? Their screams, the squeals, like wounded animals, the horror in their voices. Why was I so lucky to be alive? Is it even luck to live with such disturbing images in my mind daily?” He hunched forward and grimaced, looking utterly disheartened.
“One night, my dear friend and colleague Sgt. Pierce and I were patrolling the borders a few miles from our base. After an hour on duty, we heard gunshots coming from the base. We abandoned the post and rushed to investigate.” Zachary paused, swallowing a lump of grief. He heaved a sigh, then rubbed the back of his neck in a frantic motion. He gazed at his trembling hands and continued without meeting Dr. Clark’s eyes. “The base was ablaze, and we could hear the screams of our men as bombs detonated from all sides. I saw one of our corporals running in hysterical circles, his body engulfed in flames. I rushed to help him, but by the time I reached his side, a bullet had already pierced his head. I had to drop for cover. That was the moment I got separated from Pierce. The chaos was overwhelming, and I couldn’t see what was happening. I took down a couple of enemies as I searched for the rest of my comrades…but what I saw…” His voice trembled.
The anguish in Zachary’s voice was something Dr. Clark hadn’t encountered before. Though she’d counseled many returnees and veterans in the past, there was something uniquely haunting about his pain. It stirred a deep resolve within her to go beyond her usual efforts and truly help him through his suffering.
“What I saw will live with me for the rest of my miserable life. Scorching bodies of my colleagues, heads blown off, some decapitated. No one survived the ambush. I was obviously outnumbered, couldn’t do anything except hide like a coward. The rogues dismantled our properties and celebrated their accomplishment. They piled up the corpses of my men, bodies on bodies. Some relieved themselves on the corpses while others spat on them. A while later, a man yelled a few words in their local dialect, and the rest cheered while firing shots in the air. They dragged my friend Sgt. Pierce on the ground while he pleaded for his life.
There was nothing I could do other than whimper in the dark like the weakling I was. He was executed seconds later, beheaded while he pled.”
Zachary paused and exhaled sharply. “The executioner just tossed his head on top of the pile of bodies they had collected.”
Dr. Clark cleared her throat as she absorbed Zachary’s horrifying experience. “Do you want to take a break? We can continue in your next session. I don’t want to overwhelm you.” In truth, she needed a break from the gory details herself.
“Do you not understand what I’m saying to you, Dr. Clark? Overwhelming is when your command sergeant tells you the day after witnessing something so barbaric to get back on the field and do your job like nothing happened. It’s just another day. No time to mourn the fallen or receive proper counseling. I was sick, weak, not physically but mentally and spiritually after that ordeal. I snuck out to bars and drank every single night, even while on duty. My judgment was impaired. I didn’t know the difference between an ally and a foe. I blamed every person that crossed my path. I once strangled a man to near death because all I saw were the faces of the animals that killed my comrades. After getting into fights with my team members and the locals on a regular basis and ignoring all the warnings that were issued out to me, I was sent home. Tossed to the side like garbage. I was unmanageable, and for justifiable reasons. That’s it. They throw you back into the world, damaged or not. I couldn’t sleep, eat, or make love to my wife. My kids became strangers. My anger escalated, and yelling became a norm in my home. Everyone tiptoed around me, even my own kids. They are the enemies now. When I get my episodes, which are regularly, Alison becomes the target, and she’s been the target for the past six months. She does it well. Conceals the pain, bruises, and makes all kinds of excuses for my shameful behavior. Until recently. She couldn’t take it anymore. Now she’s seeking a divorce and, no doubt, sole custody of the kids. She is taking the one good thing I have left in this cruel world. I’m drowning, and there’s no coming back from this. So, I don’t care what you tell the courts. I’m not your charity case, so quit trying to fix something that is beyond repair. I see what you are doing, and it’s senseless.”
“You are not my charity case, and I apologize if I gave you that impression. You cannot give up and run from your problems. I get it, you might never recover from that experience, but you could try. At least for the sake of your kids.” Dr. Clark rose to her feet and treaded toward her desk. She drew a card from the Rolodex and turned back to him.
Zachary wore a permanent frown, lost in his obscure thoughts. His posture suggested defeat, and his demeanor advocated violence. He had potential to cause more havoc, and not only to his wife and kids, but to the public. There had been many cases in the news about lone gunmen, conspiracy theorists, militias, and people with depression and mental illness who caused so much grief in the world. She didn’t want to wake up one day to see the face of her patient on the news. The blood of innocent souls would be on her hands. This was a curse she couldn’t live with. She refused to give the court a reason to lock him away when there was hope. A lot of work, nonetheless she was confident.
Am I overreaching? She often questioned her sanity when faced with such complex cases. “Zachary, how would you feel about participating in a group treatment program with other servicemen with similar issues as yours? Before you say no, hear me out. The program provides a safe environment for patients to become more socially associated with others, and it offers the opportunity to build trust. Before any change can occur, we must restore your lack of faith. It wouldn’t take your pain away, I know that. As humans, we have moments when we lose all hope and are unable to believe in second chances. Relationships turn sour, people die, and we lose courage. Life is about breaking barriers and pushing through uncertainties. My words might seem trivial now, but we must begin somewhere, believing you’ll overcome this. From similar cases, I’ve learned that one-on-one treatment isn’t as effective as people often think. In group programs, you’ll interact with others who truly understand what you’re going through because they’ve lived it. I’d be lying if I said I knew exactly how you feel—despite all my degrees, I lack that personal experience. If you choose to participate, I’ll continue working with you throughout the program.”
Zachary was quiet, contemplating her proposal. The doctor was right; he was lost, living in extreme paranoia and unable to love and protect his family. He witnessed violence way before he enlisted. He felt destitute and deserted, and that needed to change. Alison was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and now she detested his very existence. While he might not be able to win her back, he could at least try. He stood and nodded at Dr. Clark.
Relieved, she passed the group counselor’s contact information to him. “You won’t regret this, Zachary.”
“Let’s hope not.”
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