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Chapter 5

Chapter 5

After waking to nightmares of blasts and fire, Eric was sure that he was still in Middle East, securing a base that would be jointly managed between the United States and its ally. The inside of the ambulance seemed to confirm his worst fear: that he had been caught in a missile strike. Confused and angry, he kicked off the sheet covering him and began tearing off the electrodes glued to his chest. The paramedic sitting next to him grabbed his arms and attempted to calm him. For the first few seconds, he thought he heard her say "Everything's alright" and "You're not hurt," but it was as though his brain was working with lag, hearing the words without processing them.

Slowly, reality asserted itself. He was no longer serving the military. He was in the United States. He had just been at his mother's house. He forced himself to breathe deeply and slow his heartbeat. Then he remembered the fire.

“Jen!? Where’s Jen?” he demanded.

The paramedic nodded. “Everyone is okay. They’re alive. Please calm down.”

After apologizing, Eric asked the paramedic what had happened. The last thing he remembered was grabbing the Excel driver. Apparently, the other Excel member must have thrown his explosive device at the house after Jennifer shot him in the arm. The paramedic explained that the blast had destroyed the kitchen, garage, and portions of the living room while the accompanying fire ate up the rest of the house, aside from the basement. Using the still stable staircase and rear door, Marilyn had made it outside during the fire, acquiring only some scratches. It was she who explained to the authorities that the attack's source was Excel. Jennifer, on the other hand, had suffered more substantial injuries.

Being directly under the explosion, Jennifer had been thrown violently to the ground and covered in large sections of wall and roof. It was actually that very debris that might have saved her life, acting as insulation from the extreme heat above. From what the paramedic heard, Jennifer had sustained minor burns, a broken radius, a concussion, a broken coccyx, and a ruptured eardrum. She had still been unconscious when other paramedics loaded her into the first ambulance.

Even though he had not kept many of his own belongings in his childhood home, Eric nonetheless lamented its destruction. He always felt a slight pang of homesickness when he visited. That would no longer happen. His home, his mother's home, was gone.

"The big mystery," the plump, middle-aged woman said, checking Eric's heart rate, "is how you managed to avoid serious burns."

Eric looked at her, confused.

"Burning rubble was all around you," she continued. "I've never seen a patient so close to so much heat and still avoid injury."

Raising his arm to show the cuts, Eric corrected her. "I don't think I did."

"Lacerations, yes. But very few burns. You’re very lucky."

Eric pondered this mystery for a moment before realizing that something was dangling from the end of his arm. He was still holding the jacket belonging to Excel. He he had ripped it off the driver during the explosion, and one of the sleeves had twisted around his own arm in the chaos.

"Did they catch the bastards who did this?" he asked, lowering his arm and the jacket self-consciously.

Frowning and looking a little hurt, the paramedic admitted, "I don't believe so. We didn't know about them until...was it your mother?"

"Yes."

"…until your mother told us about them. The first unit to arrive saw another vehicle exit the property, but their first priority was taking care of anyone who was hurt."

Eric buried his disappointment. Of course the paramedics would have attended the injured. It was not their job to hunt terrorists. What did he expect, a car chase between an ambulance and Excel’s Hummer? Eric stared at the roof of the emergency vehicle, replaying the events and considering his next move, while the swaying of the ambulance attempted to lull him back to sleep.

~

Once Eric was released, he immediately visited his fiancée in a nearby hospital room. Her left arm was in a cast, and her face was wrapped in numerous bandages. Luckily, Eric did not see any I.V. pumping its contents into her bloodstream. There was some comfort in knowing that his future wife was not suffering serious injury. Oddly, he wondered if she would be apprehensive with how she looked in the imminent wedding photos. Brides were supposed to look perfect on their wedding day, right? Normally, Jennifer didn’t concern herself with such trivialities, but every once in a while she would do something that surprised him, like the time she admitted having enjoyed reading Eat, Pray, Love.

Every once in a while, Eric would watch as Jennifer slept. There was something reassuring in her obliviousness, her comfortable yielding, that made him feel closer to her. Awake, she was always in charge of her faculties: assertive, dominating, and bulletproof. Asleep, she was human: vulnerable, innocent, peaceful. Not that he wanted a submissive wife, but his own insecurities felt lighter when he was reminded that his partner had a soft side, just as he did. He hadn’t read Eat, Pray, Love, but he had agreed to watch the movie. Furthermore, he was as protective of her as she was of him.

Rarely had he seen her with her braid undone. Currently against the pillow, her dark hair splayed out like threshed grain. Eric pulled over the nearby chair and threaded his fingers through the strands. She still had some char on her face, making her look like a raven.

"Jen," he whispered, looking for movement beneath her closed eyelids. "I'm here. Can you hear me? Everything's okay."

Moments passed, declaring silently that Jennifer was heavily sedated. The next noise, a voice, startled Eric into thinking that Jennifer was coming to. However, it belonged to his mother, who was just as welcome.

Eric rose to meet and embrace her; the physical action of touching her confirming that she indeed was unharmed. She smelled of lilac and smoke. Marilyn tapped his back as though he were an infant, and Eric gripped her tighter. They seemed to be reassuring each other that they were both okay. On Eric’s part, there was also an apology in the embrace.

"How is she?" Marilyn asked, letting go of her boy and leaning over to peer closer at her future daughter-in-law.

"I don't know. I just came in. I was told that she had a broken arm and some cuts and burns, but that's it."

"That's what I heard, too," Marilyn replied, turning to face Eric, tapping his cheek, lovingly.

Eric averted his eyes. "I'm sorry, mom."

"For what? You saved my life!"

"Hardly. It was our interference that...brought...them."

Marilyn's hand grabbed his. "Sweetie, they're just things. I'm sad. I mourn the loss. But, in the end, they're just things. Wood and metal. I still have the memories, and that’s what’s important. It's a blessing that we're alright." Although the words were strong and comforting, Marilyn's voice broke during the speaking of them, belying the devastation she felt.

"He'll get his," Eric promised, looking out the window.

"What do you mean?"

Eric took a few seconds to consider how he should address his new adversary. "Your husband...he will pay for what he's done."

Marilyn's hand fell in disappointment. "Eric, this is over. Let it go."

"Not by a long shot."

"Your father had nothing to do with this."

"What are you saying? I find out that he's involved with a terrorist group, I confront him about it, the next thing I know, the evidence...not to mention your house...is destroyed, and you think he's not involved!?"

Marilyn gasped. "Confronted? What do you mean?"

Eric took a deep breath. "I asked him about the papers at his office."

"Why...why would you do that?"

"Because if it's true, he needs to answer for it. The secrecy of Excel, the hypocrisy of the Moralist Party, all of it needs to be exposed!"

Marilyn backed away and faced the wall, her finger subtly rubbing her lips as she thought. "Honey," she began pedantically, "it is just...not that simple."

Eric's eyebrows furrowed. "Mom, how long have you known about this? About Dad's connection with Excel?"

Turning, Marilyn pointed her finger at her son, "Your father was a good man. He supported us financially. He raised you with an understanding of Christian values. He encouraged you to do your best, whether it be in wrestling, karate, or zoology. And he was incredibly proud when you decided to protect our country. He has always done what he thought was right."

"Like attempting to kill his own wife?"

Eric could tell that she wanted to slap him again, but she restrained herself. He suddenly felt ashamed. She was not the one who deserved his wrath. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "It's just hard to see your point of view when most of what I've seen from him is self-righteousness."

"He would not have agreed to what happened at the house," Marilyn admitted. "Despite his narrow-mindedness, he is not a murderer. Someone must have..." she trailed off.

"Must have what?"

"Nothing." Marilyn quickly changed the subject. "You're a local celebrity among the doctors here."

Deciding to let the tension subside, Eric responded, "Why?"

"Apparently you're fireproof," she explained. "No one can figure out how you came out of it without burns. From what they say, it shouldn't be possible."

Eric's previous conversation with the paramedic raced through his mind. "Yeah, I don't know exactly what happened there."

Marilyn's hand lightly touched his arm. "You have a guardian angel, Eric," she confessed quietly. "Someone's watching over you."

"Seriously, mom?" Daimon announced, exasperated as he walked in the door. "Dad tries to kill you, and you praise God for the limited fallout?" Shaking his head, Daimon hugged his brother. "You okay?"

Reciprocating the gesture, Eric replied, "I'm fine, Pitts. Be nice."

Peremptorily, Daimon hugged his mother as well. "Mom," he greeted. "I got the text. How's Jen?"

"She'll be fine," Eric answered for his mother.

"What are the police doing about it?" Daimon asked.

Eric looked at his mother, who looked away. "Not sure, yet. It seems like things are...a bit complicated." Eric gestured for Daimon to sit. He then proceeded to explain the events of the last few days, including the discovery of the Moralist Party memo and his confrontation with their father.

"Son of a virgin," Daimon said, shaking his head at the information. "You should have kicked him in the berries."

"I think we both know what would have happened next," Eric replied. "Come here," he continued, escorting Daimon out of the room.

Eric led his little brother into the hospital hallway. He looked around, apparently concerned about eavesdroppers. "Daimon," he began, instantly putting his younger brother on the alert by using his actual name instead of the nickname he had given him, "I think there's something to the jacket I ripped off that guy. Everyone seems to think I'm a superhero for surviving an inferno, but when I landed, it was like the fire parted around the jacket."

"You sound like mom. You're her modern day Moses."

Eric gave Daimon a stern look, the same face he gave when he demanded secrecy for some late night escapade during high school. "This is bigger than us. There's something going on here that affects the lives of every person in New Purley."

"What are you saying, G.I. Eric?"

Another warning glare shriveled Daimon's sarcasm, which escaped in a sigh. Content with Daimon’s retreat, Eric continued. "Didn't you have a college teacher who was interested in metals?"

Daimon shook his head, incredulously. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Eric lifted up the black jacket and pointed to the metal shoulder plates. "I think the jacket is fireproof."

"It doesn't require a professor to determine if something's fireproof."

"Daimon, I know what I saw. The fire bounced off. Jen told me that Excel uses incendiaries to destroy property. Even though they're near the blasts, they never seem to get injured...at least by the fire. I think something's going on with these jackets."

"How is this going to help anybody?"

"If we can somehow trace the source of the jacket, we might be able to use that information against Excel."

Dubiously, Daimon looked at the jacket, running his hands over the slick metal shields that curled around the shoulders like boll weevils. "Mr. Morlin studied metallurgy. He was doing something with resonance." Daimon smiled. "We always tried to get him off topic. If we could get him talking about time travel, he would spend the next hour writing on the board, trying to prove that time travel was possible. All we cared about was not getting homework. He used to get really passionate about it."

Breathing deeply, Eric handed the jacket to Daimon. "Ask him to analyze the jacket."

"What do you want me to say the reason is? It's not like I'm friends with him. I dropped out."

Eric looked back at the hospital room. "Say it's for your sister. Say...it's for a project."

"Eric, this is an Excel jacket. You want me to wave it in front of a Physics professor and ask him for his thoughts?"

"Come up with a story. You're creative."

Realizing the power he had for this favor, Daimon leaned his head forward. "The Jeep."

"The Jeep?

"You owe me the Jeep. I want to take it mudding."

"Seriously, Pitts?"

Daimon's expression remained frozen.

"Fine."

"For a whole weekend."

"Fine! Just do it."

Next Chapter: Chapter 6