Ghosts Returned

The following story is inspired by true events, but all characters and events herein are fictional.

+2004.  Outside Santa Barbara, California.+

Alejandro Ramirez had two options.  He could watch television, more specifically the news in all probability, or he could go to bed.  Feeling the figurative weight of his eyelids at the moment, he decided on the latter.  Falling asleep in his recliner was not going to do his sciatica any favors anyway.

He brushed his teeth, took his pills, checked the house to make sure it was secure but ventilated for the warm summer evening, and laid himself down on a very firm mattress.  Admittedly, it was much more resistant than he liked, but his wife slept better this way.

He thought of mattresses, then of his wife, then of his wife’s father, but after his eyes shut, he would remember none of it.

+ + + + + +

The gunshot woke him.

It was a hard bang that shocked the unprepared senses, a sign of ready and present danger.  The sound was thick in the cloying mist around him and sounded like it was coming from everywhere at once.  He panicked, desperately trying to through off the sheet that inexplicably lay on top of him.  The soldier lying next to him in the tent was still sleeping soundly, and Alejandro shoved him to wake him up to the threat.

“We’re being attacked!” He yelled as he rocked his squad-mate back and forth roughly.

“What are y…” the soldier started to say.  He was cut off by a thunderous crack, which was followed by the sound of knifing shrapnel.  Alejandro threw himself to the ground, his ears ringing and his eyes watery.  His hands scrambled blindly for his gun, but found nothing. 

He leapt up and barged his way out of the tent, shoving aside a heavy crate that had stupidly been left in front of his temporary quarters.  He was greeted by more sticky humidity and a terrible relative silence.  He could hear bursts of gunfire and detonations of grenades coming from every direction, but nothing in his immediate vicinity.  Absolutely nothing.  No soldiers moved, no enemies revealed themselves, and no sliver of activity to react to. 

“Alex!” a voice said in the distance.  It sounded like a woman, but it was too close to the gunfire to risk moving toward it. 

Alejandro sprinted down a path between rows of tents in the camp, keeping as low as he could to avoid detection.  He dropped to a knee next to an ammunition crate and peered around the side of it with painstaking care.  Again, nothing.  Had the whole damn platoon be destroyed?

“Alex!” the woman called again, further this time.  Alejandro coughed and noticed that his lungs were heaving with exertion.  His muscles ached and joints felt as if they had never known cartilage. Thoughts came unbidden- doctor’s visit, knee replacements, leg pain.  None of it made sense.

As if on cue, a bullet took him in the thigh.  It made no sound, and he had no idea where the shooter was.  He roared in pain and dragged himself to the other side of the ammunition crate, scanning the dark edges of jungle in vain.  He pushed himself up as best he could and limped down another row, tripping again and again over scattered supplies.

“ALEX!” the woman said again, this time much closer.  The surprise of it caused him to try and snap around, but the effort failed miserably and he fell on his side.

As he looked up, he didn’t see a woman.  He saw Ronald, the squad-mate who had been in his tent and who was his closest friend out here.

“Alex, listen to me,” Ronald said, but his voice between normal and very effeminate.  Alejandro was sure that the pain was making him hallucinate.

As Ronald stepped closer, Alejandro grabbed a fistful of his flak jacket and pulled his fellow soldier to the ground.

“Are you fucking nuts?!” Alejandro whispered.  “Get down and stay down!”

He instantly regretted his action, however, as the pull had been too harsh and Ronald had hit his head on something.  His soft features looked dazed and confused.  The thought of Ronald having soft features left Alejandro almost as confused.

“Grandpa?”

The gentle voice instantly drew Alejandro’s attention.  A small child, its features muddied and clothes torn, stood not ten feet away from him.  He scanned the child for any hidden deformity in case the Viet Cong had strapped explosives to him or her or he or she unwittingly carried a mine or grenade.

Satisfied that the child was no immediate threat, he said “Get out of here, kid.”

It occurred to him that the kid speaking English was rather unusual.

“Why, Grandpa?”  the kid asked, starting to cry.

“Stop calling me that,” Alejandro said.  “Go find your parents and get out of here.”

“Is Grandma okay?” the kid asked, ignoring his commands.

“How should I know?  Go!” Alejandro yelled, though instantly regretting the risk of giving away his position.  The child took a step back, but still silently refused.

Suddenly, a shadow shifted in background.  Instinctually, Alejandro grabbed the child and pulled it aside before trying to push himself to his feet.  He could almost see the obscured shape’s outline, manly and threatening.  It had to be Viet Cong. 

“Come on and finish it, fucker!” Alejandro yelled, but the pain in his leg reminded him how empty his bravado really was. 

“Alex…” the shape said, but Alejandro wasn’t listening.

The shape seemed to detach itself from the darkness, as if born from the trees it had been hiding in.  Alejandro was going to wait no longer.  Managing an awkward, hobbling run, he tried to tackle the shape.  He could see hints of an Asian face, covered with mud, but the sights were only fleeting.  The figure compensated for Alejandro’s off-centered momentum and spun him down to the ground.  He was going to feel ashamed at being taken down so easily, but the explosion of pain in his back drove the thought from his mind.

Alejandro expected to feel a knife at his bowels or neck, but the shape pinned his arms to his side and began to yell at him.  At first, Alejandro dismissed it as incoherent Vietnamese, but first the occasional word made sense and then he realized the shape was speaking English.

“You are Alejandro Ramirez,” the shape said with a specifically familiar mispronunciation of his name.  “You are a retired school teacher.  You are in your backyard right now.  There are no Viet Cong.  No guns.  No danger.  You are safe.  You need to wake up.  Your family needs you to wake up.”

His vision began to swim.  Everything started to take on the shadowy aspect of the shape on top of him.

“They can’t hurt you anymore, Alex,” the shape said.  “Look at me.  I’m Ronnie.  I’ve been with you since boot camp and I’m telling you that you are safe.”

Alejandro’s struggling lessened in his confusion.  As the shape identified itself, it began to take on Ronnie’s features.

“Tell me your wife’s name.  Tell me your granddaughter’s name,” the half-Ronnie ordered.

A name forced its way to the forefront of Alejandro’s mind, followed swiftly by a second.  Hour-long scenes flashed through his mind in seconds and after a moment, Alejandro realized that the familiarity that came with them meant they were memories.  This was his life he was seeing, a life presently free of suffocating jungle, free of horrors hidden in shadows, and blessedly free of the dreaded sound of young men dying.

“Sandra,” Alejandro gasped as reality reasserted itself.  “Michelle.”

“They’re here with you, right now, Alex,” Ronald said, his tone comforting but his grip still strong.  “Say something to them.”

“I…I love you.  Both of you,” Alejandro said.

+ + + + + +

Thirty seconds later, Alejandro was sitting, propped up against the side of his house in the backyard.  He looked around in pained wonderment.  Where once he had seen tents and scatter military rations, now gardening equipment and his daughter’s toys were scattered about.  His shoulder felt like it had been hit with a sledgehammer and his sciatica screamed with desperate fireworks of pain up and down his leg.

Sandra knelt in front of him, one hand on his cheek, the other holding her bruised head.

“Are you alright?” Alejandro asked, his exhaustion limiting his ability to convey the shame and guilt at hurting his wife, even accidentally.

“I’m fine,” she said reassuringly.  “Are you?”

“I don’t even know what happened,” Alejandro said.  “It was so goddamn real, I…”

“PTSD,” said the voice of the shape from earlier.  Alejandro almost panicked as the sound reminded him of what he had seen, but he looked up and saw only the face of his best friend, Ronald.

“Ronnie…” Alejandro said with grateful relief.

“I called him when you started yelling and broke down the door to our room,” Sandra said.

“But…it’s never…I’ve never…that was almost thirty years ago,” Alejandro stammered.

“It doesn’t matter,” Ronald said.  “I’ve seen it manifest all kinds of ways at any given time.  It hit me ten years ago, when I heard a car backfire.”

“Where’s Michelle?  Michelle?  Baby?” Alejandro called out as he hurriedly scanned the yard.  A beautiful girl of seven, in her filthy pajamas and her hair in a ponytail, shuffled forward with a frightened look on her face.

“It’s okay, Michelle,” Alejandro said.  Michelle hesitated, looking at her mom and at “Uncle” Ronald for a moment.  She sprang forward without warning, practically leaping into her grandfather’s arms and openly sobbing.  Alejandro felt his own tears well up as he hugged his granddaughter tightly and whispered assurances of safety and love.  Sandra and Ronald moved in next to them and helped to comfort the girl.

The four remained as they were for several minutes until the fear and crying in Michelle subsided and she fell asleep in her father’s arms.

“What do I do?” Alejandro asked, unsure if he was posing the right question.

“I’ve been seeing a therapist,” Ronald admitted with some awkwardness.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Alejandro asked.

“I didn’t need to cause you any grief, either by making you worry about me or making you worry it would start happening to you,” Ronald answered.

“How do you stop it?” Alejandro asked.

“I don’t know,” Ronald answered.  “When it happens, I try to remember not to take things for granted.  Things seem out of place, confusing, things that don’t make sense.”

“You were the one who brought me back,” Alejandro said, though he forgot his point almost instantly.

“I know,” Ronald replied.  “The thing that scared me the most was that all my life after the war could have been a dream; that the last thirty years had been nothing but an illusion.  But I knew my love for my family was real.  It was something to hold onto.”

“We’re here now, right?” Alejandro asked.

“We are, Alex,” Ronald said.  “I can’t give you any secret to make it never happen again.  It’s been three years with a therapist and I still get jittery every time I hear a loud noise.  But I can say that it’s improving for me, and you can fight this.  You don’t need to be afraid of it.  I’m beating it now, and you’re even tougher than I am.  No matter how bad it gets, you’ll wake up yourself on the other side.”

“I…I don’t want to be like this,” Alejandro said, taking in the mess he had made and thinking of the girl in his arms.

“You don’t have to be,” Ronald replied.  “This won’t define you, if you don’t let it.  You’re still going to be the same old, sailor-mouthed, lame-joke-telling Alex you’ve always been.”

Alejandro closed his eyes, lowered his head, and took in a deep breath.  His heart had only just finished slowing down.  Sandra leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, and he responded by rubbing his cheek against hers.

“Let’s get you inside,” Ronald said.