The Lance

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Carter looked out the window at the endless canopy of jungle greenery passing below. They were somewhere over South America.

He didn't like this mission. He didn't like deep water. He always imagined something with teeth waiting for him under the surface. Lamont, on the other hand, had probably been born with flippers and a mask and if something with teeth tried to bother him, Nick was pretty sure he knew who'd win. He wasn't worried about Lamont. Selena was a different story.

He didn't want to worry about Selena. He told himself it would be different if she'd come out of an intelligence or military background. It would be different if he'd never slept with her. It would be different if he'd never met her. It pissed him off, having to worry.

He had to hand it to her. Not many people would jump at the chance to dive on a Nazi wreck two hundred feet down. He glanced over at her. She was reading an article on gender specific phrases in proto Indo-European languages. Nick had been reading a mystery about a wise-cracking detective couple in Boston that hung out with a psychopathic sidekick. Sometimes he saw a little too much of himself in the author's fictional hero, but it passed the time.

He felt a headache starting. He went to the mini-bar for another whiskey. The view from the window hadn't changed. After awhile he fell asleep.

Darkness. It was cold, very cold, a chill that ate into his bones. He was in a small room, pitch black except for a dull, reddish glow coming from somewhere. In the glow, something was lying on the ground. He wanted to see what it was, but he didn't want to see, either.

He went over to it. It was a corpse dressed in a naval uniform, a seaman. He turned it over. The face was dried and sunken in on itself, eyes open and glazed. The pupils were a splotched milky white. The skin was brown and dry and shrunken like old leather. The lips were pulled back in a horrible smile. Stained teeth grinned at him in the eerie light.

He stepped back, afraid. The light came from a box glowing dark red in the darkness. He knew he had to see what was inside. He forced himself to walk to it and place a hand on the lid.

Then the lid was open and he was looking at his own severed head. He screamed.

"Nick!" Selena was shaking him. "Nick. Wake up."

He opened his eyes. The sound of the engines droned outside the window. The endless jungle canopy passed below. She sat down next to him. "You were having another nightmare."

Nick rubbed his face. "God, I hate these."

"I know Israel was rough." She rested her hand on his arm. "I've been thinking about you. About these nightmares and headaches you're having."

He looked out the window. "I don't know what to do about these dreams. It's getting so I don't want to go to sleep."

"You haven't been getting much sleep. Maybe that's part of the problem."

"Catch 22, huh?"

"Maybe you ought to think about seeing somebody."

"Like a shrink?"

"No, not a shrink. A counselor. Someone who could help you deal with the stress."

"You think I'm stressed?"

She laughed. "Are you kidding? Your week wasn't exactly relaxing."

"Wasn't boring, though."

"You know about PTSD. You know you've got it. If you talked with someone it could help."

"You want me to see someone."

"Yes."

"I'll think about it."

"There's something else. You're drinking a lot."

He'd been about ready to get another drink when she said that.

"You think I'm drinking too much?"

He started to get angry. It came out in his voice.

"Let me see if I've got this right. You think I need a shrink and that I'm drinking too much. Anything else you want to say?"

"Not a shrink. And yes, you're drinking too damn much. And no, there's nothing else."

She got up and went back to her seat.

Nick got his drink and looked out the window.

He looked at the whiskey in his hand and set it down. His head hurt.