Chapter 31 - The Husband I Buried

Now

I dialed Jessica’s number, half expecting her phone to be off as her world wound down for the night. My hands shook slightly as I held the phone.

‘Hey, it’s me,’ I said when she answered. My voice sounded steadier than I felt. ‘Can you come meet me? It’s . . . kind of urgent.’

‘Uh, Mackenzie, it’s ten p.m. Are you drunk?’ Her tone was equal parts disbelief and worry.

‘No. Not really. Just – please. I need to talk to someone who can think straight.’

She let out a breath, heavy with reluctant concern. If she didn’t think I was drunk before, she probably did now. ‘I’m only doing this because you’re my best friend . . . and I’m worried about you, Kenz.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, meaning it. She was the only person I trusted enough to help make sense of the impossible – even if she didn’t believe I’d seen Luis.

Maybe that was a good thing. She could stress-test everything that had happened.

But after what Keith said, it felt more urgent. If Luis was alive, he might be involved in something dangerous. No mission was so secret that you should have to die to be a part of it. Literally or figuratively.

Whatever it was, it sounded like it might get him killed. For real this time.

I texted Jessica the address. Forty minutes and another beer later, she arrived, looking every bit the professional she was. Blazer, slacks, hair carefully done, subtle makeup. It was second nature to her; she was always ‘on’. I rarely saw her in jeans and a sweatshirt, let alone track pants. To say she caught the attention of the bar’s clientele was an understatement.

She stepped inside and immediately noticed me perched tensely on a barstool, half-empty glass of beer beside me.

Her brow furrowed. Then she caught sight of Keith sitting next to me.

‘Hey,’ she said, approaching us warily.

‘Jess!’ I hadn’t been sure she’d actually come. But there she was, awake and ready to listen.

‘Who’s . . . this?’ Her voice was tight, cautious. I could see the judgment already forming in her eyes as she took in Keith’s appearance. Scruffy hair, stubble, wrinkled clothes. She looked him up and down like she was assessing a wild animal.

‘This is Keith,’ I said, trying to sound casual, measured. ‘He . . . he’s a friend.’ I tried to control the slight slur in my voice. If Jessica thought I was too drunk, she wasn’t going to take me seriously.

Keith gave a small nod. A smile. ‘Evening.’ His grin didn’t reach his eyes. He looked rough, intense, and just a little intimidating.

Jessica was clearly put off by him, and the smile she offered in return came off as more of a grimace. She shot me a pointed look. ‘You didn’t tell me you had company.’

I gave a sheepish shrug. ‘I wasn’t sure you’d come.’

‘I wouldn’t have,’ she muttered, but there was no real bite to her words.

‘Well, there you go. Lucky she didn’t tell you,’ Keith countered.

‘It’s OK,’ I said quickly, ‘he’s chill.’

Maybe I’d had a little more to drink than I should have.

‘“Chill”?’ she echoed disbelievingly. ‘OK.’ She slid onto a stool like she already knew she was making a mistake.

I leaned forward, elbows on the table, trying to convey urgency without panicking. ‘Keith and I – well, we’re trying to understand something about Luis. About his military past. His PTSD. We think it’s . . . relevant to the stuff that’s happening now.’

Jessica glanced at Keith, then back at me. ‘Relevant to what stuff?’ she asked, her eyes slightly narrowed.

I wasn’t winning her over.

I swallowed, trying to keep my voice steady. ‘We think his “death” might not have been what it seemed. It might’ve been planned. Keith told me Luis was part of an op in the army, and we’re wondering if they weren’t done with it yet.’

Her eyes widened. ‘You mean . . . the army faked his death to send him on a secret mission?’

Keith leaned forward. ‘Well, when you put it like that . . .’ he said. ‘Listen, when I knew Luis, his transformation was . . . strange. He was picked for training and kinda went rogue. We think maybe he was part of a military program or something similar. I’m wondering if that had something to do with his unfortunate early “death”.’

‘Or worse,’ I added. ‘Maybe his special ops days caught up to him. There’s always the other side of war. The side you’re fighting against.’

Jessica recoiled slightly, glancing between the two of us. ‘I . . . I don’t know. I can talk about PTSD, stress responses, military conditioning – but I’m not sure it’ll help right now.’

‘That’s all I want,’ I said. ‘To learn what I can, see if this starts making any sense.’

Keith nodded like he agreed.

Jess seemed surprised I’d found someone who believed me. She stared openly at Keith, doing that silent observation thing I’d seen her do.

Keith’s grin widened. ‘Relax, Doc. I’m just here to help figure out what the hell happened to her husband.’

‘Keith and Luis were in the army together,’ I explained, leaning closer, my voice dropping. ‘Jess, I need your help. We need to understand if . . . Luis could’ve been manipulated.’ I told her about the way Luis took their tasks to the extreme, like Keith had said, but then I added, ‘I’m wondering if he might be capable of things he wouldn’t usually do.’

I wasn’t ready to tell Keith all of it yet. I didn’t know him well enough, and there were things I wasn’t ready to tell Jessica either.

Like how I suspected my husband had been keeping things from me for months.

I focused on what I could say. ‘Sometimes, Luis struggled with what happened during his deployment. He grew distant, drank a little more, but it usually passed.’

Keith shifted uncomfortably. Maybe he knew what it was like to hide.

‘Why didn’t you tell me that before?’ Jessica looked at me, then perhaps not expecting an answer, and weighing the situation, the hour, and the desperate look on my face, said, ‘Fine. I’ll stay. But only if you stop drinking.’

‘Done,’ I said, pushing my half-empty beer glass away. The beer wasn’t great anyway.

Keith picked it up and drained the remainder. ‘Just so you’re not tempted,’ he said, holding up a hand, mock-sworn in. ‘I’m done, too.’

The three of us sat in tense silence for a moment. Once we started digging, there was no going back.