He opened his eyes, staring up at the ceiling, admiring the flock of doves painted upon it. He couldn’t remember the dream. All he knew was his whole body ached deeply. He chalked it up to the workout and put it out of his mind.
Seconds after opening his eyes, the phone rang. Picking it up, still half asleep, he answered, “Hello?”
He was thrown out of his bed by the impossibly loud sound that came from the receiver, causing him to bump his head on the nightstand in the same spot as before. He scrambled to his feet, snatched the phone from where it landed, and angrily said, “How the hell did you get on this line, Jeffrey?”
Bellowing laughter came from the phone, followed by a short trumpet performance, which made Derrek wince away. He slowly put the receiver back to his ear, hearing another round of laughter and Jeffrey’s gruff voice. “Thought you could get away from Ole Tootsy, did ya? The truck in five. Get a move on,” he said, leaving nothing but a dial tone.
Derrek let out a groan and started to get dressed, wearing the same clothes he had worn that morning. Before leaving, he went to the minifridge, pulled out a bottle of water, put it to his head, and went to meet Jeffrey, who was leaning on the hood of his truck, staring at his watch.
“Four minutes, fifty-eight seconds. Cutting it close, aren’t ya?”
“Do they even make pickup trucks in Germany? Because at this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if you had it shipped with the equipment.”
Jeffrey scowled at Derrek. “I’ll have you know Volkswagen makes a pickup truck, so cut it out with your preconceived Teutonic notions.”
“Sorry, I’m just a little peeved because I’m going to have to pay another eight euros,” he said, gesturing to his water bottle.
“You know what? My bad. I’ll cover that one too,” Jeffrey said as he climbed into the driver’s seat. “Now get your ass in gear! We got shooting to do!”
“Oh, right!” Derrek said as he hurried to the passenger door.
Jeffrey drove for several minutes before pulling into a dirt road leading into the woods. “You don’t have hylophobia, right?” he said snidely.
“I’m gonna guess that’s the fear of the woods. No, I’m good.”
“Good, because we’ve gotta be pretty deep in the woods for this.”
Derrek gave him a worried look. “We’re allowed to be doing this, right?”
“Allowed as in are we supposed to be doing this or allowed as in are we allowed to have guns? Because the answer is no.”
“How did you even get into the military acting like this?” Derrek asked, glaring at him.
“Mostly charm and intimidation with a little bit of bullshit sprinkled in.”
Derrek rolled his eyes and said, “If we get arrested, I don’t know you.”
Jeffrey laughed and said, “Story of my life, sunshine!”
They drove deep into the woods until Jeffrey decided they were far enough in. They both got out of the truck, and Jeffrey pulled a plastic garbage bag out of the bed, which rattled as he handled it. They walked for a quarter of a mile until they got to a clearing that had a few trees. He grabbed the bag by the bottom and dumped the contents onto the ground, which were several discarded soda cans and a sealed pack of paper targets. He put his hand on his chin in thought. “Hmm …” he said. “Gotta put them up somewhere.”
He eyed a nearby tree. It towered over them and had a thick trunk but was visibly dying. Without saying a word, he approached it and looked at it for several seconds. He assumed a stance with his right leg behind him, closed his eyes, and brought his breathing under control. With one last breath, he opened his eyes, and Derrek watched in awe as he roundhouse kicked the tree, putting his leg clear through it.
It hit the ground with a loud thud, landing just in front of the pile of cans. With a satisfied smile, Jeffrey began placing several of the cans atop the tree, ten total, spacing them a few feet apart. He took a step back to admire his work and was pleased.
“All right!” he exclaimed. “Time to get started!”
He rolled up his right pant leg to expose his prosthetic and pressed a button just below his knee on the outside, causing a slot to pop open opposite to where he kept his water. Inside was an integrated holster with a handgun, which Jeffrey pulled out before popping the slot back into place. He laid it in his palm to show it off. “This is a Beretta M9, standard-issue sidearm for the army, navy, and air force. Holds fifteen rounds, shoots at 1,200 feet per second, and reliable as all hell.” He pointed to a switch on the side of the gun. “This is the safety. Flip it down to prevent it from firing and up to shoot. If you see the red dot, it’s good to go.”
He held the gun by the grip, keeping his fingers away from the trigger. “You wanna line the wedge at the end of the barrel up with these two bits here, then squeeze the trigger. Don’t jerk it back, though. You won’t hit shit like that.”
He pulled two small plastic bags out of his pocket and tossed one to Derrek, who saw they were foam earplugs. Jeffrey put his in and gestured for Derrek to do the same.
He cocked the gun, flipped off the safety, and pointed it at one of the cans, holding it with both hands. He kept both eyes open and focused on his target. Derrek winced back when he heard a loud bang and saw the can flipping around in the air. Without missing a beat, Jeffrey shot three more cans, sending them flying. He then took out the magazine, popped out the bullet in the chamber, relocked the slide, flipped the safety back on, and put the magazine back in.
“Your turn!” he said as he tossed the gun to Derrek, which he fumbled with as he tried to catch it, eventually getting a good grip on it, directly pulling the trigger. Jeffrey yelled, “Bang!” startling Derrek and throwing himself into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.
After he calmed down, he stood aside and let Derrek try his hand. He squared his feet, held his arms out as he had seen Jeffrey do, and pulled the trigger, forgetting there was no bullet in the chamber. Jeffrey stifled a laugh when Derrek gave him a sideways glare before getting the gun ready to fire. He held his breath and slowly squeezed the trigger.
The recoil took him by surprise, and he closed his eyes and stumbled back reflexively, nearly falling over. When he regained his balance, he saw the can he aimed at was still standing. Jeffrey chimed in. “Hey, you didn’t drop it, so I’d say that wasn’t too bad for your first—”
He was cut off by another gunshot and saw a can missing from the lineup. He looked at Derrek and saw his expression. His eyes were completely fixated on where the can was. He didn’t even react to the recoil, it was as if he were in a trance.
He snapped out of it when Jeffrey called out, “Hot damn! That’s what I’m talking about!”
He shook it off, coming back to reality, and with a proud smile, he said, “Beginners luck, I probably won’t make another shot like that anytime soon. It didn’t even fly like yours did.”
Jeffrey slapped him on the back in congratulations, and said, “Nonsense! You’ll be good enough by the time you take the test. Besides, you gotta hit it just right to pull that off.”
“Wait, test? You didn’t say anything about a test.”
“Yep. At some point this week, I’m gonna put up one of these targets, and you’re gonna stand thirty feet away. You gotta take ten shots and hit with at least six of them. Then you’re clear to carry that bad boy and you can get some fieldwork under your belt.”
Derrek was suddenly filled with determination. He didn’t get the chance to prove himself often but always jumped at the chance to do so. He readied himself up to keep shooting but missed the next four shots.
He didn’t waver, however, and took out two more with the rest of his ammunition. Jeffrey tossed him a full magazine and gestured for him to reload. It took him a few seconds to figure it out, but he replaced the magazine, chambered a round, and took out the remaining cans with seven shots.
He gave the pistol back to Jeffrey, which he laid on the tailgate, and they both took their earplugs out. Jeffrey went back to the truck and lifted the passenger seat to reveal a cooler underneath. He reached in and pulled out two green bottles, calling out to Derrek, “Care for a Brewski?”
With a perplexed expression, Derrek replied, “Brewski? Has anyone called beer that since the ’90s?”
“Whoever drinks this sure has,” Jeffrey retorted as he tossed him one of the bottles. Catching it, he saw the label read, “Brewski” and watched as Jeffrey popped off the cap with his thumb and chugged half of his.
Derrek tried in vain to pop his cap. It appeared to be a twist-off. After taking a second to think about how Jeffrey popped his off, he decided to let it go and took a sip. The flavor left him speechless, and he physically could not find the words to describe what he tasted.
He racked his brain trying to comprehend the drink in his hand. He had never tasted anything like it before in his life—it was utterly unique. He questioned everything he had ever done, every choice he ever made, and found nothing he could connect to this beer, no part of it had ever reached him before. The smell was like no other. Even the way the carbonation tickled his nose was unique—softer than most but faster.
His eyes widened when he finally understood what he was drinking, and it hit him like a sack of bricks. He took his lips away from the bottle, stared at it for a few seconds, and calmly said, “This tastes like shit.”
Jeffrey polished off his beer, let out a long belch, and said, “Yeah, it’s more of a chugging beer. Helps you get past the taste.”
“Why would you intentionally buy bad beer?”
“Because it’s my favorite,” Jeffrey said as he reached for another. “Plus, it’s got a twelve percent alcohol content.”
Derrek looked at the label again and was surprised to see that was true. “Jeez, that’s a potent drink.”
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“Damn skippy,” Jeffrey said before he began chugging his second Brewski. He downed it in ten seconds flat while Derrek choked his way through another sip. He grabbed his newly empty bottle by the neck and said, “Check this shit out,” throwing his bottle high into the air.
In one swift movement, he grabbed the pistol and took three shots, the first blowing off the neck of the bottle, the second taking out the base, and the third completely shattering the remains. Derrek’s ears rang as he covered his head to defend against the raining shards of glass.
Derrek snapped his fingers next to his ears, and as soon as he could hear them clearly through the ringing, he said, “Maybe a little warning next time?”
“Oh, come on. If I warned you, you would’ve been ready for it.”
Derrek covered his face with his hands in exasperation, groaned, and said, “That’s exactly my point.”
“And my point. You won’t always be ready for what happens. What matters is how you adapt to unfamiliar situations—for example, loud noises and glass falling at your face.”
Derrek started to protest, but he understood the lesson and kept his mouth shut. But that didn’t stop him from thinking of how to get back at him. With great conviction, he chugged his Brewski, struggling to force down every gulp but determined to finish it. After he polished it off, he gasped for air and grabbed the bottle by the neck.
“Think fast!” he shouted as he threw the bottle, aiming directly at Jeffrey, who was turned away, chugging away at his third beer.
Without turning or even opening his eyes, he used his free hand to catch the bottle just before it made contact with the back of his head. He finished his Brewski and glared at Derrek. With a cocky grin, he flipped both bottles back toward him.
Without thinking, Derrek dropped down to the ground prone, narrowly avoiding the bottles as they hit a tree behind him, completely shattering. He looked up to find Jeffrey standing above him, hands at his waist, with a wide grin on his face.
“Fast enough for you?” he asked smugly, holding out his hand, which Derrek accepted. Before he knew what was happening, he was pulled to his feet, practically weightless. Jeffrey put his hand firmly on his shoulder, leaned in close, and whispered to him, “If you’re gonna get someone with a surprise attack, always go for the kill.” This sent chills down Derrek’s spine.
“Surprise attack. Go for the kill. Got it, sir,” he stammered, flabbergasted.
Jeffrey let go of his shoulder and doubled over with laughter, slapping his knee, struggling to breathe. Derrek had no idea what to do, so he just watched as he continued his bout of laughter for another minute straight. When he finally snapped out of it, he took a moment to catch his breath and said, “Sorry, dude. It’s just you looked so scared! It’s like you thought I was gonna kill you or something!” He immediately started laughing again. Derrek, now knowing the joke, joined in.
Several minutes and another round of beers later, they went back to weapons training. After an hour, they had exhausted all the ammunition Jeffrey had brought, and it showed in Derrek’s rapidly increasing skill. He took to it and was coming along nicely, now able to take out ten cans with eighteen shots, but he needed to do better to pass the test.
Jeffrey was proud of Derrek’s progress and went to get a celebratory round of Brewskis, but he found his cooler empty; he had only brought a six-pack. Normally, this was when he would call it a day, but he had one more thing planned for Derrek. He closed the cooler, put the passenger seat back down, and asked, “Wanna learn how to throw a knife?”
Derrek was caught off guard. He thought it was just going to be firearms training, although he had to admit, it did catch his interest.
“Sure, sounds like fun,” he said with a smile.
“All right!” Jeffrey said as he opened the inner side of his leg. He put his water bottle aside and reached deeper in, emerging with a black rectangular pouch. He put his bottle back in his leg and closed it, then reached into the pouch and produced three small knives.
“When it comes to throwing knives, stance is everything. Stand up straight, best foot forward, eyes on your target,” he said as he got into the stance he described. He took one of the knives in his right hand keeping the other two in his left. “Hold it firmly at the grip, tip pointing toward the sky.”
He held out his right arm, pointing it at a nearby tree, his knife upward. He bent his arm, putting the knife next to his ear, “Focus on where you want it to go, reel back, and …”
He whipped his arm forward, sending the knife spinning toward the tree, where it landed with a loud thunk!
“Let that bitch fly.”
Without missing a beat, he threw the other two knives below the first.
Thunk! Thunk!
He had formed the three into a perfect equilateral triangle.
“Woah …” Derrek said, impressed by Jeffrey's skills and eager to try it himself.
“Do me a solid and get those, will ya?” Jeffrey asked with a devilish grin.
Derrek approached the tree and grasped the highest knife but found it firmly stuck. He struggled with it for several seconds, doing his best to twist and pull to dislodge the blade. When it finally popped out, he fell backward, proudly wielding the knife, although his mood did drop after he realized there were still two more.
The other two weren’t nearly as difficult, but Derrek wasn’t sure why. Maybe Jeffrey hadn’t thrown them as hard as the first one in an attempt to mess with him. The smile on his face strengthened that guess.
Derrek got into position while Jeffrey stood to the side, silently watching. He stood the same way he saw Jeffrey and quietly said to himself, “Focus on where you want it to go, reel back, and …”
He threw the knife as hard as he could, but he missed the tree completely, sticking it roughly twenty feet behind it, in the ground. He took another knife and reeled back for another throw, repeating his quiet mantra, “Focus on where you want it to go, reel back, and …”
The second knife hit the tree, but the handle hit first, causing it to bounce back and land near Derrek’s feet. He gave a sideways glance to Jeffrey who was holding back a laugh, but he just rolled his eyes and looked back at the tree. He took his final knife, and without thinking or repeating Jeffrey’s words, he threw it.
Thunk!
Both men were surprised, and a beat passed before either did anything. Jeffrey looked at Derrek expectedly, and he knew what needed to be said.
“Let that bitch fly.”
“Hells yeah!” Jeffrey yelled before moving to gather the knives. “I’d love to stick around and do this for another hour, but we’re out of Brewskis.”
“Fair enough. Do you want me to gather up the cans?”
“Nah, they’ll be here tomorrow, we’ll clean up when you pass the test. Why don’t you go ahead and hang out in the truck? I gotta take a leak.”
“You could have just said you needed a minute, but all right,” Derrek said as he went to the truck.
Jeffrey walked away into the bushes and was completely out of sight. Derrek usually filled his downtime by fiddling with his phone, checking current events and crushing candy, but he left it at the hotel. He glanced around the cabin and found it to be well-worn. It didn’t appear to be a rental.
There was an ashtray filled with cigarette butts, several hand-rolled, leading Derrek to question its contents. The radio was fitted with a cassette player, not fitting the shiny exterior, and had several strands of tape sticking out. There was apparently a cassette stuck in there. On the dash, there were dozens of papers with important looking information covered in coffee stains randomly strewn about with candy wrappers of varying brands and several empty packs of Huff’s Puffs brand cigarettes.
The console, however, was nearly pristine—no trash, no clutter, nothing at all aside from a book, perfectly placed in the middle. The book was paperback with a wordless, faded red color, and although it seemed to have been read several hundred times, it was very well maintained.
He decided to take a look and found an inscription on the cover page, in red ink. It read,
We all go through our own personal hell at some point, but you were among the lucky. You lived through yours. We’ll meet again someday, but until then, remember what you were taught, and never falter from your desires.
—L
Just as he finished reading, the driver’s door opened. Derrek scrambled to put the book back as it was, hoping Jeffrey didn’t see him reading it. He climbed into the driver’s seat and saw the look on Derrek’s face.
“Were you reading my book?”
“Er … yeah.”
“That’s fine. Just be careful with it. It’s first edition.”
A wave of relief washed over Derrek, but he left the book where it was, not wanting to push his luck. “I think I’ll leave it be. I didn’t catch the title, though.”
“It’s The Inferno, by Dante Alighieri.”
“Wow, aren’t the first translated copies worth thousands?”
“You misunderstand, young padawan. Not translated, first edition. As in it’s in Italian.”
“You speak Italian?”
“Not a word. I can read it, though.”
“That’s … something I didn’t know about you.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me. For instance, I’ve got a buddy. He grows tomatoes. He killed eight people across the US.”
Derrek was caught off guard by that. “Wait, what about the tomatoes?”
Jeffrey stared at him with a confused look and said, “What about the tomatoes? I just said my friend’s a serial killer.”
Derrek had a blank look on his face for several seconds, until he realized he had indeed just said that. He raised his eyebrows and said, “Jeez, I really fixated on the tomatoes, didn’t I?”
“You sure did. Now, stop saying tomatoes. It’s starting to sound weird,” Jeffrey said as he started the engine and began the drive back to the hotel.
The ride back was uneventful until Derrek posed a question.
“Who signed the book?”
Jeffrey gave him a sideways glance for a brief moment. “Honestly, I’m not sure. I asked the same thing to the guy who gave it to me. All he did was get real quiet for a few seconds and then ham-fistedly changed the subject.”
“That’s pretty weird.”
An awkward silence fell over the two, which persisted for the rest of the ride. When they arrived back at the hotel, Jeffrey grabbed the book, slid his seat back, and opened it to the middle. Derrek was unsure what to do, so he sat silently for several seconds until Jeffrey spoke up.
“Our day’s done. You’ve got the rest of the day to do whatever you want. I’m just gonna chill out here for a bit. Might hit up a pub later if you’re interested.”
Derrek smiled. “That would be nice, but I’ve still got a good amount of sleep to catch up on. I’ll tell you what, though, if you knock—and I mean knock, not break my door down—and I answer, I’m there.”
Jeffrey gave out a solitary chuckle. “Sounds like a plan. Get some rest. We’re doing the same thing tomorrow. Oh six hundred sharp.”
Derrek jokingly saluted. “Aye aye, Captain!”
Jeffrey snorted. “Get out of my truck.”
They both gave a decent laugh. Derrek went inside. Jeffrey watched as he entered the hotel, and as soon as he was out of sight, he opened the glove box and took out a package of cigarettes. He put one in his mouth and lit it, taking a long draw, filling the cabin with smoke.
He cracked a window, turned the air on low, and flipped the book to the cover, revealing the inscription. He read it several times, letting his cigarette burn, not taking a drag. He looked at it, seeing it was halfway burnt, and gave a loud sigh. He firmly held the book and put out his cigarette, pushing the embers directly into the blue words, burning a hole clear through the cover.
He held on to the crushed butt and stared patiently at the hole he had burned into the book. It was still smoldering, letting off some smoke of its own, spreading outward until it lost too much heat and fizzled out. The hole had spread to destroy no less than half of the message, but Jeffrey kept staring.
Just then, the book appeared to reverse the damage, healing from the burn. The words were coming back, closing in toward the center. In less than fifteen seconds, it was as if the book had never been damaged. The ink even looked freshly dried.
Jeffrey closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then opened them and saw it was still intact. He felt the same mix of panic, relief, dread, and control he felt every time he had done this before. He then shoved the butt into the ashtray, flipped back to the middle, and picked up where he had left off.