"They call us wolves. Stray Dogs. Our work is easier than GIs, but we've seen--encountered things that most couldn't handle. We hunt in the night as a pack and when our prey falls we disperse. The killing's easy. It's coming back to where no one understands that's difficult."
"And you think having people who understand will help?"
"Sure. All I'd need is to see someone else that does what I do, who's felt what I've felt, who's seen what I've seen. All I need is to see them and get that silent nod, the almost imperceptible recognition that they know."
"How does your wife feel about this?"
"She doesn't know and she doesn't need to. Her nerves are frayed enough as is. I don't need her fearing for me even when I'm not half a world away."
"Keeping secrets isn't healthy."
"Neither is constant anxiety, doc."
"Why do you come here if you ignore everything I say?"
"I need to tell someone or it'll go from more than a need for understanding. If I can't tell just one person at least some of what's happening then it's only a matter of time before I go out there again and intentionally don't come back."
With that, a chair creaked as a weight rose from it and a man sighed as he stretched, then nodded to the military psychiatrist across the room from him.
"Goodbye, doc."
"Our hour isn't--"
An egg timer chimed on the psychiatrist's desk and the young man glanced at it with a blank stare.
"Like I said. Goodbye."
He snapped off a half-hearted slaute with one hand while the other opened the door and he slipped out just as he dropped the salute. The doctor watched the exit with a blank face before jotting down more remarks on the evaluation and tossing the file marked "William Reynolds" to the desk
****
"I'm home. Sorry for the wait." He announced as he entered his house, his greeting receiving nothing but a faint whistle. "Lindsay?" He asked the air, but again only the steady whistle from somewhere in the kitchen answered him.
He cautiously venture farther into the house, not bothering to take his shows off. He turned the corner before him to find the kitchen with all its lights on and a tea kettle on the stove, whistling incessantly. He glanced through the hole in the wall between the kitchen and living room to see the TV ablaze with light as well, uncharacteristic of the energy conscious Lindsay.
"Lindsy?! You here?!" He yelled again. Still no answer. He checked the apprehension twirling in his gut and made his way back toward the entrance of the house, the bounded up the stairs two at a time.
The double doors of the master bedroom met him as he reached the top, a small sliver of light escaping underneath the threshold. He inhaled deeply and walked to the door, gripped the handle, twisted, and pulled.
"Oh, Christ."
