Because it involves my little brother, Carter.
And it involves one then-Colonel Coltrane Cunningham.
And, it turns out, the sonofabitch damn near got my little brother killed, in addition to the other things he did to Carter.
And to Eddie.
Eddie is now an utterly broken man with this truth finally spoken aloud to someone else who isn’t my brother. His tone of voice, the defeat he wears even as he lies naked on a bathroom floor and covered in his own shit and piss, it’s all proof. I’ve been in this line of work too long not to recognize the signs.
Then again, he’s also terrified he may have just got the man he loves killed.
Good, let him think that for a little longer. It’ll only increase my initial leverage with him and keep him compliant.
When Eddie reaches the point in his story where Carter received his surprise early promotion and their unit’s orders came through to deploy, which Coltrane must have pushed through back channels to make happen since he wasn’t the one in charge of deployments, I take pity on the man and hold up my hand. It’s been nearly thirty minutes and he’s starting to shiver sitting there on the filthy, cold tile.
Plus, I need time to process what he’s told me so far because the things Cunningham did are even worse than I imagined.
I point to the tub behind Eddie. He’s now sitting up and leaning against it. “There’s soap and shampoo in there, and a washcloth. Climb in, sit, get the water running warm, and clean yourself up.” I point up, to the towel hanging over the shower curtain bar, and he looks. “Dry off when you’re done. Then, use the washcloth to clean this fucking floor and dry it with the towel. Besides, it’s your mess.” The IV bag is empty. “You can take that out, too,” I say, pointing to it. “I’m not doing it for you.”
He moves slowly, obviously in a lot of pain from his old injuries, the abuse heaped on him during interrogation, and then the kick I just delivered. I don’t ask him questions as he removes the IV and then slowly rolls himself over so he can push up on his hands and knees.
Yes, it’s a little humiliating for him to have to move the way he is, chained and shackled and naked, with me watching his every move.
That’s kind of thepoint.
And, yes, with him awake and aware, I’m able to appreciate his body even more. He’s no Ryan Reynolds, but then again, neither am I. Neither of us are just rolling off the showroom floor. We both have a lot of fucking miles on our classic chassis, and I think we both represent pretty damned well.
Once he’s in the tub he starts the water running and cleans up.
“Soak for a little while,” I tell him. “It’ll help your pain.”
The doubt furrowing his brow is understandable, but he puts the stopper in and after a few minutes he’s sitting in warm water and shuts it off.
I make no move because, obviously, he’d worry I’m about to drown him, and I don’t want to panic him when he’s opened up to me. One thing’s for certain—Elsa abused him and Carter. Carter obviously had the right end of the stick about positive reinforcement, but Elsa literally beat and tortured Carter and Eddie.
Especially Eddie.
Worse, she helped Cunningham abuse them.
Once he’s comfortable, I speak again. “You and Carter were deployed,” I prompt. “You kept the mark Elsa cut into you hidden from him, at first. How did he react when he finally saw it?”
“He swore he’d kill her,” he softly says.
“Did he?”
He nods.
I freeze. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
That means I need to high-five my little bro next time I see him. Saves me the trouble of having to hunt her down and do it myself.
Then it hits me. “You said he broke his promise to you.”
“Not that one. That promise he kept.”
At some point, I want the deets about that, but not right now. “Then what promise did he break?”
