Eddie is also legally dead. Amazing what money will buy you. Including a body.
I paid for a cremation and death certificate in Slovakia.
That all happened the week after we took out Cunningham. I left Eddie in a rented beach condo in Pensacola while I returned to Europe for a week to arrange his “death,” clear out my Paris flat and sell it, and finish what little business I had left to wrap up. Carter helped me out by spreading the word amongst the guys they served with and holding an impromptu memorial service for Eddie.
Legally, the pet contentedly kneeling at my feet is now known as one Thomas Peter Wilson née Dorsey. It’s Mom’s maiden name and I liked the symmetry. I call him “Topper” in public, and it only took me a week or so to train him to automatically answer to that.
I never address him as Eddie anymore. He’s either pet, Topper, good boy… ormine.
Why “Topper?” When he’s anythingbuta Top?
It’s Tom and Peter smushed together. And it sounds like what you’d call a dog.
Perfect homage befitting my perfect pet.
Hey, Topper loves it, and that’s all I give a shit about.
We got married in Pensacola immediately upon my return from Europe and we’re both officially retired now. After combining Eddie’s assets into my accounts, I cashed in all our Bitcoin, because I don’t like how vulnerable they can be, and pumped nearly all of those funds into a software company based in Singapore that one of my aliases has owned for several years.
Guess you could say I’ve been actively planning my retirement for a while now.
We both draw nice salaries from that company and legally pay taxes. In a year or so, I’ll “sell” the company to another untraceable holding company I own and completely cash out, leaving us free to do whatever we want with the money.
Apparently, interest in Cunningham’s disappearance waned once dozens of men started coming forward with horror stories about being abused by the man throughout the years. Then, a string of unusual deaths of men formerly in Cunningham’s command, and likely abused by him, started being uncovered by a particularly tenacious WaPo reporter.
Who might have received a tip-off from me.
Typically, the Army wasn’t so eager to locate Cunningham after that, and it was assumed he fled the country to escape justice and will turn up eventually.
Maybe that assumption came about because I had a friend of mine in the Ukraine use Cunningham’s passport at a checkpoint there three days after we killed him. So that trail has been laid.
In other words, no investigation will reveal any information that can be tied to me or my pet. What I did for the last ten years of my career was total black ops, completely off the books. No FOIA demand will ever reveal my actions regarding Eddie. My retirement paperwork indicates I held down a desk post in Paris for the past ten years, interpreting intel.
We won’t get complacent or totally let down our guard, but with Cunningham dead and no longer able to pull any strings—and even better, his memory and reputation demolished—there’s little risk to us now.
Not out here, in the middle of nowhere.
I’ve always wanted to learn how to fish. Wanted to be able to relax in a shaded hammock with the man I love napping next to me.
Wanted to own a dog, and enjoy spending time with my extended family.
We’ve made a few trips to the local animal shelter and are still discussing that. As far as time with my extended family, I’m still trying to figure out that part. Carter won’t disown me for being gay, at least, but I haven’t spoken to him in person or on the phone since that night, and he hasn’t reached out to me since I exchanged encrypted texts with him about helping me spread the word about Eddie’s “death.”
Whether or not he’ll come to grips with my husband’s place in my life is another matter. It would be nice to not spend Mom and Dad’s last years in the closet, though.
I tap my right foot and my pet sits up and nuzzles his face against my hip so I can ruffle his hair. “Good boy. You may get your coffee and bring it out here.”
“Thank you, Master.” He scrambles to his feet, kisses me, and hurries back into the house.
Yes, I turn to watch him. Why shouldn’t I? He’s got a great ass. His limp and scars don’t detract from who he is or how he makes me feel. Maybe we were thrown together by a cruel twist of fate, but I’m not complaining.
What other man could be more perfect for me than Eddie? He literally understands me in just about every way. When I look back on my life, I suppose it was worth spending so many years alone. The irony that my little brother is the one who helped train him so perfectly isn’t lost on me, either.
I settle in one of the Adirondack chairs out here and prop my feet up on a stool. I know we’ll spend the rest of our lives living here, and I don’t feel like traveling. Not right away, at least. And if we do travel, I want to stay in the United States.
Many reasons for that, including I don’t like tempting fate by going through passport checks with my pet any more often than necessary. But also because I’ve seen too much of the world already. I’d rather focus on exploring this country for a change, including the land surrounding our new home.
Always able to return here, to our safe, private nest.
