Page 81 of Stone

XOXO

Elise ~ July

John,

I can’t sleep.

I can’t eat.

I can’t breathe.

Where are you? I need to know you’re okay. Even if something’s happened and your feelings for me have changed, I still need to know you’re alright.

In a way, I understand your life’s different now. You’re off doing everything you ever wanted. I know it must be alluring to do exciting things and experience all that adventure. Hambleton must be just a passing thought when you’re living life to the fullest and seeing things you never did before.

I understand everything, but please write and be honest, because not knowing feels like I’m in limbo.

I even went to your house. Your mom’s always out, and your dad won’t tell me anything.

I sense he knows more than he’s admitting, but I didn’t want to push the issue, especially after what happened the last time I demanded answers from him.

The world’s going crazy. There’s so much chatter on the news about Iran, Kuwait, and oil. I’m trying to learn as much as I can. I get a terrible feeling because SaddamHussein is saying Kuwait has waged an economic war on his country. I had to ask Mayor Henderson what economic war is. He explained about the debt Iran owes Kuwait, and that’s fine, but what has it got to do with us?

I’m lost, alone, and my heart is sick with worry. Please, John, I’m desperate. Let me know if you’re okay. Just one letter with two words saying, ‘I’m okay.’

That’s all I need.

Please, just one letter.

Yours always, (even if you’re not mine).

Elise.

XOXO

Chapter Twenty-One

Stone ~ Early July

The last three months had been all systems go. The second Spence and I made Lance Corporal, we were whisked off to Scout Sniper Training School. Our program lasted for ten weeks and was split into three phases. If we’d have failed any of them, we’d have gotten kicked out immediately.

The weeks had passed in the blink of an eye. Now, we were on the final strait, hence the reason I was currently sitting with my legs hanging out of a Seahawk, popping shots at small boats bobbing sixty feet below in the Pacific Ocean.

You’d think the sergeant screaming orders and the deafening whooping of the propellors would somewhat distract me.

Well, you’d be wrong.

Over the weeks, I’d been trained in maneuvers I’d never imagined before. I was a certified marksman and stalker, and Spence and I could pinpoint a thousand-yard line to the millimeter. With one signal, we could become ghosts, specters, and a man’s worst nightmare.

My M40 had become my new best friend, along with my M4 and my Barrett M82. My handgun of choice was my Beretta—which I could field strip within five seconds. Additionally, my precision blade throws became famous in my sniper class, so I always had my trusty Ka-Bar sheathed at my back.

“This is it, boys.” Sergeant Cox hooted loudly from behind us. “Whoop it the fuck up.”

Closing my eyes, I breathed slow, quiet, and steady, listening to the air whipping hard around my ears that whispered directions. My racing heart began to thud steadily, the adrenaline in my veins making the world around me shrink inward to a small point of tunnel visionthat only existed through the sight of my rifle.

The sounds quietened until a voice in my head whispered one word.

Go.

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