Page 1 of Remember, Love

1

Logan

The darkness is always there. Sometimes, the inky black that clings to me like a second skin lightens to murky gray. But, it’s still darkness.

Thousands of days, spent in this hole, deep beneath the jungle—the dark and I have become one. There was a time before. Long ago, there was light. I have flashes of memory, like stars that wink only to be blotted out by the night sky. I can never hold on to them long enough to remember.

I kneel, chained to the sod wall. Manacles are at my wrists and ankles. My clothing has disintegrated and rotted in the damp. My hair and beard are long and knotted. Sometimes, I rub my hands over the web of scars on my arms. Years ago, the dictator of this hell hole and his soldiers chained me here. My partner and I, we were…there was a mortar blast…he was…I lose the thought.

Darkness returns.

I reach down to a pile of rocks and shift them aside. I feel for the photograph I stashed there, thousands of days ago.

I pull it up and hold it close. Today, the cave is a deep gray and I can make out my angel’s face. She has an expression of surprised delight. Like the person who took the photograph has caught her unaware and she’s so happy to be found. I’ve spent countless hours imagining that I was the one behind the camera. Her skin is pale and covered in freckles. Her hair is braided and loose wisps curl out from behind her ears. She’s wearing only a white T-shirt, and sits cross-legged on a rumpled bed. The sun streams through sheer curtains.

My angel has kept me alive. All these years. I would’ve broken without her.

I flip over the picture. There on the back, in soft faded ink, are the words Remember, love. I run my thumb over the phrase, tracing where her pen wrote.

My angel.

Her name…I don’t know her name. I swallow. It doesn’t matter. I don’t need her name to know that I love her. A soul doesn’t have a name, and hers and mine are connected. She claimed me with her picture in this lightless place.

The darkness has ebbed. I look up. The long beams of flashlights bounce on the walls. They’re here. They’ll come down the cavern within the next few minutes. Will it be torture or water? Or both? I prepare to tunnel deeper inside my mind.

I was trained to dissociate, to dive so deep in myself that no matter the pain, I would never betray my country. But I went so deep that I cut myself off from my past completely. It’s a locked door without a key.

I tuck my angel’s picture into my pocket. I’ll hold on to her today.

One man emerges, a flashlight in his hands. I’m blinded in the light.

“They sent me.” His English is thickly accented. “You die. Finally.”

There’s yelling at the entrance and then the ground shakes with an explosion. Fuck. This is a war zone. And the war just made it to my little prison’s front door.

I’m still blinded by the flashlight, but I am the darkness. I don’t need light to see. I lunge at the man. He’s close enough that the chains don’t hold me back. I knock the gun from his hand and kick. He yelps. Then another explosion rocks the ground.

I stumble and the man runs.

I’m alone, again. But this time, there’s machine-gun fire and explosions breaking the silence. Men are shouting and engines revving. I can bank on the fact that this isn’t friendly fire and I’m not about to be saved. One thing’s certain: wherever my platoon is, they think I’m dead. There’s never been any rescue coming.

Another explosion. Screaming.

There are two paths in front of me. Either I’ll die here, buried in this grave. Or…fuck. I touch the picture in my pocket. I can’t die if there’s even a chance that she’s out there waiting for me. I know with certainty if I don’t escape, I’m a goner. The camp has never been under attack, the door to my hole of a prison has never been left open, a gun has never been within reach. Escape.

I yank at the manacles on my wrist. The rusted metal cuts into my skin, but I don’t feel it. Pain has no meaning. It’s nothing compared to the pain of never seeing her. Every muscle in my body, every bit of willpower I have left is channeled into yanking the chains free of the wall. They’re staked in—at least two feet deep. I’ve never been able to pull them free before. But now I must. For her.

I shout and strain against the metal. For my angel. I roar as the chains rip free of the wall. I don’t have time to stare in shock at my hands. Free. I grab onto the stake holding my left leg to the ground and pull. It yanks free of the rock.

Another explosion, closer still, roars through the jungle, and dirt rains from the cave ceiling. Hurry. Hurry.

Only one more stake. I’m imagining my freedom. Reaching my angel. I tug on the last bond. It doesn’t budge. I stare at it in desperation. I pull, anguish filling me. The machine gun-fire is getting closer. The assault is almost here.

I’m so close. I can’t lose this chance.

The shouting grows nearer. I pull again, the stake doesn’t budge. There’s no time!

I know what I have to do. I dive down deep. Embrace the darkness. Let it consume me. As if from a distance, I watch as I bring my wrist manacle down on my foot and crack the bone. The pain is consuming, my vision fades in and out of black. It wasn’t enough. My foot won’t slip through. I bring down the manacle again. And again. I’m bleeding freely. The attackers will come for me soon. Will I die before I can learn my angel’s name?

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