Page 81 of The Art of Dying

We held each other and cried until we couldn’t anymore and then we lay next to each other, knowing those were our final hours; our last time for a long time.

In three days, Kitsch would lose his family, and my children and I would lose our lives.

chapter twenty-two.

Kitsch

I collapsed onto my bunk, holding my cellphone in both hands, glaring at it. We’d just returned from a twelve-hour mission in Fallujah, half of it spent dodging bullets and returning fire. I hadn’t even had time to shower before my phone pinged. Tiger let me know in excruciating detail that the mission of disappearing my family had gone off without a hitch, and that his private plane had carried all three of them safely, landing at the tiny Riverside Airport in Jenks, Oklahoma. My wife was getting a quick makeover and then Mackwould drive her black new-to-her Infinity QX80 to their new-to-them home, Dylan and Emily in tow.

News had traveled fast once Tiger made a few strategic calls. My commander had already tried to contact me and then so did everyone else. Within half an hour, my email notifications were already in the high thirties. My voicemail box was full. Trex, Naomi, Harbinger, Martinez, and Sloan walked into my room, a mixture of emotions on their faces. I was hoping for more time before having to lie to them all. The five people who knew everything about me, my routine, my mannerisms, hell, even my bathroom habits. I would have to tell them I’d lost everything, make it believable, and somehow keep the debilitating guilt from my voice.

I wasn’t that good of an actor. I hadn’t thought about this part.

“Kitsch?” Trex began, “I… I don’t want to alarm you, brother, but I need you to tell me what I just heard isn’t true.”

“It depends on what you heard,” I said, sitting up.

“About Mack. The kids. The commander called me.” When I didn’t respond, he continued, first clearing the sadness from his throat. “It’s true. Jesus Christ, Kitsch. What can I do, buddy? Whatever you need. I’ll go home with you. I’ll go AWOL if I have to.”

“We all will,” Naomi said.

“They…” I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t lie to them. They’d know, anyway. “They’re fine, Trex.”

“Kitsch… I just got off the phone with Commander Clarke. Tiger called him not an hour ago and said you’d been informed that Mack and the kids were in an accident. You understand that, right? A truck crossed the center line and hit them head on. They’re not fine, brother. They… they didn’t make it. They’re gone.”

Trex was confused at first, but then I could hear the concern in his voice. He thought I was cracking up. That was how I was going to have to play this. They’d all think I’d gone insane with grief, but at least I wouldn’t have to lie to them.

“Yeah, he told me, but he’s wrong.”

“Kitsch…”

“I’m telling you, he’s wrong,” I said, firm.

No one spoke for nearly ten seconds, but then Naomi stepped forward. “I know you don’t want to believe it. But we had Hawk’s wife, Jayla, go to your house. Mack and the kids weren’t home. She used the spare key and went inside, hoping her car was in the garage. She turned on the television, and,” she sighed, “it was on the news. Mack’s SUV was on the news. It’s true, Kitsch. You need to go home.”

“I’m working. I’m telling you, they’re fine.”

Trex sighed. “I love you, brother. It’s going to be okay.”

“I know,” I said.

“Promise me you’re not going to do anything stupid,” Martinez said.

I made a face. “You’re all bein’ weird as fuck right now.”

They traded glances.

“You comin’ to chow?” Sloan asked.

“Not hungry. You guys go ahead.”

Trex gestured for everyone to leave. “O-okay. We’ll come check on you later.”

“You do that,” I said, lying back on my pillow and pulling my cap over my eyes.

Over the next week, the team did everything they could to get me to go stateside with them, updating me on the funeral arrangements, even calling Commander Clarke and begging him to force me to go on leave. I got it, but they went to Quincy, and I went to Moscow to check on a lead.

The day of the funeral, Naomi called me, sounding tired.

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