Eric #2
He responds instantly. Al Khad’s associates released a recording of the raid to show how American service members attacked his family and other civilians. They’ve outed the US commandos who orchestrated the raid. It’s all over the news. You can see their faces…
“Ava?” Eric’s voice is husky with sleep. “What is it?” When I don’t reply, he pushes himself up on one elbow. “Sweetheart, you’re shaking. What’s wrong?”
I hand him my phone so he can see the texts from Miles.
“Oh my God. Do you want to see the video?”
“I… I don’t know. Part of me does, but an even bigger part of me doesn’t.”
“Do you want me to look for you?”
I once showed him a picture of John, so he’d be able to pick him out. “I… I don’t know what to do.”
“I’ll do whatever you want me to.”
“Just hold me for now. That’s what I need.”
“There’s nothing I’d rather do.”
I turn to him and let him wrap me up in his love and warmth, which goes a long way toward alleviating the out-of-control trembling that makes me feel weak.
“I’m right here, sweetheart, and I’ll always be right here, no matter what. I love you so much. Nothing will ever hurt you again, not as long as I have a breath left in me.”
When I close my eyes, tears leak from the corners.
I’m gutted by the possibility that I could turn on the TV and see him, that it could be as simple as pressing the ON button, that most of the questions that’ve haunted me for years could be answered in a matter of minutes.
That possibility has me completely paralyzed with indecision.
“Tell me what I can do for you,” Eric says after a long silence.
In a matter of minutes, it becomes clear to me that I won’t have any peace until I look, even as I try to tell myself it can wait until tomorrow. Whatever it is will still be the same tomorrow. That may be true, but much as I might want to avoid this latest development, I can’t. I have to know.
“Would you mind if I turned on the TV?”
“Of course not.” He lets me up and wraps a blanket around us both as I reach for the remote.
My hands are trembling as I turn on the TV and switch the channel to CNN, where huge red letters announce Breaking News.
After a few minutes of listening to talking heads break it down, the anchor says, “For those who are just joining us, the Al Khad organization has released a security video that shows the commando raid on the compound where the terrorist was holed up with his family and closest associates. We have to warn you that parts of the video are hard to watch and are not suitable for children.”
The network shows only snippets of the video, which is more aggravating than anything.
“I found the full video online,” Eric says, turning his laptop toward me.
I watch the video with dread and anticipation pounding through me.
I see men in fatigues with heavy vests over their chests, their faces covered with some sort of paint, weapons leading the way as they enter the building from all sides, a well-coordinated assault that takes the occupants by surprise.
Gunfire explodes in a fury of fire and sound.
Women scream and dive on top of their children.
A woman wielding a knife comes at the commandos and is shot dead.
More screams, words in a language I don’t recognize, pleas for mercy that are recognizable in any language.
I reach for Eric’s hand and hold on tight as I watch the raid unfold with a methodical search of every room, more gunfire, shouts in English, more screams… If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was watching an action movie and not a real-life drama. It seems surreal.
I can’t see the Americans’ faces, only their backs. It’s all happening so fast that I can’t tell much of anything from what I see on the screen.
A woman shoots one of the US commandos, and she is quickly executed by one of his colleagues.
“Get him out of here,” someone shouts.
Another of the commandos turns, and a face I don’t recognize is exposed for all the world to see as he tends to his fallen brother.
The others continue forward, storming up a flight of stairs and returning gunfire with a barrage of bullets.
I’m so scared, I can barely breathe. Have I waited all this time to find out what became of John only to watch him be killed? I’m not sure I’d survive that. I want to look anywhere but at the television, but I can’t bring myself to look away.
“Breathe, Ava,” Eric says, his lips brushing the fevered skin on my face.
I force air into my lungs as I watch the systematic search of the second floor.
A shout goes out, more gunfire erupts, another of the commandos is hit, and someone yells, “I’ve got him! In here!”
For a few seconds, the only thing on the screen is fire and screams and explosions that rock the building and the camera that’s filming the action below it.
When the dust settles and the smoke clears, two men emerge from the room where everything happened.
They’re dragging a third man, who is Al Khad.
One of the two men with him is John.
I let out an anguished cry.
“Oh my God,” Eric whispers, tightening his grip on me.
Sobs shake me as I watch him and his colleague wrestle Al Khad through the hallway to the stairs, where more gunfire greets them.
John goes down, and I scream.
Eric is there, his arms around me, his words soft and supportive even if they don’t permeate the fog in my brain.
Did I just watch him get killed? Is he dead and they never released his name? Is John West even his real name? I can’t bear to look anymore. Hysterical and inconsolable, I bury my face in Eric’s chest.
In the background, I hear the reporters dissecting what we’ve just seen, as if we need their help to understand it. The one thing I want to know is the only thing they can’t tell me.