Chapter 28 Sebastian
raped, senseless murders... It was awful and endless.” He hadn’t intended to just dive in like that. Especially after a
few moments that had been so carefree and passionate. But Brynn was in his arms and he wanted nothing more than to share with
her the part of himself he shared with no one. “I was so frustrated—so many people were—because the diplomacy agencies seemed
to be spending all their time collecting data and studying the situation, trying to determine if what was happening could
be constituted as genocide. Of course it was genocide. Ethnic cleansing, plain and simple.”
She settled her head against his chest and wrapped her arms around him. “Why did the definition matter? To them, I mean.”
“Because they could get more funding for genocide. In the crudest of ways, to the philanthropists who thrive not only on what their money can accomplish in the world but what their impact in the world can do for their name and notoriety, genocide is the flashiest of all atrocities.” Sebastian’s chest rose and fell, and Brynn’s head accompanied it, her pulse calibrated to his.
“While the data was calculated, endless lives were destroyed. Generations and bloodlines were depleted, and anyone with power to make a difference sat by and waited for permission to act.”
“And you were there, seeing it happen?” She shook her head gently. “I can’t imagine.”
“I was one of the few on the ground, but I hardly had any access. I traveled with contacts from Bangladesh, and if I’d been
found out... Yeah, the Burmese government wouldn’t have taken well to a Western journalist sneaking in. It was just me
and a camera. Whatever I was able to film didn’t get shown back home, because of fears I would have been found out. Of course
I didn’t care about that.”
“You didn’t?”
He shook his head. “Not really. The job came first. The story came first. And if I died following something that mattered,
I thought at least I would die doing something important. It was never about making it home.” He stared at Murrow across the
room in his little bed and thought about everything he’d had wrong in his head for so long. “And again I ask: Is it any wonder
my marriage failed? So no, I really wasn’t worried about my safety. But they wouldn’t have shown much of what I got anyway.
Until they agreed upon the terminology, it was just in-fighting and squabbles in a part of the world few Americans had ever
heard of.” He kissed the top of her head. “Not everyone is as smart as you.”
She chuckled softly. “I’m glad you realize that.” She sat up so she could look at him but grabbed his hands to keep the link
between them. “So what happened?”
What happened was the part of the story he thought about every single day.
The part of the story that he’d sought God’s forgiveness for and that he’d never stop seeking absolution for, even though he believed he’d been forgiven.
Even by himself. But he would still see the images in his head, every day, for as long as he lived.
“I was in a village that was attacked. All around me, homes burned and people screamed for the loved ones they couldn’t save.
Fire literally rained down from the sky as helicopters flew overhead. And I watched. I made sure the camera was rolling, and
I ducked out of view, and I watched, Brynn. Finally I got the story. Finally I had the evidence of what was happening over
there. I was angry, but I was also so excited. Finally they’d see.”
She raised her arm and wiped her eyes on her sweatshirt, but she never let go of his hands. “That’s what you were there to
do.”
He nodded as Murrow jumped up onto the couch, climbed over Brynn to get to him, and squeezed in between the crook of his arm.
Murrow was there to do a job, just as Sebastian had been. Brynn watched what was happening, the way the tiny, fluffy Havanese
didn’t let anything come between him and his human, and Sebastian saw realization dawn in her eyes. Most of the time Murrow
was just his dog. But first and foremost, he was there to do a job. To help regulate Sebastian’s pulse when he sensed an oncoming
attack. When the PTSD threatened to overtake him. In those early, awful days, to give him something to live for.
Sebastian pulled one hand away from Brynn and rubbed Murrow’s head.
“I’m okay, boy,” he whispered. He raised his eyes back up and met Brynn’s.
“Yeah, that’s what I was there to do. The story came first. But I had a first-aid kit in my backpack that was more sophisticated than any hospital in the vicinity—not that they could have gotten to a hospital.
Not that they would have been allowed to go.
Not that they would have been treated if they somehow found a way.
But rather than pull out a tube of cheap, dime-a-dozen Neosporin and possibly save a kid’s leg or tie a tourniquet and keep his mother from bleeding out, I pulled out my camera.
” He ran his fingers through Murrow’s silky coat.
“But none of that occurred to me—the first-aid kit, the lives I might have saved, my obligation not as a journalist but as a human being—until I stopped rolling.
Lives were on the line, and I was the one with power to make a difference.
And when the moment came, I just sat by and waited for permission to act. By
the time that dawned on me, it was so much quieter than it had been. The screams had turned to tears or death, and I was a
shoo-in for another Pulitzer.”
Brynn squeezed his hand, the tears flowing freely down her cheeks. “But that’s not why you were doing it. People needed to
know. People needed to see the reality of the situation.”
“Maybe. Or maybe there were just some mothers who didn’t need to lose their children that day.” He smiled sadly at her. “Maybe
there was a way to do both.”
She leaned in and rubbed Murrow’s paw and then planted a soft kiss on Sebastian’s lips. “Maybe.”
“I escaped from Myanmar with my sanity hanging on by a thread—and the final thread of my marriage having already snapped. The network was in a sticky situation.” Sebastian met Brynn’s eyes and answered her unspoken question.
“I was clearly unhinged and too much of a liability, but if the whole story came out, that would include memos and emails from the powers-that-be that said things like, ‘Say “bloodbath” instead of “massacre”—it trends better,’ and ‘When Clooney or Jolie steps in, okay. Otherwise it’s dead air. Pull out.’ So they bought me out, including the footage, and sent me on my way.
I just . . .” He ran his hands through his hair and scratched ferociously, the frustration still present after all this time, causing even more chaos in his curls.
“I wish I hadn’t signed. I wish I hadn’t given up the film.
At the time I thought I never wanted anyone to know.
I just wanted out. I thought I could move on and put aside the shame I felt, as long as no one else knew.
But now the only shame I feel most days is that I allowed them to silence me. ”
“What choice did you really have?”
“I was brought up to be an observer. You know? An unbiased contributor to society. And I still believe in that. I do. I still
believe in the importance of presenting a story—the good, the bad, and the ugly—not for the sake of arguing on behalf of one
side or the other but for the sake of informing and educating, so that each person can then apply their own moral code to
the facts. That’s what I loved about being a reporter. Reporting. Being the eyes and ears for the people who couldn’t see it and hear it themselves. Sometimes their brain, even. But never
their heart. The problem is that I was so diligent about not being their heart that somewhere along the line I forgot how to access mine.”
“And then somewhere along the line, you remembered. I think that’s remarkable, and it doesn’t seem like you give yourself
enough credit for that.”
He shook his head. “If anyone deserves credit for that, it’s the people of this town. I didn’t expect that. I certainly wasn’t
looking for it.”
Murrow seemed satisfied that Sebastian was doing okay. He hopped down from the couch and returned to his bed. Brynn took his
place again, against Sebastian’s chest. His arm wrapped around her, and he pulled her closer.
“Can I ask you something?”
She nodded against him. “Sure.”
Here it was. Here they were. The moment of truth.
He’d shared with her what so few people knew in its entirety, and he wasn’t sure he understood why he’d felt it was safe to tell her.
But he hadn’t doubted it. Even knowing she would leave the day after tomorrow.
Knowing that no matter how authentic and true the side of her that Adelaide Springs had resurrected was, the other side hadn’t gone away.
Not completely. Not yet. And he knew better than anyone how good this town was at helping you to believe that everything outside of it didn’t matter quite so much.
“Have you seen Somewhere in Time ?”
She chuckled against him and leaned her head back to look at him. “That’s what you wanted to ask me?”
The corners of his lips curled up. “I’m going somewhere with this. I promise.”
The smile still on her face, she rested on his shoulder. “That’s the depressing time-travel one with Superman and Dr. Quinn,
right?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen it. I don’t like it, but I’ve seen it.”
He gasped and cupped his hands around her shoulders and pushed her up. “How can you not like Somewhere in Time ?”
Brynn’s shoulders drooped. “Oh, seriously? Sebastian, why would you do that to yourself? It’s supposed to be this epic love
story—”
“Which it is.”
“But it’s so creepy. She’s old and from forever ago—”
“That is sort of the point.”
“And don’t they both die? Like, the happy, romantic ending is that they’re dead together?” She stuck her tongue out and wrapped
her hands around her throat to act like she was choking herself. “Just kill me now.”