Tortured Dreams

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter 21

"Fine, you guys know a lot about me. I know nothing about you." I said, after the dinner plates had been put back onto the room service cart and shoved roughly into the hallway to wait for some poor maid to deal with them.

"Well, I'm seven days older than Lucas," Xavier started.

"We grew up next door to each other until I was nine," Lucas added.

"Then he moved in with my family." Xavier continued.

"That's strange, don't do that," Gabriel smiled at the two men.

"Best friends for life then," I ignored Gabriel.

"Actually, it started because our parents were best friends. My father was an FBI agent. Lucas's father was a county sheriff. However, they were roommates in college and when they got out, they were pretty much inseparable. I have three siblings, all younger than me. Two brothers and a sister, none of them went into law enforcement. One is a doctor, one is a firefighter and my sister is a school teacher, she teaches first grade." Xavier said.

"I had one brother, a couple years older than me; he died when I was nine." Lucas grimaced.

"You don't have to talk about it." I looked down at my hands.

"I made my peace with it a long time ago. My brother drowned during a boating trip we all took. My parents didn't handle his death very well. They sent me to live with Xavier's family. One night, my dad was supposed to go to work, he didn't show up there and he never came home. He just disappeared. My mother was eventually institutionalized. That's why I got a degree in psychology. I couldn't understand why I was never enough. Turned out not to have anything to do with me at all. But Xavier's family was good to me. I was never treated differently. I was always treated like one of their own children. I joined the navy at 18. Xavier joined with me." Lucas shrugged.

"Why the navy?" I asked.

"Why not?" Xavier asked back. "It was a chance to get away. We grew up on the East Coast. Neither of us was mature enough to go to college right out of high school. We would have flunked out. So we enlisted in the navy when a recruiter came to our high school. Served six years, most of it spent in Desert Storm. During that time, we were both approached to join the SEALS. We did. Our first mission was fine. We got back, I had a break down. They labeled it PTSD. I was honorably discharged and sent to med school. Lucas joined me six months later, enrolling in the same college."

"Also honorably discharged," Lucas added quickly. "Injured in the line of duty; got a Purple Heart for it. I started college, Xavier and I took a lot of intro classes together. When we both finished our bachelor's and began looking at med schools, we both got accepted to Johns Hopkins, me in psychology, Xavier in general medicine. We graduated the same year with our doctorates."

"Lucas was recruited by the FBI at that time," Xavier picked up the story. "He went to work for the Behavioral Analysis Unit at Quantico. I went to work as a coroner for the city of New York. Then the US Marshals approached us."

"We both accepted. Now we are here." Lucas shrugged.

"How old are you both?" I frowned at them.

"36," Xavier told me.

"That's a lot of accomplishments." I frowned harder.

"What about you, Gabriel?" Xavier asked.

"Small town born and raised, in Arizona. Nothing bad or tragic ever happened in my life. Hell, all my grandparents are still alive even. I have a sister, she has four kids. They live in Arizona near our parents. I've been married once, divorced once. She didn't like the lifestyle. Started at a community college, moved to Arizona State after that and got a degree in criminal justice." Gabriel paused, seeming to be lost in the memory.

"I don't really have a best friend like the rest of you. My ex wife held that job for many years. I'm 34, two kids that I almost never see. Their mother has remarried and is trying to get her new husband to adopt them. She doesn't want me to expose them to death and destruction. Last year the witch returned their Christmas and birthday gifts unopened. I keep in close contact with my sister and her kids as well as my parents. My sister's husband is out of the picture, so I send her money every month to help with the expenses. She hates it, but I do it anyway. One thing about working with serial killers and mass murderers, they pay well."

"What's Michael's story?" I asked.

"Don't know. He doesn't talk about his past. Says it's in the past, why drag it up," Xavier said.

"May I ask about how much you guys actually make in a year?"

"About two hundred grand a year. A little more by the time you figure in the houses." Lucas told me.

"Wow, that's a lot." I had never made more than thirty grand in a year.

"It is, but our life expectancy is pretty short." Lucas shrugged, "we are compensated by money that we can leave to our friends and family."

"If this works, I'll have to talk to everyone about moving my trust fund into the names of my nieces and nephews and adding more money to it."

"We all have trusts set up for family." Gabriel told me.

"What is the average life expectancy for this job?"

"Four years," Gabriel answered flatly.

"How long have you guys been doing it again?"

"Three," Xavier answered.

"Two," Gabriel said.

"I see." This brought about silence and we sat staring at each other unable to fill the void with conversation any longer.

"Night, Ace," Xavier got up. I stood with him, welcoming the reprieve from the dreadful quiet. The others followed.

I was left alone. I went back onto the balcony to have another cigarette.

Chicago, like every other big city, never really got dark. The street lights gave off sickly glows that the shadows dared not touch. The El-Train was still running. Buildings still had windows lit. All of that light kept the city from actually being dark. There were dark places though. I could see them from where I stood. Places under the El platforms, places in darkened doorways, places that the light didn't penetrate. Places that people avoided now that they relied on those street lights and lighted windows.

I finished the cigarette while watching a drunk stumble from the El. He weaved and wobbled his way down the stairs and onto the street. Even in his inebriated state, he avoided the dark.