Sniper doesn’t speak. He just continues to stare at me so I continue to babble to fill the awkward silence. It’s a bad habit of mine. “Ike and I met a few days ago, and he asked me to come here to help George. You see . . . Ike is in limbo. He can’t cross to the other side because he has unfinished business.” Again, Sniper stares, his jaw still twitching angrily.
“He doesn’t believe you,” Ike mumbles, shaking his head.
“No shit, Ike,” I snap as I glare at him.
Sniper takes a step back, shaking his head. “You expect me to believe you’re talking to him right now?”
“Yes,” I answer simply. “Ask me something only Ike would know the answer to. Maybe an inside joke or a secret between the two of you.”
“I’m not doing this, you crazy bitch.” His words make me wince. He’s never spoken to me like that before. Sniper suddenly takes one large step toward me, muscles, bulging, fists clinching and I cower slightly, but refuse to step back just yet. I’m not lying and I refuse to be scared away. “Again, I don’t know what your game here is, but you better get out of my face and out of this town before you get hurt.” I swallow hard as I back away.
“Charlotte, repeat after me,” Ike orders. As he speaks, I shout after Sniper who is now walking back to my truck to retrieve George.
“Number one on the bucket list was to piss in Sgt. McForbe’s canteen and watch him drink it.” I give Ike a narrowed glance. “That’s disgusting,” I say.
“We hated him.” Ike shrugs before speaking again, to which I repeat to Sniper, who has stopped dead in his tracks.
“Number two was to go to the Super Bowl together if the Steelers and Seahawks were playing. And you have a pink unicorn shitting a rainbow on your ass!”
My gaze immediately jerks to Ike’s, and I give him a What the fuck? look. Ike laughs. “He lost a bet and he was wasted.”
“Really?” I turn back to Sniper, who’s steadily approaching. “You have a pink unicorn shitting a rainbow on your ass?”
“Bloody hell, Ike,” he grumbles. When his gaze meets mine, his eyes are brimming with tears. Watching a man like Sniper become emotional is a beautiful thing. It’s like witnessing a baby take its first breath. You know it’s rare and because of that, it’s beautiful. “He’s really here? He can hear me right now?”
“Yes,” I answer and smile faintly as my gaze flicks to Ike. His eyes are brimming with tears, too.
Sniper crosses his massive arms again. “This is fucking crazy,” he sighs.
“I know,” I answer honestly.
“Ike, man, I . . . I’m sorry,” he apologizes.
Ike tells me what words to say and I repeat them to Sniper. The conversation is emotional on both sides, and even I begin to feel a bit weepy after a while, but the two say very wonderful and loving things to one another, things only brothers of war would understand. When men walk into hell together, they believe they will walk out the same way and when that doesn’t happen, when one brother comes home and the other doesn’t, there’s a guilt so choking, you can’t breathe. Sniper lives with this pain and through me, Ike tells him, “It wasn’t your time, brother. God has plans for you still. Live for us both. And it would mean the world to me if you’d help us help George so I can rest in peace.” As Sniper cries, the emotions rolling off of him are like strong waves crashing over me. I can feel the weight of guilt and sadness he’s carried since Ike’s death. They say a few more things, promises from Ike that he’ll always be looking over Sniper, and promises from Sniper he’ll always take care of the McDermott family. And when they are through, Sniper drags me into his large arms and hugs me tightly.
“I’m so sorry I manhandled you, Char. You have no idea what this has meant to me. Thank you,” he whispers in my ear as his breath hitches. When he releases me, he steps back and rubs his face roughly with both hands. I’ve heard that a million times when I’ve communicated the words of the dead to a loved one, but this time, it feels good to hear. Ike is quiet when I glance at him, tears still streaming down his face, and I realize Sniper’s gratitude means more than I imagined; in helping Sniper, I helped Ike. And more than anything, I want to help Ike.
“I take it George doesn’t know about you seeing Ike and all, since he acts like a wanker to you.”
“He’s not in the right frame of mind to really accept the truth,” I say.
“So Ike told you to tip Roger off about George and Misty?”
“Uh . . .” I pause and give Ike a sheepish glance. “Not exactly. I kind of took that initiative all on my own. Ike wants George to stop seeing Misty because she’s supplying him with drugs.”
“That lass is a bit of a crack whore, isn’t she?” Sniper snorts.
“I thought with you being here, and me staying on alert, we could prevent George from being hurt. I just wanted Roger to . . . I don’t know . . . scare him, I guess.”
“Well, a good ass-kicking is probably what he needed most. You get him home, and we’ll talk more tomorrow. I’ll help in any way I can.” Sniper pats my shoulder as he glances around as if trying to catch a glimpse of Ike. “I love you, man,” he says, before walking toward the back door.
“You okay?” I ask Ike, who watches him with me. When his eyes meet mine, anger flashes in them.
“You could’ve gotten him killed,” he growls.