Private

When I took in the scene, I saw that the walls had cracked like eggshells, and the carpet was littered with shards of plaster and glass. I was both at Blue Skies and in Afghanistan, memories still pouring into my head like gasoline streaming over hard desert ground.

Men ran toward me, phosphorescent green figures against the black of night. I put Danny Young down on the ground, and then-the great gaping hole opened up in my memory. I was there. And then I wasn't.

I was dead-and then I returned to life. For what reason, I had no idea.

There was intense and painful pressure on my chest, and Rick Del Rio was in my face. "Jack, you son of a bitch-"

He hadn't known I'd left Jeff Albert to die.

He hadn't known-and I hadn't either. I had been out of my mind, hallucinating that I was in a bar. I'd thrown a jab at Rick. Now I was remembering for the first time, falling down the hole in my memory toward searing mortification.

Everything I believed about myself melted before this terrible truth. I'd left a man behind. I'd promised him I would be back, but I had left him. I wished Rick hadn't brought me back to life.

I wished that I had stayed dead.

A voice called to me, "Jack. Jack, are you all right?"

Rick? Where the hell am I?

I stared at the gray-haired man, whose face was close to mine. Who was he? How did he know my name?

"I'm Brendan McGinty, Tommy's therapist. You were moaning. Where are you hurt?"

"I'm… okay. I just-"

I struggled to stand, and Dr. McGinty held out his hand to help me up. I clasped his forearm and pulled myself to my feet. People scurried past in pairs and groups.

McGinty was speaking in a soothing tone. "It's going to be all right. I'll call a doctor to look at you, Jack."

"No, I'm fine. I'm really fine."

McGinty said, "Tommy, we have to postpone our session. We'll reschedule."

I looked up and saw my brother standing only a few feet away. He said, "Hell, no. We don't have to cancel anything. Jack's been through firestorms on the dark side of the moon. A little quake isn't going to bother him. Right, Jacko?"

I wanted to get into the Lambo and jam the pedal down to the floorboard. I wanted to drive until I fell asleep at the wheel. I wanted to do whatever it took to get away from the guilt and the unbearable pain of what I'd finally remembered. I had carried a friend who was dead out of a burning helicopter, and left another man behind.

"You are okay, aren't you, bro?" Tommy asked. "What the fuck. You're already here. You're a busy man, remember."

I was so dazed, I could hardly speak, but I got out a few words. "Let's do it," I said.

Chapter 85

THE WORLD OUTSIDE my head seemed insubstantial, as if the present could be a dream and my memories much more solid and alive in the now.

Sounds were irrelevant; the sirens shrilling outside on the highway, the blaring voice over the PA system, Tommy and Dr. McGinty talking together as they walked down the hallway with me trailing behind.

I ducked my head as I crossed the threshold into Dr. McGinty's office.

The room was small, and the quake had flung pictures and books across the hardwood floor. McGinty returned a floor lamp to its upright position and switched it on.

He said, "Jack, honestly. We can do this another time."

"I'm fine," I said. "Really. I'd like to have our talk now."

We cleared the center of the room and placed two identical wooden armchairs side by side across from McGinty's recliner. I felt Jeff Albert's presence eyeing me from a corner of the room as Tommy and I sat down in the chairs and McGinty got comfortable in his La-Z-Boy. It was a pretty crazy thought, but I wondered-had Jeff Albert been calling me every day to tell me that I was dead?

Tommy said, "I don't think California broke off the continent, at any rate."

We were dressed the same. White shirts, blue blazers over jeans. I wore loafers; Tommy wore moccasins. The smirk on his unshaven face made him look a little like the guy who stars on Mad Men.

The arrogance was completely unearned. The smug, invincible affect had come from my dad. Tommy was grounded in Tommy Sr.'s crap.

McGinty asked if either of us needed anything and then said, "Let's begin. Jack, we're hoping you can give us some additional insight into your father's personality."

Speak of the devil.

"How would you describe him?"

My father had been dead for over five years, but he would never really be dead to me. I said, "He was cruel. That was his best trait."

Dr. McGinty smiled, then asked, "Can you tell me more, Jack?"

"Oh, hell, volumes. He was abusive to my mom all the time. He pitted Tommy and me against each other for his amusement. He didn't stop until someone bled or cried. He was never wrong about anything-sports, human nature, the weather. He was a perfect godlike creature in his own mind."

The shrink nodded. "What we call in my business 'a real SOB.' " He looked to my brother. "Tommy, what do you think about your father?"