“And she loves you, but she also loves Evan. When she finally opened herself up to you it was with the knowledge that Evan was never coming home. Same goes for you – you never would’ve pursued her if there was a chance that Evan was alive.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” I say, chuckling lightly. In high school I wanted to pursue her, but shied away. Evan made it clear that Ryley was his. At first, I thought he’d use her and toss her away, but days turned into weeks, weeks into months and those months quickly turned into declarations of love, prom, and then basic training. The writing was on the wall, but I couldn’t read it clearly.
In hindsight, I wish I had. I wouldn’t be sitting here, staring off into the horizon, wondering what the hell has happened to my life.
“Did Evan know that you liked Ryley in high school?”
“He knew. It was instant, much like his attraction for her. He made it clear though, and I didn’t fight him. Maybe I should’ve. I don’t know.” I shrug. “Thing is, I’ve never denied that they have a connection. She was the first girl that ever tamed him and she did it without trying. I remember a party we went to and for some reason Ryley couldn’t go. As soon as we walked in girls were all over him and he ignored them, brushed them off, while I stood there, his twin, and they didn’t even notice me. We look alike yet I couldn’t get one girl to look in my direction.”
Leaning forward, I let out a groan and scrub my hands over my face. “I don’t mean to act like this. I just hate thinking about everything.” I sit upright again, crossing my legs at my ankles. “This isn’t a pity party. I’m happy that Evan’s home, but I’m damn pissed about the whole situation. With our technology, how does this happen? We’re trained to be the best, to get out of any situation possible and four guys who are presumed dead for six years just come waltzing back as if nothing’s happened? How?”
Lois sets her hand on my forearm, a gentle reminder that she’s here for me. “We’ve all been asking the same thing every day.” She clears her throat. “I’ve called the news stations and the papers. Every time I think someone is interested in the story, they stop returning my emails and phone calls.”
I turn sharply and face her. I can’t get it out of my head that this is a cover up, but for what? My plan is to spend some time in the library and look at the old newspapers around the time that Evan left to see if anything looks suspicious. Thing is, I don’t know what I’m looking for until Evan confides in me. Right now, the only thing I can get from him is anger, but his anger is misplaced.
“Was there a parade? Anything?”
Lois shakes her head slowly. “Nothing. There was one article by a no name journalist, but when I called the paper they told me that he’s never worked there.”
“Ryley said that Evan and the other guys received care packages?”
“Yeah, Evan had a picture of EJ from when he was a baby. He knew his name and everything. Evan knew things about them, everything except for where you were concerned.”
Sighing deeply. “That must’ve gone over well.”
“As well as getting your heart torn out of your chest would.”
Which is exactly what’s happening now.
It’s been years since I’ve been in a library and if it weren’t for the nice librarian I’d still be standing at the door scratching the back of my head. I’m grateful that she took pity on me and showed me what I needed. Sally, that’s her name, set me up in the small, private room that holds the microfiche machine. After I left Lois sitting on the deck, I drove around until I found a library with this machine. I figured using the web would alert someone. If this was a set up, I don’t want to leave a paper trail.
I start about six months before Evan left, going over every inch of the Times. I stay away from our local paper due to the fact they may not pick up on any international conflicts. I don’t know what I’m looking for, but I’m looking. I’m just hoping that I’m not bypassing anything. The answers are out there, they just have to be found.
After a month of articles I realize that I’m not going to get anywhere unless I talk to Evan. He has answers whether he knows it or not, and the least he can do is give me something to go on. Everything Lois told me doesn’t add up. My brother and his crew shouldn’t be able to walk down the street without being mobbed by the media. Someone is keeping this quiet, but why? Where did they go? And what did they witness?
Article after article, note after note... everything I read and write down makes me think that I’ve lost my Goddamn mind. The sheer amount of possible situations could lead me anywhere and nowhere at the same time. I’m out of my league. I don’t know what I’m doing.
Groaning in frustration, I flip forward to last month. The lone article that Lois told me about earlier is front and center. How I got so lucky and stopped the machine in this location, I’ll never know, but I’ll take it.
No happy homecoming for SEALs declared dead by Navy
Art Liberty
SAN DIEGO – We have all seen and read about the happy homecomings of military members returning from deployment. Tearful but smiling family members embrace uniformed moms, dads, sons and daughters and welcome them back into their loving arms. High-ranking military and political officials give speeches lauding the bravery of the returning men and women. Sometimes there is even a band playing cheerful and patriotic music.
That is the joyful scene that we have become used to seeing on the Internet, television, social media, and newspapers. But that was not the welcome home reportedly experienced by four members of Navy SEAL Team Three, based in Coronado, CA.
They deplaned after a long flight from their theater of operations to be met by – no one. Instructed to take taxis from the airfield, the SEALs made their own way home to families that were anything but overjoyed to see them. The reason? All four were dead, according to the Navy. Funerals had been he
ld with full military honors. “Taps” was played, a rifle salute was performed, and in a meaningful ritual peculiar to the Navy’s elite warrior SEALs, fellow SEAL team members removed their Trident insignia and embedded it into the lid of the casket in a poignant and symbolic goodbye to a fallen brother-in-arms.
Sources close to the four men report that the SEALs, deployed for an unheard of six years, were regularly provided with “care packages” purportedly from their families at home, including items such as newsy letters and family photographs. The men are reportedly devastated by the thought that their loved ones believed them to be dead and buried for the past several years.
Lcdr. Becca Dawn, spokesperson for the Naval Special Warfare Command in Coronado, the command with authority over all Naval Special Warfare forces, said four days ago, “I am not aware of this issue or these men. I will have to get back to you.” So far there has been no further comment and Lcdr. Dawn has not returned numerous messages. Several attempts were made to contact the Public Affairs Officer of Naval Special Warfare Group One, the parent command immediately over SEAL Team Three, have also not been returned. Former Navy Lt. Candy Brotz, past spokesperson for the command and now a reporter for Military News noted, “It is unheard of for SEALs to be deployed for that length of time. The circumstances are not only unusual, they are highly suspicious. The Navy doesn’t just tell families that their sailor is dead without a lot of documentation and investigation.”
Clearly this incident calls for answers from Navy authorities. Meanwhile, four traumatized families and four brave warriors try to rebuild shattered lives, if that is even possible.
Grabbing my pencil, I jot down Lcdr. Dawn and Lt. Brotz as people I need to contact. Brotz may know something and if she won’t tell me, she might tell Carole. I read the article again, memorizing it word for word. How this article didn’t prompt an investigation or media shit storm, I’ll never know. Either way, I’m going to find these people, along with Art Liberty, and find out what the hell is going on.