Operation: Dard and Devotion

41 | Yearning & Yonder

Thankyou to wiresgothebestofhim for the strikingly beautiful chapter art!

Considering we had arrived at Queen Alia International Airport three hours ahead of the departure time, Marc and Nat took their time to retrieve all of our luggage from the van, which was on the government's tab. It was even more of a wonder when soldiers had handed me all of the belongings I had brought with me upon my initial arrival to Jordan. Apparently, they had gone to Umm Qais the day after I had told them my story. Upon locating Yassar and Rafaa's home, they had rummaged through the house, retrieving my things, such as my passport and official documents, which had been safely stowed away in the family's safe, as well as any sort of clue that would help lead them to Al-Tho'baan. After interrogating the neighbors, it had been concluded that Yassar and Rafaa's entire family were gunned down shortly after I had been kidnapped from there. I didn't know what to think. Maybe if I had just stayed in New York, none of this would have happened. That innocent family would not have been killed. It was my fault.

I went ahead and strode towards the entrance of the airport, relieved to have gotten away from such a suffocating vehicle. Ever since the execution, I hardly spoke to anyone and I kept to myself as much as I could. I no longer had energy to speak and I thought of myself as a pessimistic nuisance. For the past two days, I had done nothing but sleep and take medications. No matter how hard Marc, Nat, Dr. Hudson and Stacy tried to convince me otherwise, I was certain that my life was over.

Emotionally and mentally, that is.

Being physically alive just did not suffice.

As I dragged my luggage behind me, random tears blurred my vision and I wasn't quite sure why, more so because it had been terribly difficult to shed tears since Monday. Albeit under gruesome circumstances, this place had played a significant role in the past ten months of my life, ten months that I'd never be able to forget. A part of me was buried in the Middle East and it would remain there for eternity. I would never be whole.

While strolling down the entrance of the airport, I wondered when, or if, I would return. I was not even sure if I ever wanted to come back. There was nobody left here for me anyway.

"Hey."

A voice dragged me out of my bout of melancholy. I turned around to come face-to-face with a thin, weathered man, who seemed to be in his early thirties.

"You're Hayat, right?"

I nodded.

"Do you remember me?" He raised his eyebrows expectantly until they were hidden beneath the blonde hair that hung over his forehead.

My mind drew blank.

"I'm James Sweeney, a cameraman." He shuffled his feet a bit, clearly feeling the awkwardness. "It was my camera that Zaakhir had used that day..."

"Oh," I let out as the memory came to me. As horrible as it seemed, I was slightly surprised to see that James was still alive. I couldn't even fathom what he had to go through to get here. "Hi."

"Hello," he said, smiling weakly. "How are you?"

"I'm..." I struggled to find the right word. "Alive. I'm alive, physically. You?"

"Just about the same." James' eyes softened. "Where are you headed?"

"New York. You?"

"Ah, well I'm going to Washington D.C. I work for a news station there."

"Oh, I see." I paused, trying to remember details. "Your journalist partner, he was...killed, wasn't he?"

"Yeah, Harris Johnson." James sighed and ran a hand down his weary face. "They made me watch the whole thing. The image of his severed head will never leave my thoughts." He noticed that I flinched at 'severed head' and rushed to apologize. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to sound so insensitive. The memories just flowed back and I was just-"