Dream Therapy

Dream Therapy part 8

A heavy rain was falling, a painfully heavy rain, a soak you to the bones kind of rain. It pounded straight down on Max. It was dark and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. When his eyes finally adjusted to the pitch dark and he could see where he was, his heart dropped. He was in a thick, lush, green, jungle and it was silent, not even the rain on the leaves made a sound. He looked down to see he was dressed in his army fatigues, dark jungle print, and was armed to the teeth. The m-60 in his hands was cold and familiar, creating a calming effect.

The rain pored down on him and his pupils dialated. Everything curved and elongated, he shivered, and he became aware of a palpable hatred in the trees. They loomed over him like a million menacing fingers, like the teeth of a giant viewed from the inside. Max gripped the handle of his gun tighter and began walking.

The trees swayed and their branches reached down, trying to sweep him away in their dark embrace. He knew where he was, he remembered this, he was here before only not quite like this. He came upon a ridge, looking into a green valley. He instinctively reached up and flipped down the night vision goggles attached to his tactical helmet. He switched them on and zoomed in. The rain seemed to slow down and instead of falling down it streamed across his vision from left to right. To the east he saw a camp surrounded by a tall, razor wire topped fence. It was lit up like a prison yard and armed men patrolled the perimeter. It was all too familiar. He was back in cambodia. His heart began to race with the implications of that epiphany. This was his chance to redeem himself. He needed to finish his failed mission from what seemed an eternity ago.

The forest was gabbing and tripping and worked against him as he walked. He came to a particularly thick part and pushed aside the foliage with his gun and walked through.

He was now on a beach. White sands, the sound of the surf clawing at the sand and an impossibly azure sky, darkening to a violet at the horizon. A woman standing up to the ankles in the cold, frothy waves. He got closer and saw it was Sarah ,his wife. She was dressed in a gauzy, white dress that fell to just above the knee. Her hair immaculately curled and quafed. He could see the diamond ring on her finger sparkling in the sun. She ran a little toward shore, chased by a wave and she laughed, so beautiful, just the way she looked on their wedding day. She beckoned him, smiling a radiant, white smile. He walked closer. In a trance, he didn't see the dark knight behind her until it was too late.

The Darkman grabbed her by the hair, pulling her deep into the shallows. All went silent and Max charged forward at full speed. The black knight just raised a long, dark, gautleted finger and wagged it back and forth. Max let out a scream of rage and charged again. The evil one grabbed Sarah, shoving her head into the water. Max couldn't take his eyes away, he lost his footing and stumbled falling on his face.

"No, no ,noooooo!" Max nearly screamed, shrill and urgent. He jumped to his feet ready to run, but all that greeted his enthusiasm was the bleak, wet jungle. No longer was the black thing taunting him, nor the beautiful visage of his estranged wife, before him, but only darkness and loathing. He swore under his breath, getting sick of these games, one minute here, one minute there. It was all so real though. " What is going on?" He yelled, head raised to the heavens, his grip tightening on the gun he only now realized was back in his hands.

Suddenly through the silence in this christ forgotten hell, he heard a snapping sound coming from behind him, then another to his left. He stood stark still, breathing slowly, slowing his heart rate, a trick taught to him by an army marksmen. Then the unmistakable metal on metal grating sound of the unmaintained slide of an assault rifle. Without second thought he turned, brought his weapon to his cheek, nestling the stock on his shoulder. He released a short burst in the direction on the sound, the silenced gun sounded deafening in the utter silence. Next was the wet thud of the bullets hitting their mark, and he whirled and squeezed the trigger again, and again the deafening clang from the silencer and the thunk, thunk, thunk of all three bullets hitting their marks, was the only sound that could be heard.

An alarm sounded, distant and muffled, undulating up and down in pitch and volume. He began to run, the jangle of his equipment reminiscent of times he had locked deep in the back of his mind. As he approached the drug smugglers camp, he now remembered exactly where this was, in Cambodia, back on the failed joint operation with the D.E.A., on his own, against orders. "Not his time." he whispered. The rain was now coming down at odd angles, stopping and starting, still damnable silent. The jungle at his back reaching, almost laughing at him, cruel and threatening.

Then he saw them. O'Connell, Alabama, and Regis, hands tied behind their backs, uniform shirts wet and straining against their chests. A single beam of light lit them from above, a Cambodian man dressed in black stood beside Regis with a gun to his head. There they where, right there and Max was going to save them this time.