HOME
1191 Words
Francis stood on the front porch of his house, his hand frozen on the doorknob.
He'd traveled halfway around the world to get here. Crossed an ocean. Survived the impossible. But now, standing at his own front door, he couldn't move.
What would he say to Sarah? How could he explain what happened when he didn't understand it himself?
The door opened before he could decide.
"Francis?"
Sarah stood there in jeans and one of his old Army t-shirts. Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail. No makeup. Beautiful. She looked exactly like he remembered, except for her eyes. They were different. Harder. Tired.
"Hi, Sarah."
For a moment, they just stared at each other. Then Sarah's face crumpled and she threw her arms around him.
"You're alive. Oh God, you're alive." She sobbed into his chest. "They told me your unit was attacked. They said everyone died. I thought... I thought..."
Francis held her, breathing in the smell of her shampoo. Lavender. Home.
"I'm okay," he whispered. "I'm here. I made it back."
Sarah pulled away, wiping her eyes. Then she punched his shoulder. Hard.
"Ow! What was that for?"
"For scaring me half to death!" She punched him again. "Two weeks, Francis! Two weeks with no word! Just a call from your captain saying there was an 'incident' and you were missing!"
"I'm sorry. I couldn't—"
"Daddy?"
Francis looked past Sarah. Emma stood in the hallway, clutching a stuffed rabbit. She'd grown. How was that possible? He'd only been gone three months, but she looked taller. Older.
"Hey, sweetheart." Francis knelt down, opening his arms. "Come here."
Emma didn't move. She stared at him with big, uncertain eyes.
"It's okay, baby," Sarah said softly. "It's Daddy. He's home."
"You said Daddy might not come back," Emma whispered. "You said he might be in heaven with the angels."
The words hit Francis like a bullet. Sarah had prepared their daughter for his death. Because it was the smart thing to do. The realistic thing.
"I'm not in heaven, Em. I'm right here." Francis kept his arms open. "See? Real. Solid. Home."
Emma took one step. Then another. Then she ran, crashing into him so hard he almost fell backward.
"Daddy! Daddy, you came back!" She wrapped her small arms around his neck. "I knew you would. I told Mommy you'd come back."
Francis held his daughter, feeling her heart beat against his chest. Alive. Safe. His.
"I'll always come back to you," he promised. "Always."
That night, after Emma was asleep, Francis sat with Sarah on the couch. She'd made coffee. His favorite. They sat in comfortable silence, her head on his shoulder, his arm around her waist.
"They're discharging you?" Sarah asked quietly.
"Yeah. Medical reasons. The whole unit gone... they figured I'd seen enough."
"Good." Sarah squeezed his hand. "I want you home. Emma needs you. I need you."
Francis said nothing. Guilt twisted in his stomach.
"Francis?" Sarah sat up, looking at him. "What's wrong? You've been acting strange since you got back."
"I'm just tired."
"No. It's more than that." She touched his face. "Talk to me. What happened over there?"
Francis wanted to tell her. Wanted to show her what he could do now. How he'd healed. How he was different. But fear stopped him.
What if she was afraid of him? What if she looked at him like he was a monster?
"I lost good men, Sarah. Friends. I watched them die and couldn't save them." Not a lie. Just not the whole truth. "It's going to take time to process that."
Sarah's expression softened. "I understand. We'll get through this together, okay? You, me, and Emma. Like always."
Francis kissed her forehead. "Like always."
But even as he said it, he knew things weren't like always. Things would never be like always again.
Three Days Later
Francis tried to settle back into normal life. He helped Emma with her homework. Fixed the leaky faucet in the bathroom. Mowed the lawn. All the regular dad things.
But nothing felt regular.
He didn't sleep. Didn't need to. After two days, Sarah noticed.
"You were up all night again," she said over breakfast. "I heard you downstairs."
"Just restless. Bad dreams."
Another lie. He didn't have dreams anymore. Couldn't sleep long enough to dream.
At the hardware store, he'd picked up a fifty-pound bag of concrete mix without thinking. With one hand. The clerk stared. Francis made a joke about adrenaline and quickly paid.
He was too strong. Too fast. Too different.
And he was starving all the time. His body burned through food like fuel. He ate three breakfasts and was hungry again by lunch.
"You feeling okay?" Sarah asked, watching him devour his fourth sandwich. "Should we see a doctor?"
"I'm fine. Just making up for lost time."
On the fourth day home, Francis was in the garage when he heard a car pull into the driveway. Not Sarah's car. Something bigger.
He stepped outside. A black SUV sat in front of his house. Government plates. Two men in suits got out.
Francis's blood went cold.
"Sergeant Reed?" The taller man showed a badge. "I'm Agent Mitchell. This is Agent Park. We're with the Defense Intelligence Agency. We need to ask you some questions about your time in Russia."
"I already gave my report to the Army."
"We know. But new information has come to light. Information regarding a Soviet facility you accessed." Mitchell smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "We'd like to hear your version of events."
"There's nothing to tell."
"Really? Because the Russians claim you stole classified materials from that facility. They want you extradited to face charges."
Sarah appeared on the porch, Emma behind her. "Francis? What's going on?"
"Nothing, honey. Just Army stuff. Go back inside."
"Mrs. Reed," Agent Park said smoothly. "We just need a few minutes with your husband. Routine questions."
"About what?" Sarah's voice had an edge to it.
"Ma'am, this is classified—"
"This is my house. My family. You want to question my husband, you do it here where I can hear."
Francis had never loved her more than in that moment.
Mitchell's smile disappeared. "Fine. Sergeant Reed, what did you take from the Soviet facility designated Project Winter?"
"Nothing."
"Witnesses say otherwise."
"What witnesses? The place was abandoned."
"Was it?" Mitchell stepped closer. "Because Russian intelligence reports that three of their soldiers encountered an American matching your description near that facility. One soldier claims you displayed... unusual abilities."
Francis's heart hammered. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Superhuman speed. Strength. Healing." Mitchell's eyes bored into him. "Ring any bells, Sergeant?"
Sarah laughed. "That's ridiculous. Francis is just a regular soldier. A regular man."
"Is he?" Mitchell turned to her. "When was the last time your husband slept, Mrs. Reed? When was the last time he got sick? Injured? Even got a paper cut?"
Sarah's face went pale. She looked at Francis. Really looked at him.
And Francis saw the exact moment she realized something was wrong.
"Francis?" Her voice shook. "What is he talking about?"
- Writer
