The swamp swallows William Cash whole, cypress shadows stretching long like bony fingers reaching out for him. He drifted through the bayou, boots sinking into mud, mind sinking into memories. Bart’s spell clung to him like a fog, twisting his thoughts, tangling past and present until he couldn’t tell one from the other. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been walking. He started talking to himself.

  “Bart makin’ stupid choices, cher. Stupid an’ blind.

  “Can’t he see who dem people really ah? Can’t he hear it in dey voices? I know who dey ah even if I don’t know where da hell I am no mo’.”

  His voice sounded weird to him. Like it was someone else’s. It drifted out of him, low and cracked, floating through the trees like some ghost of the bayou.

  Fireflies blink around him, but in his mind they didn’t belong. It was driving him crazy.

  “What’s goin’ on with me?? One minute I’m in da swamp, next I’m back in Nam. Ain’t no difference sometimes. Thick trees, thick heat, thick fear. Same damn buzz of damn insects. Same crack of gunfire. Same smell. Blood, sweat, rot, death.

  “Always death. Too much death.”

  He leaned against a cypress trunk slick with moss. The bark slimy and rough like old skin beneath his palm.

  “I wanna go home. I wanna get Bart home. Bart…Why he here? He ain’t supposed to be here.”

  He punched himself a few times in the face followed by slaps.

  “Make it make sense!”

  He wasn’t there. He wasn’t even born yet.

  Was he?

  So why he standin’ in da middle of all dis, talkin’ to dem men.

  “Dem spies, I know dey spies. He think dey his damn friends?”

  He shook his head hard, trying to rattle loose the confusion.

  “Dey ain’t your friends, Bart! Dey da enemy. Gotta knock some sense into dat boy! I know da enemy. I seen it in dey eyes. Seen it all before. Dat little smirk dey get ‘fore dey torture you. Dat shine in dey eyes when you fight for dey entertainment.”

  A bullfrog croaks nearby. He jumped. Like it’s a man screaming and not a frog.

  “Bart don’t know. He couldn’t know. He think he safe.”

  He thinks he in control.

  “But he ain’t. He just another pawn, jus’ like I was.”

  He got up and stumbled forward, boots splashing through shallow water. The moon reflects off the surface like a spotlight, and he flinched away from his own reflection. Flinched away from the sight of the monster.

  Gotta work dis out.

  He screams to the heavens. “God… my head. Nothin’ makin’ sense no more.”

  His fingers tremble as he rubbed his temples.

  I’m still doin’ my duty. I signed up to do da right thing. I kill when I gotta. I’m good at it. Too good, some folks said.

  A cicada screams overhead. He searched for it wanting to strangle it.

  He walked deeper into the swamp. Air thick, moist, humid.

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  “Nam was years ago. Wasn’t it? Back when I had a soul?”

  Do I got a soul now?

  Memories hit him like a rifle butt. He fell to his knees.

  “AAAAaaaagggghhh!”

  Quang Tri. Dat little village south of da city. Intel said light defense. Intel lied. Dey always lied. Half my unit died in da first five minutes. Da rest of us got dragged straight into hell.

  He swallowed hard, throat tight, like trying to swallow a bite of overcooked roast.

  Cong whooped us, starved us, made us say things we ain’t believe. I watched my best friend die with a bullet between his eyes ‘cause I wouldn’t talk. So, I talked. Said what dey wanted to hear. Said what dey scripted. Saved lives, maybe… lost myself.

  “Lost my mind, didn’t I?”

  A branch snaps behind him. He spun, fists raised, holding his breath. Nothing there but a raccoon scurrying off, running from Mr. Crazy.

  S’prised he didn’t attack me. I’d of killed him.

  “I ain’t had no choice. Did I?”

  Dey made us fight each other. Americans against Americans. For sport. For bets. For laughs. And when I kept winnin’, dey liked it. Called me Da Bull. Cash Cow. Funny, huh? Cash the Cash Cow.

  “Assholes!”

  I fought Russians, Chinese, South Vietnamese, animals. I killed when dey told me. Sometimes I begged for death. Sometimes I begged to kill. Didn’t care which. Didn’t care if I lived. But I kept winnin’. Kept survivin’.

  He wiped a cocktail of sweat and tears from his face.

  “Dis ain’t da same place, Will. Dis is after. After dey rescued me. After I came home. Ain’t it?”

  He stood and started walking again. Looked around. Still lost.

  I remember comin’ back to New Iberia. Remember tryin’ ta heal. Avoidin’ people. Avoidin’ questions. Found a little peace. Peace led me to Sharon.

  “Oh, Sharon… where you at now? I need you, bébé. How you put up with me so long?”

  He falls to his knees again, fists pressing hard on his chest.

  I’m tryin’ to hold myself together.

  He punched himself. Again. Over and over.

  He looked up and yelled at the sky. “You gone. You died. You left me!”

  He closed his eyes, tears flowing freely.

  “Remember da day we met, Sharon?” He huffed, almost smiled through the tears.

  “You was a terrible driver. Crashed right into me. Who makes a right turn from da left-turn lane? Best accident of my life. What you saw in me, I’ll never know. I didn’t deserve it. But you stayed. Stayed all dem years.”

  A smile flickered, then breaks into a hard frown.

  “You never asked ‘bout my past. Never pried. Just loved me. Stayed wit me even when I couldn’t stay wit’ myself.”

  He punched the ground. Mud flew in all directions. Some hit his face. The rest spread out across the area like he wished his fears would.

  “Den Bart was born. I found purpose again. Found a reason to pretend I was normal.

  “When he joined the military…You kept it together bettah dan I could, ami.

  “Dem terrorists took our boy to war. Damn dem! Damn dem to hell!”

  He punched the ground several times, digging a small hole.

  “Sorry for cussin’, Sharon. But dat’s when da nightmares came back. When da flashbacks started again.”

  He winced at the memory. Holes in walls, broken furniture, broken glasses, broken trust.

  “I scared you, didn’t I? I’m so sorry, love. So…so sorry. Sorry for all of it.

  “You moved to da other room ‘cause of me. I didn’t blame you. I must’ve scared da shindigs outta ya.”

  After a minute of sobbing he continued.

  “When Bart got hurt… I lost it. He my boy, Sharon! He shouldn’t have had ta fight. I should’ve gone in his place.

  He wiped his face again smearing the mud.

  “You kept dat secret. Bart never knew. You protected him from me.”

  He looked up at the sky and gazed at the stars shimmering through the canopy.

  “Why you had to get sick, ami? I couldn’t take dat. I worked. I cared for you. Loved you. Watched you die. You was da strong one. I’z da one dat shoulda died. Not you. But you left me alone.”

  His voice dropped to a whisper.

  “Now I’m back to fightin’. Back to killin’.”

  He stepped into a clearing, moonlight spilling over him like a spotlight on a stage.

  “Didn’t know dis territory was full of enemy forces. Just like Quang Tri. Always da same damn mistake. Bad intel.

  “Before Bart came home, I had my swamp therapy. Silence. Peace. Den he come back and… somethin’ was off. Maybe somethin’ wrong with him? Maybe my sickness rubbed off?”

  He shook his head violently.

  “No. No, we was fine. We didn’t talk much, but we was fine. Went fishin’. Den… darkness. Like the jungle swallowed me whole again.”

  Flashes of memories hit him again. Them in a boat together, going fishing. Hitting the massive wake. Fighting. Killing. Then seeing Bart fighting a tree creature, blood on leaves, screams echoing.

  “He shouldn’t be out here!”

  He looked down at his hands. He saw blood on his hands again. Only… they weren’t his hands. They were Bart’s.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know nothin’ no more. But…dem men with Bart? Spies. I’m sure of it. Bart can’t see it. Unless… unless he one of dem.

  He froze.

  “No. I won’t think dat. He my boy. He in danger. He just don’t know it.”

  He squared his shoulders and stretched. He cleared his mind, sharpening it in the worst possible way.

  “There’s only one way to save him,” he whispered it like a prayer, like a curse. “I gotta kill dem all.”