Eyes on the Bayou

By Daniel Moore

Paranoia, fear, anxiety, crushing memories, uncontrollable rage... Dahlia suffers from them all.

Once an elite soldier, confident, beautiful and at the top of her profession as a Black Ops assassin, she now suffers the effects of post-traumatic stress disorder alone in her own mind, afraid to trust anyone after her commander betrays her and she spends 4 years in a secret prison becoming someone else.

When Marines find her wandering in the Iraqi desert carrying the eyes she carved from her guards during her escape, military doctors lock her up for two more years in a sadistic psychiatric ward at a dirty Army hospital.

Now she's finally free and headed deep into the Louisiana swamp to regain her sanity. But it's not as easy as she imagined it would be, especially with the disgusting LaFont boys out of jail now and her nemesis, the voodoo practitioner Grave Digger constantly watching her and trying to drive her away.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Daniel Moore
• Release date: Jul 9, 2013

Daniel Moore

Daniel Moore is a 4th generation wheat farmer who lives in Washington State.  He and his wife have two daughters and 4 grandchildren

Book preview

Eyes On The Bayou

by

Daniel James Moore

Eyes on the Bayou

Copyright © 2013 by Daniel Moore and Yolanda Gonzalez

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. Published by Daniel Moore and Yolanda Gonzalez. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information, please address inquiries to: Daniel Moore or Yolanda Gonzalez, [e-mail].

All cover art rights reserved and copyright © 2012 by Anna Ovsyannikova. Cover art licensed to Daniel Moore by Anna Ovsyannikova. For more Anna Ovsyannikova art, please visit: http://migrainesky.deviantart.com or email Anna Ovsyannikova at [e-mail]

To my nephew Mason, just because…

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 1

Dahlia awoke just as she had every morning for nearly two years, strapped to her bed, staring at a dull gray ceiling and shivering from the cold. The area of Dominion Hospital where they kept her was officially called the Behavioral Health Services Unit but in reality, it was just a psychiatric ward where ex-soldiers like her were discarded when they were used up and considered too dangerous to release.

The doctors here watched her relentlessly, force-feeding her Risperdal and Lithium and digging into things better left buried inside her tired mind. They told her they were treating her for post-traumatic stress disorder and uncontrollable rage, but it wasn't true. They never really cared about what she needed, especially not Dr. Markley.

He was the one who ordered the 24-hour restraints on her hands and feet. He was also the one who turned down the thermostat in her room each night before he left this hell for his big house and warm bed, leaving her to shiver her way through until morning.

He was trying to break her and make her admit she had someone inside, someone she couldn't control, and someone he said was dangerous. He told her that once she admitted Bella was in there with her, she could begin to get better.

But this wasn't true either.

Dr. Markley was simply a sadistic jerk who enjoyed his power over her. He was like the guards at Sulaymanyia prison in Iraq where she was held for four years after Colonel Mays betrayed her. The guards paid for what they did to her and Dahlia vowed Dr. Markley would pay too, someday.

He would be coming any minute now to read her chart and to ask her if she was ready to tell him about Bella. She would refuse and he would get angry and call an orderly to take her to the therapy room where he would exact his revenge.

Dahlia felt a familiar anxiety begin to build inside and she closed her eyes and escaped into her mind as she always did. It was how she survived.

When she became someone else, she didn't feel the cold alcohol on the cotton swabs cleaning the areas where the patches attached to her head or hear the sound of the orderly squeezing a dab of sticky gel onto the electrodes. The pain that blazed through her mind after they attached two more electrodes near the top of her chest and then flipped on the switch to the electroshock machine was borne much easier by someone else, too.

Dr. Markley was supposed to put her to sleep before administering the shock but he seldom did. He usually left her awake to make his point instead. She would submit to his request or the duration and the voltage would increase until the white hot flashes of electricity he sent burning through her brain reduced her to a shuttering mess.

At the end of each session, he would lean over and whisper into her ear that, if not today, eventually she would break and tell him what he wanted to hear.

Dr. Markley had his weaknesses and the latest rumors passed around the psych ward that the Washington bureaucrats were out of money and they were going to close everything down infuriated him. He could not bear the thought of losing his control. Dahlia could only hope that the rumors were true and she could finally escape somewhere far away from this nightmare.

The lock clanked, the cold metal door swung open and Dr. Markley stepped inside and picked up her chart. He seemed angrier than usual today and he quickly flipped through the pages before leaning down and towering over her with his disgusting, putrid scowl, and his dark eyes staring into her.

I know who you are, he said. You may have fooled those other idiots but you don't fool me.

Admit who you are or I'm never letting you out of here, he whispered.

Dahlia remained quiet and she turned her head away and concentrated on the air conditioning duct in the ceiling. If she could only get out of these restraints, she might be able use the duct to find him and take her own revenge. She hated him, his prying, and his callous brutality.

Dr. Markley hated being ignored and he reached out his hand, grabbed Dahlia around the throat and he squeezed, You're going to tell me or I promise you that one day you're not coming back from therapy. Do you understand what I'm saying Dahlia? I'm tired of you.

Dahlia smiled up at him and stared into his eyes. She would like to feel them rolling in her hands and they would make good retribution for all he had done to her. She imagined taking his eyes and how good they would make her feel inside.

Dr. Markley finally released her throat and he threw her chart across the room in frustration. He knew he couldn't beat her when she was in this state and Dahlia was pleased.

Suddenly an orderly dressed in all white burst into the room. He was a large, black man and Dahlia liked him. He was one of the only people here that Dahlia felt had any compassion for her. Jerome was unusually gentle, too, and he sometimes even let her out of her straps for a moment or two when her panic overwhelmed her.

Time to get you cleaned up, he said, smiling broadly at Dahlia. You have some visitors today. I hear they're plannin' on lettin' you out tomorrow.

Shut up! Dr. Markley interrupted. Take her to the therapy room and get her set up.

But she's gettin' released tomorrow, Jerome said. Why you takin' her to therapy?

I said get her set up! Dr. Markley screamed, his mood turning even more angry and dark. Do you understand me?

Yes sir, I do, Jerome answered, but there's a group of Senators outside waitin' to get their picture taken with their hero here. Word is that Dahlia here was one of the first female Special Forces/Black Ops soldiers and a real bad ass. You want that I tell them to wait to get their pictures until after you give her therapy?

Dr. Markley looked down at the papers from Dahlia's chart strewn about at his feet. He was furious that the politicians were here today and that the bureaucrats were releasing Dahlia tomorrow. What infuriated him the most was that he was powerless to stop it.

No, he finally answered. Get her cleaned up for the show.

The rest of the day went smoothly. Jerome even removed her restraints before she posed with the politicians and while she breezed through the exit interview with the panel of administrators overseeing her release. The restraints didn't go back on until Dr. Markley ordered staff to secure her before putting her down for bed one last time.

What he didn't know, though, was that Dahlia already had what she needed. After the room went dark and after Dr. Markley came in one last time to turn down the heat in her room, she pulled a stolen paperclip from a fold in her gown and she began to work the locks on her restraints.

*****

It was just after 8:00am when Jerome swung open Dahlia's door and stepped inside. He never noticed the slight twist to the air conditioning vent cover or the bent paperclip that re-attached it to the duct opening. The spot of smeared blood along one edge went unseen also.

Looks like you're leavin' just in time, he said. Things are gettin' crazy around here. Looks like Dr. Markley went mad, gouged out his eyes and hung himself outside his window last night. That man had some problems.

Can't say I'll miss him much, he added with a laugh.

Dahlia sat up on her bed, rubbed her wrists and smiled. She wouldn't miss him much either.

Let's get your stuff and get you out of here, he said. You been here long enough.

Dahlia followed Jerome out of the room and then to the end of the hall where a nurse buzzed them both into a holding area. It was the last obstacle before escaping the psych ward altogether. After filling out a few forms at the property room, Jerome handed Dahlia a small bag and then he took a larger one himself and they both left the building.

Outside, things were crazy. The police were everywhere along with medical personnel and an ambulance. They were taping off the window area, taking photos and doing their due diligence on Dr. Markley's apparent suicide.

Dahlia could see his body hanging outside his window from a rope made from strips of his office drapes tied around his neck. His arms hung loose by his sides and his head tilted to one side. Streaks of dark blood flowed out from his mangled eyes and dripped off his chin.

Dahlia didn't want to enjoy seeing him this way but she did. She even cracked a small smile when she passed through to the hospital gates. Now he was the one trapped here forever, not her. Her only regret was not being able to cut out his eyes and take them with her.

Well good luck to you Dahlia, Jerome said, setting her bag down next to a bus stop bench just outside the gates. Let's hope we don't see you around here again.

Thank you Jerome, for everything, Dahlia said softly. I'm never coming back.

When Jerome left, Dahlia sat down on the bench and she looked around at the openness. It had been a long time since she had sat in such a large space alone and everything looked very odd. The edges of the budding leaves on the trees and the glass bulbs on the streetlights seemed to have a tiny black line drawn around them. The light poles looked distorted, too, and it scared her seeing them wiggle from side to side like heat waves coming off a hot road.

She knew she needed to distract her mind and she reached down and unzipped her smaller bag. She was relieved to find a large knife inside with a blue Special Forces insignia on the black handle. She took it out and tied it under her arm with several long, leather straps that hung from the soft sheath that protected the blade. It felt good having it close. It was an old friend and it melted away her anxiety, and it comforted her.

Then she remembered that they could still be watching her and she needed to be cautious. She didn't want to let them know where she hid it so she pulled on a blue jean jacket to cover her friend and she scanned the dark spaces under the bushes and between the trees where they usually hid.

When she was satisfied no one was watching, she relaxed and told herself that things would be different now, they would be better and she would be better. Where she was going, it would be very difficult for them to follow and she could escape their constant staring and watching for good.

Chapter 2

Dahlia warily climbed aboard a Greyhound bus that stopped with a blast of air and opened its doors for her. She handed the driver her ticket and then she turned and made the long walk down the rows of people watching her uncomfortably. A handsome man is his late thirties smiled as she passed but she did not return his smile, she just raised a hand to cover an ugly scar that ran down one side of her face and she looked away. She simply wanted to take an empty seat near the back of the bus and leave this place.

The driver stowed her larger bag in the baggage compartment in the underside of the bus and then he pulled away from the hospital and finally the city itself. Dahlia was glad. All these years would soon be just a bad memory and she could find her old self again.

The bright green grass and budding trees of an early Maryland spring passed by outside her window and she thought how different this was from her ride to Sulaymanyia Prison in the back of a rusted out pickup truck. The signs here were all in English and the cars were clean and sparkled in the sun, none had machine guns mounted on top or dirty Iraqi militiamen riding in them, screaming and laughing at her as she passed.

The stops along the way were far different, too, and Dahlia could stay put in her seat as passengers climbed aboard or left to meet loved ones. On the way to Sulaymanyia, the men passed her around at each stop and each took what they wanted from her body.

The doctors told her the overwhelming thoughts would pass with time and the horrible memories would fade, but they didn't. Hundreds of other used up soldiers just like her also begged to differ with their expert medical theories. In the end, Dahlia was just one more casualty to be passed on, discharged and forgotten.

Only the sadistic Dr. Markley insisted that Dahlia stay longer.

But what did he know about anything anyway?

He wasn't there, and he didn't have to survive the memories of four years in hell.

He spent the little wars safe and stateside, prodding and poking and dragging up memories all day. Then he went home at night to a warm bed and a big house, escaping the shadows and the ghosts she and all the others brought back with them.

He had no right to strap her down each night and call her what he did. He had no right to drag her time out as long as he did either. She hated him and he deserved to be hanging from his drapes outside his window.

Dahlia tried to catch her rising anger and she redirected her thoughts to the green trees whizzing by and the warm weather that awaited her. She would never again be cold like she was in her dark cell in Sulaymanyia or while strapped, shivering and scared, to a dirty bed in a rundown hospital.

She could be alone, too. With no one to stare at her through prison bars as she slept and no one to throw cold water on her from above when she fought back against their attacks, leaving her too chilled and too weak to put up any resistance when they came back later.

Where she was going, there would be no one to notice the grey streaking her once jet black hair or to stare at the ugly wound on the side of her face or the white scars of torn flesh crisscrossing her once smooth arms and hands. The same marks the guards put there for their amusement when they forced her to put her hands and arms outside her cell and beg for food.

Most importantly, no one where she was going would ever have to know just who she became inside or judge her for the terrible things she did. If anyone did see through her, she could always move further away and deeper into the swamp. No one needed to know Dahlia was broken, or that Bella existed. Bella would not be a problem where she was going, Dahlia was sure of that.

The old thoughts sent familiar nerves and fears pulsing through Dahlia's veins. Again, she tried to redirect her thoughts but she couldn't stop the memories from flooding her mind.

Images of her cellmate, Juhaynah, slumped on a dirt floor, her eyes cut out and her lifeless body damp with blood…

The sounds of the silent screams inside her head that never stopped until the last of the putrid guards dressed and slammed the bolt closed on the cell door behind them…

Or the sickening smell of burnt flesh and bone drifting into her cell on wisps of blue smoke…

Dahlia's heart began to race and a wave of white heat pulsed through her mind. It reminded her of Dr. Markley's treatments and she covered her head with her jacket to hide. She prayed no one would turn around and notice her because they would surely know she was losing control if they did.

And what if someone from Dominion Hospital was on the bus watching her?

What if they see her panic and want to take her back?

She had to regain control and she told herself that she was simply on a bus, that she was okay. She breathed slowly, counted in threes, and prayed this would pass soon and she could get through this.

The old images finally did dissolve away and her mind cooled. She lifted the jacket and looked around the bus. It appeared no one was watching her, or even noticed her episode, but still she couldn't be sure. She felt for the knife she had hidden below her arm just in case.

Night eventually fell and with it came the anonymity of the dark. No one on the bus could watch her now and she could relax. The drone of the bus moving steadily south calmed her nerves and she eventually settled deep into her seat and fell fast asleep.

Chapter 3

Two days and three transfers later, the bus pulled into Slidell, Louisiana and the driver walked to the back and gently touched Dahlia's shoulder.

We're here ma'am, he said. This is Slidell, your stop. I set your bag out on the sidewalk.

Okay, Dahlia said, waking with a start from her long sleep.

The bus was empty now and she carefully followed him down the long aisle to the front and stepped down the stairs. Warm, heavy air welcomed her and it felt wonderful. It was nothing like the cold Maryland she left behind or her bitter cell in Sulaymanyia.

An older, black gentleman holding a