“We accused her of being a security risk. We threatened to call security on her. We treated her like a potential threat instead of a decorated veteran who sacrificed everything for her country,” Anderson finished.
“Yes, Commander. That's exactly what you did.” The captain's words hit Morrison like physical blows. In his arrogance and prejudice, he had not only insulted one of America's most accomplished warriors, but had potentially triggered trauma responses in someone dealing with severe PTSD.
“Sir,” Torres said quietly, “what do we do now?” Anderson was quiet for a long moment, studying the classified file with the expression of someone who had seen too many similar tragedies.
“Now, gentlemen, you have an opportunity to do the right thing.” “Angel of Death Madison Parker has been trying to build a quiet life away from the violence that defined her career. She chose to work in maintenance because she wanted to help keep weapons functional without having to use them against human targets.” He paused, letting the implications sink in.
“Your team's actions today forced her to reveal capabilities she's been trying to forget. You've potentially undone months of psychological healing and thrown her back into a mindset she's been trying to escape.” The weight of collective guilt settled over the room like a suffocating blanket. These were warriors who understood sacrifice and service, and they were beginning to comprehend that they had attacked someone whose sacrifices exceeded their own.
“What can we do to make this right?” Morrison asked, his voice subdued.
“That depends,” Anderson replied, “on what Madison decides to do next.” “Her cover is blown now. Her quiet life is over. She'll either have to disappear again, or...” He trailed off, leaving the alternative unspoken.
“Or what?” Kelly asked.
“Or she might decide that running isn't worth the effort anymore,” Anderson said grimly. “And for someone with her skill set and psychological profile, that could be very dangerous for everyone involved.”
The next several hours passed in tense uncertainty as base security attempted to locate Madison. She had left the range and disappeared completely, neither returning to her quarters nor reporting to her maintenance supervisor. Her vehicle remained in the parking lot, but she seemed to have vanished without a trace. It wasn't until 1800 hours that evening that she was finally spotted by a Marine sentry who noticed someone on the observation deck of the base's lighthouse, a restricted area that overlooked the Pacific Ocean. The sentry reported that the figure was sitting motionless, staring out at the water and had been there for several hours.
Commander Morrison made the decision to approach her personally despite advice from base security to wait for professional counselors to arrive. He felt responsible for triggering the situation and believed he owed Madison a personal apology.
The lighthouse observation deck was accessed by a narrow stairway that wound up through the interior of the historic structure. Morrison climbed slowly, his footsteps echoing in the confined space, giving Madison plenty of warning of his approach. When he emerged onto the deck, she was exactly where the sentry had reported, sitting on the concrete ledge, her legs dangling over the side, staring out at the endless expanse of ocean.