Asher: A Second Chance Novel by Kylie Walker Page B

women, and children. Once again he perched his gun against his shoulder and placed his finger on the trigger. He sighted along the other buildings in areas that were tall enough for a sniper to be perched on. Just to the East, he saw him…he was inside the open window of a room on the top story of the dilapidated building.
    “Sniper!” He turned to fire and….
    He woke up to the sounds of his own blood-curdling screams…again. Asher was on the couch and his body was bathed in sweat. It took him several seconds to remember where he was. He was home, sort of. When he had retired he had bought a small farmhouse. Every time he woke up like this he was once again grateful his nearest neighbour was three miles away. Otherwise, he would have neighbours calling 911 almost every time he closed his eyes. He hated this shit!
    He pulled himself up and went into the small bathroom that connected his living room and bedroom. He had stripped down to his underwear earlier, planning to have one more beer and then go to bed. He hadn’t made it that far. He spent his days working on the farm from sun up to sundown, anything to keep from remembering or dreaming. He looked at himself in the mirror over the sink.
    The scar across his left shoulder was deep and wide. Even underneath the tattoos that now covered it, it was still huge. He let his eyes follow the tats down his side to the next scar. That one wasn’t as big as the one on his shoulder, but as it turned out the bullet had nicked his liver and part of that had been removed. The scars across his abdomen were remnants of his accident 17 years ago. He kept those free of tattoos out of a morbid need to remember the hurt he had caused to so many he had loved. He didn’t remember the days he spent at the military hospital in Germany. Go figure. His mind held onto all the shit leading up to it instead.
    He leaned down and splashed water on his face. As soon as he stood up and reached for the towel the image that his brain had fought off while he was sleeping, flashed before his eyes in the mirror. He yelled sniper and opened fire. To this day he hadn’t figure out why, but Freddie had stood up. Asher had yelled at him to get down just before the bullet had ripped through one side of his head. The image of Freddie’s head exploding haunted him continuously. Staring at himself in the mirror he screamed again, this time out of anger. He wanted this shit out of his head. He pulled back his fist he slammed it into the mirror over and over. Glass shattered and crumbled into the sink, and blood began to pour from his knuckles. He didn’t give a shit anymore. Everything and everyone he touched seemed to die. He couldn’t stand to look at himself any longer.

TWELVE
     
     
    Asher completely destroyed the mirror before he calmed himself down enough to realize he had to stop. He leaned into the sink, hyperventilating. Sweat dripped off of him again and his entire body shook. That should have been his last mission. The doctors in Germany had tried to send him home after that. He had almost left until he found out another one of his men needed him. He was trying to make up for Freddie. Freddie shouldn’t have died.
    He took several deep breaths until he got his breathing back under control and then he grabbed a towel from underneath the sink. He ran cold water over his hand, watching as the blood mixed with the water and swirled down the drain. He held it there as if in a trance until the water finally began to run clear. Then, he took the towel and wrapped it around his hand. He left the mess in the bathroom for later and headed back across the small living room and into the kitchen. He poured water into the coffee machine and added the coffee grounds. While it dripped into the pot he rested his head forward on the cupboard. He tried to still the thoughts in his head, but it was pointless. They invaded his brain when they wanted to and not even the meds he took could stop them. He poured a cup