For the first time in her life she actually thought the breath she just took would be her last.

3 weeks ago…

She stepped off of the side of the ship and onto the ladder leading out to the crowd that was welcoming USS John. F. Kennedy home. She looked at all her fellow sailors, most that she did not even know, and watched the joy spread across their faces as they rushed to meet their loved ones. Elise’s family were all dead, at least she liked to assume. Her father died with a herroin needle hanging out of his arm when she was two years old. Her mother and uncle had drank so much while she was a child that she was not sure if they even would remember that she was living in the same house as them just 10 years prior. When her father died, her uncle’s once playful heart completely broke. He drank to forget his existence, he beat Elise just to feel something again, and to release his anger, and he was desperate to save Elise’s mother, Carol, from her spiraling addiction to meth. He wanted to save her, since he was never there to save his brother. He fell in love with the woman who did not want him, the woman who's only desire was to get high enough she no longer felt pain. She only hallucinated her once very real husband. Looking out into the crowd of happy people made Elise realize just how much she wanted someone…anyone, to be there to welcome her home. She breathed with the relief that Steve and Carol were no where in sight; no one in the crowd looked like they were a day away from death. Seeing the happy and typically very healthy crowd of Americans had always pleased her after being gone long enough to lose track of how many lives she had taken.

As she pulled up to her small cabin house it made her think of the house she grew up in, but only for a moment. Carol’s house was a small worn down one bedroom house in Nebraska that looked more brown than white because of how little it was cared for. Elise’s house on the other hand looked like it always had; uninhibited but somehow still maintained for the old faded out wood that was her cabin. She finished pulling down her winding drive way and inhaled deeply the scent of the tall pine trees surrounding her. The trees were as green as ever, they looked like something out of a twilight scene. Elise had never been one for books or movies, but one of the boys from her squadron was obsessed with Twilight. She was pretty sure Patrick was gay. She never asked even though Obama kicked the “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” policy out years ago. As she walked up to the front door and fumbled to find the key she rarely uses, the one to her own house, she noticed a small post it note peeking out from under her welcome mat. She picked it up and read it. “Welcome Home, Ellie.” A normal sailor returning home would read this and smile. Elise on the other hand frantically looked around her but was not yet near fear. As she grabbed the gun she had strapped to her ankle, she thought about how after the years of murders she had committed, the several close calls, and even being shot, she was never really afraid. It was almost as if being close to death was something she had always known, her own little high. She must have gotten that from her parents.

As she made sure her house was clear and secure, her mind began to do 1000 circles. The only person to have ever called her Ellie was her uncle Steve. He picked the habit up from her father. But how could Steve have left her a note at her door if Steve could not even read or write? She even has a secret identity and lives in Indiana. How could he have possibly found her? And if he did somehow manage to learn how to read and write, how in the hell was it actually legible and with a clear message? Being the war hero she was considered to be, she began to think of so many conspiracies that could possibly explain the note. She thought of them as she unpacked all her things from her duty bag and tried to settle back into the house. She soon gave up because little things like unpacking was never her strong suit, because unpacking meant that her mission was over. The bar might make her relax a little, and possibly force her to remember that she is once again at home, a safe and normal civilian.

Walking up to Kelly’s always brought back good memories. The run down nature of the building, the motorcycles, the bar fights, it all made her feel like she was still one of the guys. Except that these guys were not next to her when she had killed four Islam terrorists. Rod saw her and belted out, “Hey guys, look at who is back in town! Its our little Daisy!” He got the attention of half the Reds motorcycle club and then punched her arm before pulling in for a big drunk bear hug and telling her that he wished he was a badass like she was. Rod was great, but they were never close enough to feel at ease with his touch. Or anyone’s really. After the entire MC shook her hand and welcomed her home, she finally took a seat at the bar stool. The bar tender was probably the closest person she had. She almost trusted him. After that thought passed she realized how much of a cliche it was to have your only friend be a bar tender. Then she realized that that was probably the only cliche she has lived, and that made it okay. Vincent always looked the same every time she came home. He grew up in the 50’s, yet he looked like he was still young. He reminded her of a looser version of Alfred from Batman. Maybe it was the whole old time bar getup that made him seem still in his youth. He already had her usual ready for her as she took a seat— scotch on ice. Vincent looked at her with slight sincerity and said with a calm voice, “I am glad to see you again,” very different from the rowdy boys around her. Just before she started to have an actual conversation with someone that felt okay to be familiar with, Vincent looked up as if a beast had just appeared. She turned around quickly and standing right behind her was a very tall man with broad shoulders, a goatee and a bald held. It was Patrick.

“Pat? What are you doing here? How did you even find out where I live?”

“I may have went through some secret records. I had to tell the guard in intelligence that I would stab his eyes out with his pencil if he did not pretend he saw my name on clearance. Needless to say he choose to see, literally.”

“Uhm.. why?”

“Why what?” said Pat.

“Why the fuck are you following me home from ship?!”

“Listen. I have some news.”

“Okay. Does it have to do with me going back on deployment? If not I am not interested.” She started to turn back towards Vincent before Patrick rushed his massive body back in her eyesight in the stool next to her. After he sat down he looked up at Vincent as if to say, “Please get lost.”

“No Elise, it is about your safety.” Elise chuckled.

“Pat, really? I have a gun hidden in my pant leg. Enough fire power hidden at home to start a militia. And I have killed more people who even live in this damn town. Why the hell am I not safe again?” she said.

He leaned in closer and whispered, “Its our entire platoon Elise. They are trying to take us out. You know like they did with Seal Team 6.”

“Pat its just the adjustment to civilian over and over again that is getting to your head. At ease shipmate, you are at home again. Well right now you're in my home, my town. But were back on the mainland. Relax, we will be back in country in no time.”

“No Elise listen to me. Some really weird shit has been happening lately. People from my past have been sending me letters, about memories I shared with them. But as far as even my family knows I was pronounced KIA seven years ago. No one even knows I am alive, yet alone knows how to contact me. Remember when we lost Doc? I was trying to save him, and right before he died he told me that they are coming for us. You know what happened to SEAL team six. All of them were nearly killed because they knew too much. I mean you don't think we know too much for completing their mission?”

Elise thought back to the note she had found.

“Okay, I am listening. Lets discuss this at my place.”