Malibu Ken

She woke up the following day. Her head hurt to the point that thinking caused pain.

"I really need to stop going to Ava's. I overdo it every fucking time," she said.

The sound of her voice was unbearable. She couldn't think, she couldn't talk, and she couldn't remember precisely what had happened.

"Oh God, how did I get home? Someone, please tell me I did not drive home," she held her palm against her head.

She got out of bed slowly. She was naked. "Well, guess that happened."

She got up and took a couple of steps. "Oh yes, that did happen. Wow, I wish I remembered what happened and with whom."

She went to the bathroom and brushed her teeth. She looked like death warmed, cooled, and warmed up again. She made her way into the living room.

You did not drive home, a voice said.

She returned to her room, took her gun off the side table, and confronted the man. There she stood, naked and terrified.

Don't shoot. You're only going to fuck up your couch.

He was blond, had hazel eyes, and a high and tight.

She blinked fast, repeatedly. Then she opened her eyes as wide as she could and stared. Sitting on the couch was her spotter, Malibu.

Malibu died six years ago in Iraq. He was shot by a sniper while on patrol in the city while she was standing next to him. They were talking about what they wanted to do when they got out. They both had two years left, and neither was re-upping. Mid-sentence, he was shot in the throat. Instinctively, she ran to one of the small houses, jumping across the threshold. Fight or flight, as they say.

**********************************

Malibu lay there, drowning in his blood. She was helpless. She couldn't move; she was pinned down, and the sniper would have reloaded the chamber by now.

Across the street, on the roof of a tall building, were Cartman and his spotter, Falcon.

"Holy fuck! Where did that come from?" Falcon said with great confusion.

"I don't know. I don't know!" He said, checking the scope of his M40. "I don't see anything. Motherfucker is concealed like a fucking chameleon," Cartman said. "We gotta get her out of there."

"Ya think! I know you are a fucking moron, but do not be one aloud!"

She was trying to find the shooter. She couldn't see in the direction of the shot. She thought

she was going to die then and there.

She thought what they say is true; there are no atheists in a foxhole. I do not know if there is a God, but Cartman believes so on his behalf. Let him find this prick. Sorry, that wasn't nice.

"Falcon, you got to find me something!" he said urgently.

"Ya' think! Who's being the fucking moron now! Dumbass!" he snapped back.

She lay there for what felt like hours.

What the fuck is taking Butch and Sundance so long! she thought.

It didn't take hours; it took about 15 minutes. Falcon saw a slight movement. It might have been the shooter. It might have been a snake, but something just disturbed the sand in the shooter's direction. He had to make a snap decision. If they shot and no one was there, it would give away their position.

Malibu would tell Caretaker to take the shot, he thought.

"Cartman, I think I got him," he looked into the scope again. "I got him!"

"Give it to me."

"Target, 24" square to the right of the road," Falcon said.

"Roger got it," Cartman answered.

"Give me a reading."

"Ah, looks like 1.5 MILS."

"Roger that, 1.5 MILS. That equates to 445 yards," Cartman said. "Let's go with our 450 yards dope. Dial in 9.75 MOA from your 100-yard zero."

"Roger, up 9.75 MOA."

"I have a slight left to right wind dial in left 1 MOA."

"Roger left 1 MOA," Cartman said.

"Spotters up. Send it."

BANG!!

"9 o'clock, 2 inches," Cartman said.

"Just off the right edge of the target, hold left edge and reengage. Spotters up. Send it!"

BANG!!

"11 o'clock, 1 inch."

"Center head, Motherfucker down," said Falcon.

Allie craned her neck. She saw Falcon's hand raised in the air, giving her the peace sign. Malibu lay there, dead. She exited the house. She picked up Malibu's body and put him across her shoulders. No Marine left behind.

**************************

She escorted his coffin back to the US. When they landed at Ellis Airport, Sergeant Major Anderson and two honor guard members met them there to take Malibu to Camp Lejeune. She had not said a word since she boarded the plane. Arrangements have been made for his burial at Arlington National Cemetery. During the short 12-mile ride, Allie dug into her bag and pulled out a letter Malibu had given her. They had exchanged letters in case one of them should die. The lump in her throat and the nervous feeling in her stomach intensified as she slowly opened the envelope.

************************

Allie,

If you're reading this, I guess you are crying right now. If not, I'll wait till you start (pause for tears... LOL). OK, carrying on, I want you to know how much you mean to me. The first night we spent together was the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. At least I was able to do that {several times} before I died. I want you to receive my flag at my funeral because it would have been to you if I had married. My stepmother won't mind; she never liked me much anyway. My brother and sister will split the $100,000 death benefit, so I am sure they will not give a shit about the flag. I want to be buried in my dress blues at Arlington. I hope I did not get shot in the face. I am too good-looking not to be able to have an open casket. I wonder how many people will be at my funeral. Please do me a favor. Get an Ouija board and let me know. I'll assume it was over a hundred if I don't hear from you. If it doesn't gross you out, kiss me before they close the casket, on my cheek or forehead. Assuming I still have a face. Then I know I will go to heaven smiling. God, I hope I go to heaven. I hope my last words weren't. I don't believe in God or something blasphemous like that.

Caretaker, you must do something for me, please. Fall in love. Let someone in. I hope you are

reading this because I would rather have you reading mine than me reading yours. Never forget

you are beautiful, sexy, caring, tough, badass, remarkable, a little crazy, confused, guarded, impulsive, and horny. {I hope that made you laugh, but really you are.} Please keep that bitchin' body.

I will remember you even after I'm dead. If you are reading this letter, I left things unsaid. If I said them, then you would not be reading this version. I hope you realize what it may be. I wish I could show you in my actions since I failed to say it to you aloud. I am not saying it in my death note. So, fall in love, get married, and have babies. Name the first one, Kenneth or Kendra, if it's a girl.

You will always hold a special place in my heart,

Kenneth "Malibu" Hall

She was crying softly. She had her hand over her mouth to stifle her staggered breathing.

Would he have married me? Would I have married him? Does he love me like I love him? She thought, why didn't I tell him I love him?

She put her head in her hands.

Sergeant Major Anderson looked back at her.

"Gunny, you OK back there?"

Allie said nothing.

"Gunny, I am sorry about Sergeant Hall. He was an exemplary Marine, one of the best spotters we had in the battalion, and paired with one of the greatest snipers. You both should be proud of what you have achieved for your country through your efforts."

He turned around and stared out the window of the Humvee. He was not going to press the issue.

Allie said nothing. She just stared out of the window. The world was going about its business. It did not care that her best friend just died. It did not care that her heart was breaking.

The world has the right idea, she thought. For now, I am just going to go about my business, and no matter what happens, I shouldn't have a care in the world about it. I am not going to go through anything like this again.

She shifted in her seat, her back ached, and her head felt as if it had been slammed into a wall.

I am done with love and relationship bullshit. Everyone I love leaves. I lost everything and everyone I cared about. It's like I am in an eternal state of damnation. Sorry, Ken, but I cannot do what you want—no relationships, love, or babies. Especially not babies, she thought.

The honor guard member sitting next to her put his hand on her back. He had never met her

before, but he saw that she was in extreme emotional pain.

She looked up at him. He was beautiful. He had dark hair, long dark lashes, and deep brown eyes. He was the complete opposite of Malibu. That's why she was attracted to him. He did not remind her of Malibu at all.

"I'm sorry for the loss of your friend," he said, placing his hand on her back and moving it in small circles.

"He is... was my spotter and my best friend. I love him. I never got a chance to tell him," she said.

"You know guys are not completely clueless when it comes to women. If a woman loves you, you can figure it out pretty quickly. I am confident he knew," he said. "I am Logan, by the way. Sorry, we had to meet under these circumstances."

"Hey Logan, I'm Allie."

"Do you need a hug, Allie?"

"Very much so," she said.

He put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her into him. She rested her head on his chest, where it stayed till they got to base. They parked, and she sat up.

"Are you going to be OK?"

"I think I'm going to be alright; somehow, at some point," she wiped the tears from her eyes and cheeks.

"Well, I hope that you do find peace. It's nice to meet you, Allie."

"Hey, wait a second, Logan. Would you like to get a cup of coffee? I don't want to be alone.

He smiled at her, and she smiled back.

I would love to get some coffee—my treat. Maybe you can tell me about your friend."

That might be cathartic.

She took his arm, and they walked off to the PX together.

**********************************

"Oh my God, I have finally gone crazy. No. Maybe I am still asleep. I am having one of my dreams. I need to wake myself up," she said.

You are not sleeping. But you ARE naked.

He tipped his head to the side.

Damn girl. Just as bitchin' as I remember.

He pointed at her, moving his finger up and down the length of her body.

Maybe you should "dream" yourself some clothes.

She walked into her room, trying to calm down. She took deep breaths in and out.

"OK. When you go back in, there won't be anybody there," Allie tried to convince herself.

She put on an oversized T-shirt and went back into the living room. He was still sitting on the couch, arms stretched across the back. He put his palm up and waved. Allie turned, ran into her room, and slammed the door.

"I don't know what the fuck is going on, but this is not real. I must have finally drunk to the point of insanity. Or maybe I have finally killed off too many brain cells," she said.

She got back in bed, closed her eyes tight, and counted to ten.

"I'm going to close my eyes, and when I open them, I will wake up, and nothing will be there."

She slowly opened her eyes. She did not see anything yet.

You know, I expected you to take this better.

He was leaning on the door frame of the bathroom.

"I'm going to vomit," she said.

No, you're not. Stop being so fucking dramatic.

He walked closer to the bed.

"Do not come any closer. I WILL shoot you."

OK, I am going to put a stop to this.

He walked through the wall into the living room.

"Yeah, I'm crazy. This is all in my head," she said. "Jesus, I should have known I quit therapy way too early. Oh my God, what if I am schizophrenic?"

Caretaker, you do not have schizophrenia.

"Did I raise my hand? Because I don't remember asking you the question."

You need a life adjustment. Deep in the recesses of your brain, you know it. You have made some horrible decisions lately. You're the one who brought me here. Frankly, I'm honored.

"Don't be honored you should be fucking pissed at me. I left you on the street to die."

Caretaker, you damn well know there was nothing you could have done; besides get yourself killed. You were told that twice. It was the insurgent who killed me, not you.

"Alright, this is way too out there for this early morning and this hungover," she said.

"I'm still drunk, and that's why I'm hallucinating."

No, when you are drunk, you cannot see or talk to me.

"So, are you a figment of my imagination? I can drink you away. That should be easy enough. I tend to throw them back often."

Yeah, I gathered already after watching you last night.

"What do you mean after watching me last night? OK, if this is happening, which I don't believe it is, we need to set ground rules and boundaries."

I will not watch you shower or have sex. Or have sex in the shower.

"I haven't had sober sex since— Let's just say it's been a minute."

That's a little disconcerting, Caretaker.

Are you here to be my sponsor or something? If that's it, I'm good.

I don't know why I'm here. All I know is I'm supposed to be here, and your life is going in two directions. And you don't like to stop to ask for directions.

"I am not going to be able to function. Shit, how am I supposed to do my job with an imaginary friend on my coattails! You are dead. Do you know that you are dead?"

Yes, thank you. I am perfectly aware of it. You don't need to remind me. You know it's insulting to remind a dead person that they are dead. We know we are dead. We can't help it.

"Maybe I should call my therapist. I can't comprehend what the hell is going on here. Maybe I had way too much to drink last night and have brain damage or some alcohol poisoning. Maybe my liver is shutting down. There is a rational explanation for this, and it is not that I have an imaginary friend. I think I am going to call the therapist," she said.

Go right ahead. You'll be taken to Bellevue so fast. And getting your very own Thorazine drip to boot. Do you want that? You've got a serial killer on the loose; I'm sure you need to go to work.

"Oh my God, work; how will I go to work? You are not going to work with me. You have to stay here or feel free to return to the closet in my mind or wherever you manifested from."

What do you expect me to do? Stay here, sit on the couch; maybe you could turn the TV on for me. You know, like people do for their dog when they leave.

"There is just no way I am going to be able to do this."

Well, you better find a way, girl, because I am not leaving until you are ready for me to go.

"I'm ready now. So, fucking leave already!"

No, it doesn't work like that.

"What the hell am I supposed to do about Bruss? He will figure out what's happening and that I have gone Section 8."

You don't have to talk to me aloud. Just think of what you want to say. Since I am, as you say, "a figment of your imagination" and all in your head, I'll hear you. Do you think I'm talking aloud to you right now?

"So, you can hear me right now?"

Yes.

"I don't have a choice in this matter, do I?"

No.

"And if I ignore you, will you go away?"

I will still be here, but it will be more like someone continuously pestering you.

"Malibu, even if I accept this, you have always been a pest."

I have to ask you something.

"This should be good."

How many people were at my funeral? Since I never got a message from you, I will assume a hundred, maybe two.

"Well, your entire college football team showed. You had about a hundred, just like you were hoping for. I did get your flag."

I see it. It looks nice. You got me a pretty wooden box and everything. Sweet.

"I need to take a shower; YOU stay right here. Or don't. Just don't go into the bathroom."

Caretaker, just one more thing.

"What more can there possibly be?"

Remember to pick up your