The Swarm - Unraveling the Shadows

For those asking 'What happened to the Muller Case?' well, here it is and stands on its own merits under a better title. One doesn't need the background from the other stories to jump into this one. Though I'd greatly appreciate you reading those if you haven't already.

Rawlings' battles with PTSD are told in' The Dorm Went Dark - I Got Lucky!' and the sequel stories 'Rescuing a Snow Angel,' a six-part tale published in Literotica. The last episode of that storyline brings us to this point in his life. It also brings another familiar character, Jackie Wilson, a sword-wielding Asian-American avenger, into the story.

The journey from the hospital unfolded along a winding, desolate highway, allowing me ample time to reflect as I gripped the steering wheel. Just moments ago, I bid farewell to the VA hospital, marking the end of my six-week stay and granting me the supposed approval to reintegrate into society. Against the Major's expectations, I emerged in a better state than anticipated. No longer a disheveled figure seeking solace on park benches with a bottle as my only companion. No, this time, it was an entirely different force that propelled my recovery--one that neither the Major nor I had ever indeed encountered before--women.

I survived the torment of being a prisoner in the Vietnam War. Conflict? It was more than just a conflict--a brutal, merciless war. It claimed countless lives, and for a harrowing period, I teetered on the precipice of becoming another casualty. Captured, tortured, and ultimately rescued by an elite Airborne Ranger patrol, I narrowly averted an early grave. Yet, returning to a nation embroiled in the dying embers of the Vietnam Conflict proved to be its treacherous battle. Many of my ex-military comrades stumbled along a perilous path, grappling with the challenges of reintegrating into civilian life. But not me.

An orphan from the moment I took my first breath, I had no family ties to lean on for support. My destiny was preordained, leading me to enlist in the military at the tender age of eighteen, just like so many other wards of the welfare system. The medals and honors bestowed upon me during my service now held no significance. They were trinkets that might find a home in a pawn shop if anyone wanted to see them. The vehement outcry of the civilian population against the war left me with a lingering sense that perhaps my survival had been in vain. I would have been better off succumbing to the perils of war. And so, I quietly melded back into the fabric of everyday life, adopting a low profile to shield myself from prying eyes.

In his infinite wisdom, my psychological doctor guided me toward a new path, forewarning me of potential triggers that could unravel my fragile state of mind. Then, after six weeks of seclusion and self-exploration, he deemed me ready to reintegrate into the world and navigate the labyrinthine maze of civilian life once more. Yet, the demons of war continue to lurk in the shadowed recesses of my memories, their menacing presence a constant reminder of the battles I fought. Recognizing the signs of their resurgence, I sought help and granted myself the respite of six weeks away from work. As I approached Worthington and Worthington Accounting Firm following my prolonged absence, I was about to discover the true extent of the consequences that awaited me.

"Hey, Red. Where's Sally?" I asked the receptionist, my voice laced with a tinge of urgency, as I checked in at the front office.

"Gone off--got married to Chris Mortenson," Red informed me, the words hitting me like an unexpected blow. The news of the Colonel's daughter taking such a significant step caught me off guard, altering the cards fate had dealt me.

With a phone call upstairs, Red informed the Colonel of my return. I took the familiar journey up the stairway to the fourth floor, my mind racing with questions. Would my job still be waiting for me? Was I still part of the team? The unspoken uncertainty hung heavy in the air.

As I entered the Colonel's office, I wasted no time observing. "When I came in, I saw Gina Anderson back at her desk," I stated, my words a mix of fact and inquiry. Did her presence mean I still had a place here? The unspoken question echoed within me, anxious for an answer.

The Colonel's gaze locked with mine; his lips pursed as he assessed my demeanor. I held his stare, unflinching, unburdened by guilt if my absence had rendered me dispensable. Being away for six weeks would undoubtedly have consequences for any job.

"Yes," he finally responded, deciphering the thoughts swirling in my mind. "She's back — and will need help."

I exhaled a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, a wave of relief washing over me. Gina's return and her need for help meant I wouldn't be left hanging, cast aside due to my unforeseen absence. The Colonel's following words confirmed it, alleviating my concerns.

"Gina is back to work after maternity leave, and she'll need extra help now that she has her new baby," Worthington added, sensing the unspoken part of my statement. His words brought a sense of purpose and a renewed sense of belonging. I nodded, grateful that I still had a place in this world. The Colonel had kept his word, and I still had a job, even after my extended stay at the VA rehab center.

Little did I know that this unexpected turn of events was just the beginning of a new chapter filled with challenges, secrets, and unforeseen twists that would test me in ways I never imagined.

The Colonel and I never spoke about the way the Texas Grifters came to meet their demise. That he was gone for five days and was in Texas simultaneously wasn't a coincidence. It fits well with my suspicion that his old 'rusty pipes' stashed at his farmstead matched the hellacious number of shell casings and explosives used to leave the grifters hogtied as a present for the Feds. Conveniently, a treasury of paper documents led to other crimes they committed and to getting Mortenson's finances back in order.

The boss's war buddy, Mortenson, got his money back and married Sally while I was in rehab. So, Sally had slid off my radar; that tenuous situation worked out. One less woman to try and figure out, now. That was good. Though, I never was in her bed. I ensured not to mix pleasure with business, especially with it being the boss' daughter. We had an ex-warrior understanding of that impossibility.

Breaking into my musings, Worthington elaborated, "Jim, we have a major forensic accounting case, like the Mortenson's finances, about to start. It may involve Fish again. Since you ran the OPS on the Texas Grifters' case, you should also oversee this one. Besides, Gina can't work overtime, having her new baby. You and Fish seem to have a good relationship. Airborne Rangers meld together — kind of like we Green Berets."

"Yes, sir," I answered. It came out in that short, military-like-reflex answer.

I noted that and made a mental note to be more cognizant of getting back with a non-military response ... perhaps, Okay, Mr. Worthington, would have been better. Okay, boss, didn't seem right, given the military displays around his office.

Fish is the state-level fraud division special agent-in-charge. He had made it through twenty years in the Army before retiring and had ETS'd out of Fort Bragg about when I was headed to the jungles in Vietnam. Fish was more fortunate than I was when I returned to Bragg. He parleyed his military intelligence-investigative CID skills into a job with the state attorney general's office. Fish's head remained clear. Unlike mine — his ghosts let him sleep at night.

With a sense of relief, I left Worthington's office. An honorable man, he held my job for me, assuring me that Sally's infatuation was behind her. That left the two hot Latinas for me to figure out how to deal with. Figuring out how women ticked was never my strong suit, and with twins to boot, I was damn near over my head trying to untangle those kinds of relationships. I hadn't told the Colonel about the twins yet. It didn't make sense for me to spring that head-spinning situation on him. I didn't think it wise to tell him that the last case dealing with the Texas Grifters and the troubles with the three women in my life all had triggered my PTSD episode. I found help for my battle at the VA hospital, although they had no treatment plan for my female relationship issues. I was on my own with that.

Returning to the ground floor via the stairs, I joined Gina Anderson. As I settled back into my desk, I couldn't help but notice the change in dynamics in my absence. Gina was now my supervisor and juggling motherhood along with work. It seemed like life had moved on for everyone except me.

Previously, Sally had filled me in on some of Gina's background while she was on maternity leave. It didn't take long to discover that her ex-military background was razor-sharp in data-analysis procedures and that she was very forthcoming, as Sally had noted. As an accountant newbie, I was still wet behind the ears, but Gina didn't attempt to coddle me in this situation. I learned she had reviewed my data and legal support documents on the Texas Grifter Case that led to the indictments.

"You're good, Jim," she chuckled, "I read your forensic evidence report for the Federal case that helped close the financial recoup of the funds for Mortenson. Not bad for a newbie in the forensic accounting game."

Not bad for a newbie, yet, I didn't have much time to bask in her praise before she plunged me, waist-deep, into the muddy waters of Muller's pending accounting debacle. Occasionally, a stray thought crossed my mind and wandered to thoughts of the twins and Gabriella's baby bump as I crunched the numbers Gina had dropped by the pounds upon my desk.

Putting those thoughts aside, I redoubled my effort and stayed in step with Gina. We gathered documents and analyzed the stats 'fifty-ways-to-Sunday.' The intense focus time helped hone my thoughts and helped map the case's complex financial system. I had been doggedly crunching numbers from early morning until late afternoon. My eyes were blurry at that point. The numbers were swimming like a school of fish in small circles on the green-bar pages without any obvious discernable patterns. My hands ached; missing digits and getting slammed by a rifle butt will do that.

"Gina, nothing seems to add up. What am I missing?" I inquired ruefully.

Gina smiled at my exasperation. Raising her arms high in a prolonged stretching exercise, she twisted her torso, left then right. It lifted her mother-sized breasts aloft as she did. I took in that look ¬— the one of a woman's body eight weeks after delivering a child. Gabby's baby bump flashed across my mind. Guess after the baby — our baby comes, Gabby will also look like Gina's plump figure and full bust. I smiled, thinking about that image.

"Jim, it's not what you are missing; what are we missing? Something isn't adding up for me, either. Muller's company should be making money, but the delays in delivery and the inconsistent schedules may give us a clue," she opined. "Right about now, we could use one of those damn accountant savants."

"What ... accountant what?" I asked hesitantly. My vocabulary was primarily Army, and no one in my airborne ranger unit used the word savant.

"Savant," she repeated, her eyes fixed on me with curiosity, sensing my detachment from the conversation.

"It's someone with an exceptional understanding of a specific field, like mathematics. They have this uncanny ability to absorb and dissect data in countless ways, like a machine, and extract its true meaning," Gina explained.

"Vaughan," I murmured, his face appearing before me, stoic and resolute. My voice tinged with a hint of nostalgia.

"Vaughan had a gift for reading maps and deciphering their intricate details. He could glance at a mortar crater and determine its size, calculating the trajectory and range back to its origin in his mind. Without a watch, he could tell you the time, even in the deepest jungles, always getting it right. He could calculate the exact moment we had to leave to make it back before darkness swallowed us... Vaughan had that uncanny ability," I sighed, the memories fleeting through my mind like fragments of a distant past. My breathing quickened, betraying the lingering angst.

Gina chuckled lightly, unaware of the weight pressing down on me.

"Do you have his number, GI? Maybe he can look at these confusing figures and make sense of this mess," she quipped, trying to lighten the mood. Her shoulders shifted, subtly releasing tension from hunched over the folders all day.

I turned away, avoiding her bright smile, not wanting to engage in a lighthearted banter I couldn't muster.

"He's dead," I replied flatly, the words hanging heavily in the air.

My gaze fixated on the meaningless figures scattered across the table, seeking refuge in their chaos. The silence between us grew uncomfortably thick. I realized I had created that atmosphere, and a pang of guilt urged me to soften the impact of my abrupt revelation.

"He met his fate alongside me on that hill. I was fortunate to catch a round in the shoulder... Vaughan..." My voice trailed off and cracked, revealing the emotions I struggled to contain.

I chose not to elaborate on the image etched in my memory, the sight of him sprawled lifeless in that unforgiving jungle, a large portion of his head missing. Nor did I share the horrors I endured as a prisoner of war and the aftermath that followed.

Gina sensed the tension in my voice, the tremor betraying my inner turmoil. In a hushed tone, she whispered, "I'm sorry for bringing up those memories, Jim," reaching out to touch my hand, a small gesture of understanding.

I nodded and breathed deeply, following the Major's mantra for calmness.

Muller's freight trucks carried assembly materials from Mexico through the heavily traveled Interstate freeways to the northern assembly, automotive and trucking plants in the Midwest and further north into Michigan. Last year, the records showed regularly scheduled trips with little or no delays in delivery. This year, it was different.

Trucks showed up late, sometimes a whole day, and more often with a partial delivery of goods. The inventory was accurate, but why the complete payloads were not on the truck, or anyone could account for the missing day or days in delivery, was different. Drivers' records had missing log entry times. That was our first red flag. Once we were beyond the accuracy of the inventory, we delved further into the analysis process. What were the missing links between time and partial-but-accurate deliveries? That was a head-scratcher. Whatever it was, Muller was hemorrhaging funds in the process. And the answers weren't in sight.

"It's baby time, probie," Gina chirped, looking at the wall clock, "gotta get home and relieve the nanny. Chubby is going to be looking for Mommy's nipple time. See you tomorrow. We'll pick up on this in the morning -- but not before nine o'clock. Capiche?"

She had already jumped into her jacket and was at the door. I could see Worthington was right about Gina not wanting overtime. The anticipation of getting home to her first child was on her priority list. She was focused on the numbers on the job, but her thoughts of motherhood were pre-eminent.

"Roger that, mama bird," I responded without much thought.

With her hand on the doorknob, she hesitated. "You got someone waiting, Jim?" Gina asked as an afterthought, as I hadn't made a move to leave.

"No ... Yes, I do," I said, surprising myself as I realized I did have someone.

It dawned on me that I had better start thinking about the two women in my life. They were in my thoughts earlier, and after the deluge of data, I pushed them out of my mind for a while. Had Gina not asked about someone waiting for me, I would have stayed and worked through the night out of habit. Mission First had been so engrained over the past service years. Gabby's baby bump hadn't fully registered with me, nor the impact of what was to come. Growing up as an orphan, I never had anyone, or an actual home, waiting for me. Now, shit, I had to get going!

Fuck Rawlings; at least get some flowers on the way to see Gabby and Carmen. Make up for time away at the rehab center, Doofus, I grappled with that realization as I walked Gina out the door.

Two blocks from the twins' combination home and business, Martinez's Landscaping and Snowplowing Business, I stopped at a flower and gardening shop. It was one Gabby and Carmen frequently used for their landscaping business. I stood before the bouquets' display case, trying to decide which to pick.

Fuck Rawlings; you need two — taking just one is asking for trouble. With those twins, it's always double-trouble.

A darting shadow scooted out to meet me as I rang the bell on the counter.

"What can I do you for?" a beaming pixie-like smile piped up as she hurried from out back.

From her wording, I immediately knew the attendant would be mischievous. Her face had that kind of ear-to-ear grin. Diminutive, like Tinkerbell, she scurried up behind the register. The way she moved, I half-expected her to flit into the air and alight cross-legged with her ass on the counter.

"Something for Gabby and Carmen," I mused aloud. I didn't give their last names. I knew first names would be enough with all the business done here.

Smiling at me like a Cheshire cat, Tinkerbell asked, "So, tree or yard plant?"

"No, ... it's not for the business. I need something special ... for them. It's personal. Dinner tonight," I stammered, trying to clear up my missed point.

Tinkerbell chortled, "So, you are the one they're always talking about! I see why they got a thing for you, blue eyes." Her eyes widened, and that grin grew even wider if that were possible.

My grin answered her question. It had me wondering what the twins had let out about us already.

"How about something that goes with those antique chokers you gave them?" she grinned.

And there it was. I didn't know who this girl was, but she was undoubtedly knowledgeable about the twins and me, which had me wondering at this point what else they had divulged.

"Okay." I eased out slowly, "Anything you got in mind, Miss ...?"

"Anna! I'm Anna," she answered, disregarding my inquiry momentarily. She stood brazenly undressing me with those twinkling eyes; that's how it felt anyway. She finally snapped out of it and quickly opened the glass-door refrigerated cabinet, saying, "Over here is what you want, blue eyes."

Turning back, she added, "These Sterling Silver roses are from our hybrid teas, perfect for elegant table arrangements. They would complement the silver choker Carmen keeps flaunting around me with that 'I have a special friend' smile," Tinkerbell teased, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she unleashed her cute, coquettish smile.