Page 6 of The Devil's Reward
He’s quiet for a moment. “Everyone’s always called me Crypt, but that was a nickname given to me by my team. Almost not sure if I should use it anymore, being a civilian now,” he says bitterly.
“I suppose for jobs and such you might need to use your legal name, but for this, I can call you Crypt if it would make you feel more comfortable. Up to you. Or I can just call you Sir,” I quip with a small smile. Then internally wince. Shit, that was a stupid thing to say.
Instead of getting annoyed, his lips twitch as he says, “Sorry, Ms. Holt, but you saying that doesn’t have the same effect as my commanding officer. Just call me Crypt. That will make things a lot easier.”
I nod, relaxing. “Okay, then we’ll do that. And call me Quinn. I don’t like the Ms. title, anyway. Alright, well, let’s get down to business and see what we can do. My job, Crypt, is to help you out in any way I can to help you get settled into civilian life as easily as possible.” He snorts. “Yeah, I know, stupid words, but they tell me I have to say them,” I chuckle softly. I pause. “Can I just level with you?”
“Prefer it.”
I nod and take a deep breath. I just hope he won’t get pissed at what I say. “This isn’t going to be easy, and you will struggle. You’re going to be pissed, and at some point you’ll probably want to say to hell with it and go off to be a hermit in the woods, but I want you to know that I will not pull the wool over your eyes. If you ask me a question, I’ll be as straight with you as I can, and I’m going to work with you to make sure that you’re not left floundering on your own.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “You a Vet?” he finally asks.
“No, but my husband was,” I say quietly. “He, uh, he passed away five years ago.”
He nods. “Active duty?” I nod. There is so much more to it than that, but I don’t discuss it. Finally he says, “The shrinks tell me I have PTSD, that I’ll struggle to cope with daily life, and want to drug me up. Mellow me out. I’m not doing that shit.”
I nod. “I wouldn’t want to either. You have PTSD, but from what I’ve seen in your file, it’s not severe. You’re not experiencing recurring nightmares, and other than some loud noises bothering you, you’re doing better than others who’ve done as many tours as you. Many who come to see me are jumpy, or already drugged out of their minds to cope. I can do some of the heavy lifting, finding you a place to stay, a job, things like that, but it’s up to you to continue on that path,” I swallow hard and force the next words out of my mouth. “Or be another statistic. Become homeless, an alcoholic, or drug addict whose story ends with suicide.”
He doesn’t react to my words. Most, when they hear them, flinch or vow that it will never happen to them. Crypt just looks at me, but I can’t tell what he’s thinking or feeling. Finally, he says, “What do you need me to do?”
I grab his file and open it, looking down at the notes I made on the first page. “You’ve only been officially discharged for a week, and you’ve been staying in the military apartments just off base, correct?”
“Yes. Need to be out by the end of next week.”
“Do you have any leads on any apartments or places to stay?”
“Most of the places I’ve looked at around town either want proof of a job or only rent to families.” His tone is even, but I can sense the disgust underneath. The bitterness.
“Do you have any savings?”
“Saved all my money and have a nice nest egg. I can be comfortable for a year or two. Thought about buying a house, but seems kind of pointless if I can’t find a job that will keep me in this area.”
“And you want to stay here, correct?”
“Only place I know.”
“Your military record says that you were great at surveillance and gathering information. Have you thought about working with the police?”
He shrugs. “I have little patience for dealing with people doing stupid shit and having to arrest them. I might consider it if I can’t find anything else, but it’s not my first choice.”
I nod. “Alright. What about security?” I think back to the new company that my colleague mentioned to us all in an email earlier today. Crypt might just be perfect for that kind of work, but I’ll have to make some calls if he is interested.
His head tilts forward slightly at that, and I know he’s interested. “Hadn’t thought of that option,” he finally replies.
“I may have an option that could work for you if that is something you’d be interested in pursuing. I can’t promise anything, but it might be a good first step. And I can also start helping to find you an apartment. We keep a list of a few places for situations like yours. Most of them are only one-bedroom apartments, but it would be a start for you until you find your own place.”
Slowly, he nods at me. “Alright. What do you need from me?”
“I need you to list your skills and then we’ll work on getting your resume together. Once that’s done, I’ll reach out to the company I have in mind and see if we can set up an interview for you. They specifically asked for Vets, and have clarified that they will give everyone qualified a chance. Based on your skills in the Forces, I think you’d be great at it.” I give him a soft, warm smile.
He cocks his head slightly. “You really care, huh?”
I blink at him, confused. “Ah, you make that sound like a strange thing,” I reply hesitantly.
“It is,” is his blunt reply. “Been to see so many people in the last week, and I’m just a number to them. Nothing more. Get me in and out as fast as they can, or write me a prescription so I’m mellow and not much trouble. You, you’re talking about already having a place to live, a job, and helping me to do up my resume so that this company will consider me. Most would tell me to do it myself, give me the name of the company, and send me on my way. Why don’t you?”
I’m not really sure how to answer that question. I take a second, because I have a feeling that my answer is going to be important. “I do it because I care,” I tell him honestly. “My husband was in the service, and I saw the toll it can take on men and women who are trying to make something of themselves outside of the military. Some have support, some have their plans all mapped out. The majority don’t. Either they’re dishonourably discharged, medically discharged, or they just can’t do it anymore. Those are the ones I want to help, and when I was trying to decide on a career, I gravitated to this area of social work. If I can help one person, keep them from washing out into the streets, or worse, into a grave, then I count it as a job well done. I can’t help everyone, but those I can, like you, get everything I have to offer.
