The Shallow Grave of Secret Longing

Chapter 1

Hello again. Sorry but no cats in this one. It's darker than the other H-50 stories I've written. Hope you like it anyway. It's about three-quarters done and I will be posting regularly, (maybe twice a week), until I screw-up and get behind again. Until then, please feel free to tell me what you like or dislike about this new story. I have a sign over my desk that says 'Will Work for Reviews'. I know - I'm a cheap date.

Disclaimer: I will have my imaginary way with them until the story is complete. Make no money from this or pretty much anything else.

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The Promise of Ash

The sun seared its way to his core. It burned away any pretense of life – cauterized and sealed off the imagined existence of cool darkness - of a place where life wasn't scorched and brittle – a place where promise didn't end in the ashes of the dead.

He'd seen too many people lose their precarious hold. Sometimes he'd pried away their grasp. He'd been at this for too long. Helped too many begin their journey with only the promise they carried within them. His only promises were those of the finality of death, of destruction . . . of ash.

What little he carried seemed to press him into the sand beneath his feet. Maybe it would just bury him, suck him down into Hell where he belonged. Maybe this is Hell. It seemed so. There hadn't been anything to convince him otherwise.

The ground rolled and pitched. If he wasn't in the middle of a fucking desert, it would feel as though he was on a ship in the middle of a fucking ocean. Sky and earth were the same color - bleached to the whiteness of bone.

He was the only one left. The only one stupid enough to think there was a way out other than death. It had been a trap. One by one they'd been picked off – first by the enemy then by nature itself.

One by one he'd witnessed the essence of another waft away into the dry air - evaporate – poof - pupils grown huge and black until there was only a thin margin of iris to indicate who they'd been.

Maybe they, the dead, were right. No one was getting out alive. He was the only one foolish enough to keep going.

He looked up at the magnesium bright sky. There was only the sun now; no water, no earth, no flesh – the dead were right.

….

This time, his partner had been gone for over a month but at least, this time, he knew why he'd disappeared. It was another one of those secret SEAL classified fucking ops. The ones about which, if he asked any questions, the answer would be only a mysterious smirk.

The blonde man still asked though, just to keep his hand in. Maybe someday he'd actually get an answer. He wasn't going to hold his breath.

He stared blankly at his computer screen before blinking back into the now. He sighed and decided the report was complete . . . well, as complete as it was going to get. He clicked the print icon and after a moment, heard the printer in the outer office hum and whirr then the sound of an eight-and-a-half by eleven ratcheting into the catch tray.

He wondered when they would go completely paperless. He knew it would save acres of forests but still didn't think it was a good idea. One incident of some stupid suicidal squirrel in the middle of bumfuck nowhere chewing through a wire on a transformer and the power grid would go down and domino all the others with it. Then where would they be?

Well, for one thing, they'll still be able to read this fucking report. Hah!

He retrieved his pages from the copier, signed them, stapled them together and dropped the whole thing into the 'out' basket for tomorrow. He'd just begun to pack up his things, his travel mug, keys, wallet, cell and Hello-Kitty lunchbox, (Gracie insisted he take it this morning because inside it she'd packed a special PBJ sandwich - a happy face of raisins carefully pressed into his favorite, totally unhealthy, white bread). He was a little surprised she'd actually entrusted him with her treasured pink and white lunch box. Kono thought it was cute while Chin only smiled. McGarrett, if he were here, would have had a field day. Detective Danny Williams had just taken a step toward the door when the phone on his desk rang . . . of course.

Williams was an old-fashioned kind of guy. Besides liking hard copies, he still liked a phone that was just a phone. It didn't have to take pictures or play games or download videos of people doing idiotic things, it just had to be a fucking phone that allowed him to communicate over distance with another human being.

Sighing, he ceased his mental mini-rant and picked it up, answering "Detective Williams".

"Detective Danny Williams?" the deep voice on the other end asked in an official sounding tone.

"Speaking. How may I help you?" replied Danny equally as formal.

"I have Lieutenant Commander Steven McGarrett here. He would like to speak with you."

Danny felt a sudden unease. Why didn't Steve just dial the number himself?

He heard muffled words and then the sound of someone grasping the phone.

"Danny?" he heard an almost timid sounding voice. In just the one word was the sound of incredible pain.

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I know this was very short. Just trying to prime the pump for the next chapter which will be up SOON. Please let me know what you think of this meager beginning. Thank you for reading.