He gingerly took a step towards the old warehouse, after his successful mission to half open the wooden door without making it squeak. The nauseating scent of humidity and urine welcomed him as he entered-then he couldn’t help but heave. He covered his mouth with his empty hand with regret as his gagging sound echoed. He flinched at the voice “Clear!” that came from outside afterwards- it was probably Peter. He dropped his rifle from his hands, which made a huge burden to his neck at the second, to come to his senses again. He was always having a close brush with death, that was his thing, but now fear was occupying his brain like never before.
The old tumbledown warehouse had pale yellow walls, but it was hard do tell because of the dust and smoke. The only light source was the sunshine that was peering through the broken glass window. There were many wooden doors inside too, some open some close. Only his heels under his heavy black boots made a sound when he walked- the floor was steady.
He didn’t realize that he was holding his breath until he got a little dizzy. Peter was looking through the showcase mouthing “Carl.” Carl motioned “come” and he wiped his tear from his cheek.
***
“Come on Carlo! How bad can it be?”
“I’ve told you like a hundred times in this past 12 hours. I don’t want to hang out with those creepy guys,” Carl looked up from the newspaper, “And don’t call me Carlo again.”
Peter and Carl were best friends since their first day of college. They always-mostly- lived as one man ever since. They were roommates too, but awfully different from one another: Carl was organized, hard working, well mannered-he wasn’t a nerd though, he knew how to have fun-and Peter was just reckless, that was the only way to put it. Carl never got how he managed to make it to the senior year.
“And besides, I have a date tonight,” Carl winked at Peter.
“What?! What?? A date? I thought you were in love with me man.”
Carl shrugged.
“Por Dios! Ditching your brother for a woman? Shame, shame, shame. I can’t even look at you right now,” he said with a cheesy Mexican accent. Carl wasn’t a dual citizen but Peter just enjoyed how it offended Carl.
Carl sighed and started towards the door. He ignored what Peter said after he closed the door.
At 7 p.m. as promised, Carl picked Daisy up from her dorm building. Her long ginger hair was done in a perfect bun with two locks of curly hair dangling on each side. A pinch of blusher polished her red cheeks and her eye make-up flashed her emerald eyes. Her cherry lips broke into a smile after seeing Carl’s awed expression. She looked like a stunning portrait.
They’ve had a wonderful time. They never fell into an awkward silence and their conversation just flowed. They talked about the reasons they were studying journalism, Daisy’s part time job as a barista, nature, their futures, even Peter.
“I want to be original. I mean, I want to dare to write about things no one ever would,” her eyes sparkled with eagerness “A war journalist perhaps. How cool is that!”
Carl couldn’t help but smile. “A war journalist? You? I’m sorry but you’re not the type. And besides, I wouldn’t let you.”
“Is that so? It’s 2000s for crying out loud!”
They laughed. After Carl paid the check, Daisy held his hand while walking towards the exit. Then they kissed on the sidewalk as the night’s tender breeze encircled them. When Carl got home, he was cully smiling to himself. That girl was something. He couldn’t find the right word to describe her, because no word could ever deserve her.
There was no sign of Peter. Carl was too tired to worry about him so he crashed his bed.
But then, Carl wasn’t back the next morning. There had been a lot of nights when Peter was God-knows-where but Carl just felt uncomfortable by his absence somehow. Even though he was with Daisy all day, he searched for Peter. He apparently skipped his classes. Where the heck are you Pete?
The next night, Carl woke up to a knock. Not a knock, a kick. He had fallen asleep on his desk again. He jumped out of his chair. He almost didn’t recognize who was standing at the door. Peter’s face was masked with blood. The blood that shed from his nose, eyebrow, lip had dried. His forehead had swollen and one eye was closed. Carl tried to speak, but couldn’t get the words out. He just closed the door and cleared the doorway for him.
Peter never talked about what happened. Carl was worrying sick, but couldn’t insist.
The next thing they knew, they were signed up for military.
Downstairs was even more disgusting. There were at least seven mice carcasses on the floor, a liquid was dripping from somewhere and the lack of oxygen was exhausting Carl and Peter. It was smaller than upstairs, and darker too. Carl tried to concentrate, although the silence was deafening him.
During military training, professional psychologists talked to them about living with death; feeling a sense of being exposed to torture or murder any time. Carl had nightmares about it time to time that he’d never talked to anyone. Anyone but…
Daisy.
He wanted to scream, punch a wall and burst into tears. But he was just frozen with Peter on his side. “She warned me,” he thought. “It’s my fault.”
Daisy went delirious when she learned that Carl was going back to The Front. “You talk to me about wanting to be a father and then you say you’re going back to Afghanistan? You might not even return you know?”
Silence.
“You’re just selfish. You and Peter both. I understand how “it won’t matter to you if you get killed because it’s an honorable death” but you’re just risking leaving me hanging?
Silence.
“You will regret this. That’s my last word.”
Daisy didn’t say goodbye to Carl. She knew she was being even more selfish and she may suffer with remorse her entire life, but her stubbornness made her blind.
Couple of days later she decided to go to Afghanistan herself as a journalist, just like she always imagined.  The local newspaper she worked was more than excited to hear about one of their journalists risking her life for the sake of journalism. Daisy wasn’t denying that she wasn’t thinking clearly, but she didn’t want to - that was the problem.
Carl learnt that Daisy was captived by terrorists six days ago. Six days. A lot could happen in those 144 hours. Thinking about those days almost paralyzed Carl. But he just knew she was here. “Everything will be over soon, and we will go home and sip our morning coffees tomorrow,” he thought.
Where was Peter? He circled around himself, but no Peter. He was hearing some footsteps, so he was near. Carl couldn’t trust his steps because the place was like a maze prototype.
There were exactly three gunshots five seconds later. Carl followed the noise, guarding himself with his weapon. He couldn’t breathe. Not Peter too. Please. There was a thin line to Carl’s equanimity, when it came to his loved ones, he just gave in. Not this time.
Peter was standing in an empty room with Daisy in her arms. No blood was dripping, but she looked really dirty and weak. Not one conspicuous scar.
“She’s breathing Carlo. She’s okay,” Peter said thankfully.
Carl kneeled, and started to weep inwardly.