He sat in the van, watching the small airstrip. Watching the Lear in particular. The ground crew was working around it, getting it fueled, checking the outside. He knew it was due to leave soon, but the passengers hadn't arrived yet. So he sat and watched.
It had been a hard year. Over a period of five months, he'd lost everyone that meant anything to him. And it all could have been avoided.
He hadn't known what to do. Not at first. Pardon in hand, he'd gone the only place where he knew he'd find the love and support he desperately needed. He went back to Chicago. But even Mama couldn't take away the ache, the pain.
The anger.
He found a job at an after-school program. It was something he knew and liked doing. Or had liked. Somehow, it just wasn't the same. He looked at the kids and saw Face. He looked at the grandparents who were raising the kids whose parent - or parents - were in jail, in rehab, or dead, and saw Murdock.
He quit after less than a month.
Another job came up, at a garage this time. Then the foreman came back from vacation. An older guy. White hair. Friendly but used to giving orders and having them followed. Liked the way BA did things the others couldn't handle.
Grinned like Hannibal.
He lasted six weeks.
Mama tried to help, but she was sorrowing, too. They shared that, and the anger. It didn't matter, though. Sharing that sort of thing didn't make it go away. And then Mama got sick. She kept saying she was fine, worried more about him than herself. Waited until it was too late.
After that, he found himself sitting in the living room most days, the TV on but ignored. Sometimes he didn't even bother going to bed, just slept on that damn couch. He sat there and thought. Remembered. All the years together. His mama. Growing up. 'Nam. His team. All the jobs.
Mostly he remembered that last job.
Another 'need to know' job. Which meant they didn't know what they needed to know. Which was why BA was racing to pick them up, all according to the plan, and instead watched as the building blew.
And just like that, it was all over.
Father Magill held a memorial service for them. No coffins. No burials. There wasn't enough left for anything like that. The earth swallowed their remains where they died.
Stockwell didn't bother to show up for it.
That fact kept running through his mind. That fact and that damn 'need to know' bull. No matter how hard he tried to think about the good times, the successes, his friends - those two things took over.
Every damn time.
And finally he realized he had to take control again. Had to stop sitting here, feeling sorry for himself. Had to do... something.
So he sat in the van, watching the Lear. Watching for the passengers to arrive. For that one passenger to show.
Fingering the trigger on the rifle.