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Three weeks later

Dr. Tamara Crest had only one good thing to say about her newest patient, Martin Hart. He was indeed a man of his word. True to his promise the first day, he refused to communicate, share or divulge a single detail of his life or concerns to her. Instead he challenged her to everything from board games to staring contests, told lots of tasteless jokes and demonstrated his military borne proficiency for vivid and highly illustrative profanity. Finally one day she decided to try a last ditch effort. One that while on the surface appeared to be a ‘if you can't beat ‘em, join ‘em' response to his situation, actually held a far deeper significance.

After sauntering in ten minutes late to his scheduled session, Martin's eyes flew wide as he saw that his therapist's office boasted a most unusual piece of furniture, a small round table that came topped with what appeared to be a checkerboard.
"Why on earth do you have a game board set up right next to the couch?" he blurted out, shaking his head in a show of sheer wonder as he added. "Did your first patient of the morning have a bizarre addiction to terminally boring weekend past times?"
"Not at all," Tamara replied and pulled up her office chair to the far side of the board. "You told me during our first appointment that you liked to play checkers and that you would in fact prefer to engage in a hearty round of checkers, as opposed to talking to me about your problems and feelings." She paused here with a smooth flourish across the surface of the checkerboard. "So fine then. Let's play."

Martin froze.
"You're not going to psychoanalyze my every move are you?" he asked her as he rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "If I pick up the red checker first, you'll assume that my mommy never loved me…."

Tamara had heard enough.
"Shut up and play," she commanded. Heaving a sigh of reluctant resignation, Martin took a seat on the couch and retrieved a black checker from the surface of the board; frowning in contemplation as he seemed to concentrate on the opening move of the game. This frown dissolved into an open mouthed gape seconds later, as his now trembling fingers dropped the checker piece to the surface of the board and let loose with an anguished gasp.
"Martin, are you all right?" Tamara asked, tone laced concern.
"I just remembered something," he softly blurted out, his body trembling. "My doctor told me that, on the day of the bomb blast, my friend Greg and I had been playing cards on the deck of our ship. Well we weren't."

"You were playing checkers?" she asked, tone soft and gentle.
"I remember now," he told her, voice thick and stricken with frustrated emotion. "I remember my friend; his smile, his laugh. The way we used to laugh and joke around as we played every game in sight. Now, who knows if he'll never smile, laugh or play again, he's still in a coma and it's my fault!" he paused here, bellowing out as he pitched his head back. "It should have been me! I should have been the one to be lying half dead in a coma, instead of my mate. I wish I could trade places with him. I should have suspected there may be a bomb and been more careful."

Surging to her feet, Tamara cleared the corner of the board in one smooth gesture and touched his trembling shoulders with a solid, reassuring hand; gifting him with a quick squeeze.
"But you lived, Martin. And while Greg is indeed a valued and trusted friend, he would want you to lead a happy and worthwhile life. It's not over, he still may recover."
"I know Doc," Martin acknowledged. "How do I do that, though? How do I make my way back? Because nothing makes sense right now. It's like I don't even know who I am."

Tamara leaned over closer to him, eyeing him with warm tenderness.
"Before you can even begin to move on, you have to remember everything you've been through. Worse, given what you do, but this sealed the deal and you have gone into emotional hiding. I would suggest that we try a round of hypnosis."

Martin knew better than to agree to this nonsense; really he did. He had always thought hypnosis to be nothing more than a bunch of mumbo jumbo practiced by charlatans and second rate magicians. Somehow though, he found that he just couldn't say no to the woman before him. Perhaps it was a fit of bad consciousness of having treated her so badly while she had been doing nothing but trying to help.

Although initially mostly frustrating by her profession eagerness, the wit and intellect displayed by this amazing lady, somehow she'd come to earn his respect and admiration, even if he never admitted as much. Now when he really got to know her for the kind, genuine person she was, witnessing the deep warmth and concern in her eyes, he knew he could deny her nothing; even her request to dive into the bottomless hell that was his inner psyche. Closing his eyes and listening intent as her smooth sonorous voice soothed and lulled him into an impenetrable haze, he succumbed finally to the power of suggestion as his public surroundings dissolved around him.

Suddenly he envisioned himself trapped in a sphere of pure unyielding azure; swimming with effort against the tide as he went in search of a certain destination.
"Someone needs my help down here," he thought, diving deeper into the waves as he sought the whereabouts of a man who, or so he thought, was in dire need of his aid. "Where is he?"

Then, in a flash of movement, he saw the victim's body. The next moment he was setting forth his best effort to save the man's life. Martin felt his entire body shudder as a multitude of disagreeable sights and sensations suddenly invaded his psyche. He felt the eerie soft limpness of the body in his arms and saw a blinding flash of light. Then all he felt was pain, terrible unbelievable pain.
"No!" he bellowed out, wrenching himself from the realm of unpleasant memories as he felt his hands clawing a surface of soft pleather.

Moments later he found himself coiled into a foetal position on the surface of Dr. Crest's couch, trembling and gasping as his ears still rang with the sound of a mighty blast. His quiet gasps and quakes stilled the instant Tamara touched him. His body relaxed and his spirit calmed as she laid a healing hand on his massive deltoid.
"It's all right, Martin," she whispered, voice soft and nurturing. "It's over."
"No," he shook his head. "It is not over, yet," he countered, but offering a look of sheer warmth. "but thanks to you, Tamara, I have the feeling that it soon will be. I get it. That memory came out of nowhere, but I feel a huge relief inside, for just letting it out."
"Know this," Tamara said and looked at him with serious eyes. "This is only the beginning, soon the truth of what happened that day will come to you. But rest assure, you have been through the worst part and rode it out, and you emerged on the other side, fully able to face your fears. And only those who can face their fears and overcome them are truly brave."

"Thanks, I guess," he smiled.
"And just what is that supposed to mean 'I guess'?" she frowned, seeing something of the old Captain Arrogant showing himself again."
"That means, well, coming from you. From one with your profession I cannot be sure if it is a compliment or a dry analysis. Or something entirely else."
"You're right," Tamara admitted. "It's not a compliment, not entirely so. It's a indication of coaching. A way to boost your self-confidence."
"Do I need it you thing?" Again he smiled, couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"Yes, because underneath all that bragging I felt a man whom wanted to break free and become the one he used to be. The truly brave man, who was so assured in his self confidence that he didn't have to act it. And you know what? You can become that man again!"

"How!"
"Just wait and see. The rest of the memory will happen to you. And it will when you are courageous enough to cope with it."

***

These words echoed in Martin's mind later that evening, when he once again found himself ensconced in the soft cotton sheets of his bed. Only this time, he mused, he was alone and for once he had no desire to share his bed with some random stranger he picked up at a bar. Instead he shared his space with the notion of one very special person. Dr. Crest was, he realized, the only person who could see him for who he really was, deep down. She'd even seen beyond his cocky arrogance and sarcasm, and beheld the man he was beneath it. Or at least the man he was on my way to become when he'd been serving his country and making his family proud as an officer of the Navy Seals. If only she could have seen him then, when he was so strong and confident.

Tamara was down to earth, non-judgmental and deep. Of course she was tough on him but she had just that to be to penetrate the reams of bad attitude he'd been shoving at her since the moment they had met. He paused here, casting a wayward gaze out the window to observe the star strewn, moon kissed beauty of a crisp and ethereal fall night. Tamara had held a higher standard than that. Higher than his own and one which she expected him me to live up to. As if she really knew his potential, Martin thought, casting a random wish to the moon above him.

He didn't know when the moon had dissolved, just that it was no more. All there was there was a green seascape in which his body floated free and unencumbered. For just a moment he savoured the beauty of his maritime surroundings; the sweet pink and fuscia guppies, the golden starfish, the swaying water lilies every hue of the rainbow. Yet after just a moment of blissful respite a sense of dread overcame him; setting his nerves on end as he beheld a most unwelcome sight before him.

Once again he was seeing that ghoulish shadowy body laying still and limp in the water. And just as earlier he dove to the aid of a victim who was anything but. His dreamscape shifted in suspended animation as he scooped the dummy up in his arms; this time daring to look downward to spot the bomb that hovered dangerous just beneath him. Then he saw the flash of red, followed by a time of darkness; an interval shattered by the sudden presence of a nurturing hand placed right across his heart. And his eyes fluttered open to the dark stillness of his silent bedroom. The moon had vanished behind the rooftops of the building on the other side of the street, but its silver light was still painting the nocturnal skies, shining on ragged clouds.

And he knew now what had happened on that fateful day. He knew now why he had wanted to forget it all.

"I saw everything," Martin said to himself in t dark. "I saw the dummy, I saw the bomb, I saw the explosion. I saw Greg positioned in between me and the bomb, and there was nothing I could have done differently." He paused here as he squared his broad shoulders and lifted his firm chin to prideful effect. "He will be fine, somehow, I just know, he will be fine."

One week later

As he made his way into the now all familiar office of his therapist, Martin noted that Tamara had made some surprise arrangements. Two glasses of sparkling champagne were now poised at the edge of his therapist's desk.

"I have wonderful news for you," Tamara said as he looked in surprise on the glasses. "After completing a thorough evaluation of your case, your commanding officers and I have determined that that your memory is now fully intact and that you seem much happier and more productive than you have since the time of the blast." She paused here as she leaned forward and folded her hands on the desk in front of her. "You are hereby discharged from my care and its my full recommendation that you are to be reinstated as a full-time Navy SEAL."

Letting forth with a joyful whoop, a beaming Martin stood up and held out his hand.
"I do admit that I came here as a man full of prejudices, but you have shown me that those are to be banished fully." Then he nodded to the Champagne. "I appreciate your gesture, but I drove here. And I intend to drive out to the base to report for duty now as well. Besides, the day Greg wakes up, that is the day I will drink in earnest."
"Then I can only wish you luck," Tamara said, stood and took his offered hand.