If you had lost someone more precious to you than anything else, how far would you be willing to go to get it back? How much would you be willing to give up? What if someone gave you a chance?
Second ChancesA story in several chapters
By: Horatius
Please R&R as things evolve. I can be reached at
Horatius314-AT-Hotmail-dot-com
Time is a funny thing. We can describe it and we can measure it. But if we make a mistake, we can't undo it. Time is like a river that forever flows in one direction. Physics tells us that we cannot send matter backwards through time. Energy can be sent, but only at a huge expense.
Ron Stoppable sat in his cubicle. He tapped at his keyboard, making pointless changes to a file. Tomorrow was going to be his 52nd birthday. In a moment of introspection, he glanced at the photos at his desk. There was a picture of him and Carol, his first ex-wife. There was a picture of him and Theresa, his second ex-wife. There weren't any others. Somewhere along his life he had screwed up. He was alone in his life. He had a dead-end job and no real friends in his life. But there was a time… there was a time when he had everything. And in a moment of weakness, he had lost everything; everything that would ever matter.
RING-
"Stoppable" Ron muttered into the phone as he answered the headset.
"Ron. Just shut up a second. Two guys just came onto the floor. They just passed me here at security. They have a picture of you and they're on their way." It was Earl, the security guard for this floor. Earl was ok, but he and Ron were never very close. Ron peeked up over the wall of his cubicle, over the vast expanse of cubicles. Picking out the two men moving amongst the cubes wasn't hard. They moved smoothly, precisely. They moved with steely determination of a kind Ron hadn't seen in a very long time. Ron watched them approach with a perverse fascination. It was like watching a shark close in for the kill, even when you knew that you were the target.
Suddenly, they were at the entry to his cubicle. They were tall, dark, and in perfect physical shape. Had they not been real, it would have almost been funny just how much they fit the mold of the quintessential federal agent.
"Mr. Ronald Dean Stoppable. Would you come with us please." The first one said. He didn't phrase it as a question. There was no humor in his voice.
"Umm, let me get my coat." Ron said as he stood up. He got the general impression that they didn't really care if he came with them under his own power or not.
Ron and the two men stepped out into the cool San Francisco fall afternoon. They ushered him into a car that was waiting for them outside the building.
"Where are we going?" Ron asked them as the car pulled away into traffic.
No answer.
"Who wants to see me?"
No answer.
"Look, people are going to be worried about me. They're going to come looking for me."
One of them turned to face Ron. "No they won't. You have no family; you have no wife, no children. No one is looking for you." He said in that bone-grindingly flat tone that spoke of just how in-control he was of the situation.
After about an hour, the car pulled up in front of a blue-glass clad building somewhere near Berkley. The building was largish, bearing no other identification or signs that would tell just what building this was.
The first man got out, and helped Ron out of the car. The second man followed Ron closely. As he was climbing out of the car, Ron caught a glimpse of a pistol securely tucked under the first man's jacket. "Not a good sign." Ron thought to himself.
The men lead Ron through checkpoints and identification scans that verified and re-verified his identity. The check points were staffed by heavily armed and armored men that would have been at home in a SWAT team. Finally, they led him into what looked like a conference room. Inside, there was a woman waiting for them. The two men took up positions on either side of the dark maple double door that was the only entrance or exit to the room.
"May I take your coat, Mr. Stoppable?" the young woman asked. She was young, maybe 25 or so. She was immaculately dressed, her dark hair offsetting her slightly Asian features perfectly. Hey, it's San Francisco; people are people. Ron mused.
"Thank you." Ron said as he handed her his coat.
"Something to drink while you wait? Water? Tea? Soda? Something stronger?" She asked, her soft voice sounding genuinely helpful and concerned for him.
"Just some water, please. And maybe some answers?" Ron said as he eased himself into one of the padded chairs that encircled the conference table.
She tapped the earpiece she was wearing and whispered into it. Within a few seconds, another young lady came into the room with a tray carrying a pitcher of ice water and some glasses. The new lady was helpful and attentive as she poured Ron a glass of water.
The first woman nodded slightly, "Thank you Alicia. Please inform the Major that Mr. Stoppable is waiting for him." With that, the second woman left the room, pausing only momentarily to glance at Ron with a curious gaze.
"Can you give me some answers?" Ron began after a moment or two. The Asian woman looked at Ron with a quizzical look. All she did was smile gently. Ron never heard the door open.
"She can't help you, Mr. Stoppable, but I think I can." A deep voice said. Ron turned around to face this new person. He was tall and broad-shouldered. He looked like he was made of exactly the same material as the two men that had retrieved him from work.
"My name is James MacCarran. I'm in charge of 'technical' operations here." Ron could hear the quotes around the word 'technical' and wondered exactly what connotations that word could have.
"How are you feeling, Ron?"
"Like crap. Especially when nobody will talk to me about what's going on." Ron glared at the man, with venom dripping off every word.
MacCarran smiled one of those knowing smiles that people get when they know the answers to questions before you ask them.
"Your life's pretty crappy, isn't it." MacCarran began. "Two failed marriages, you flunked out of four separate colleges. You couldn't even pass the psychological pre-screening to join the military. You're now working in a cube farm for an insurance underwriter. No wife, no kids, no pets. No internet connection at your place. Not even good cable TV."
Ron started to answer, but the words weren't there. MacCarran knew his life story.
"Your parents are both gone. Rufus, your first pet and best friend has been gone for nearly 30 years; you haven't even managed to get another pet. You don't go out, you sit in that little apartment of yours over on Church Street and watch your life go by. Even your best friend left you." MacCarran continued.
"You leave her out of this. You don't have the right to even mention her." Ron half shouted across the table. In his rage, Ron swatted the glass of ice water across the table and into the nearby wall. MacCarran smiled again; he smiled that arrogant smile again.
"Ron," MacCarran said, raising his hand in an attempt to get Ron to calm down. " What does June 8th mean to you?"
"What year?"
"Ron. For this discussion there is only one June 8th. You know it, and I know it. Now what does June 8th mean to you?"
"That was the day… the day… Kim…" Ron couldn't finish the sentence. Tears were welling in his eyes.
"That was the day that Kimberly Anne Possible died. That was the day your life changed forever. Less than two months before your wedding day; less than twenty-four months after you started dating. Think about that day much, Ron?"
Only every day of my life for the past 33 years, you asshole.
MacCarran paused for a moment, letting his words sink into Ron's mind. MacCarran leaned back into his chair. He folded his hands in front of his chin in a thoughtful position.
Ron thought about what had happened. All the memories of those fateful days came flooding back to him. Ron remembered holding Kim in his arms for the last time; the dark red stain spreading across her mission shirt. He remembered shouting at the heavens when the trauma surgeons stepped back from her body; those machines making that awful noise that everyone knows, but never wants to hear. He remembered the funeral with everyone so calm and quiet. He remembered all the awful times that followed. He remembered that rainy night when he was so cold and alone; when all he wanted was his Kimberly again; when he knew he could be with her again in an instant; all he had to do was just push the razor a little deeper into his wrists. For an instant, the old scars at his wrists itched. Ron fought back the tears. He rubbed his eyes to clear them.
"I thought so." MacCarran said coolly.
MacCarran waited patiently, recognizing the effect of his words on Ron.
"Ron. How would you like another chance? A chance to fix what happened. A chance to undo the past 30 years of you life."
Ron looked at MacCarran, not quite sure what he was being offered.
"Yes, Ron. A chance to bring Kim back. A chance to bring the woman you love back to you. I can give you that chance. You just have to do one thing for me."
Ron looked at MacCarran with steely-eyed determination; a kind of determination that doesn't have a word to describe it in any language.
"Who do I have to kill?" Ron asked, the determination seeping into his voice.
"No one. But you may want to kill me before this is over."
End Chapter 1.