Cold



Sometimes, I wonder what my life would have been like if things had happened differently. If I hadn't taken that damn business card, if I hadn't told Danny the truth, if I had delayed for even a second during one of my operations, if my mother had really died, if I hadn't pulled a knife on Noah, if I had taken a left at the stoplight…

At night, when I can't sleep, I lay in bed and think about what could have happened, what might have been. There are a million different twists and turns my life could have taken. If life were an amusement park, there are so many different rides it could be. If I had done this or that differently, it could have been like the carousel with some small ups and downs, but a smooth ride overall. Or, it could be like the River Rapid Ride. Sometimes you only get your feet wet, and sometimes you get soaked, but either way, you still have a great time.

Instead, I get a life that's a sick, twisted combination of the Hall of Mirrors, the Haunted House, and one of those rides where they strap you in and take you up to the top. There, they make you wait until they push the button, and your stomach jumps into your throat as you go plunging straight downward. In this life, things aren't as they seem, you never know what's around the corner, and you plunge straight downward into a freakish, living hell.

What could I have done or not done to get a carousel life? Maybe it's fate or destiny, the way things turned out. Some people aren't meant for the carousel. Maybe it just would have better if I hadn't been born. Someone could make this into a play, or a movie, my version of 'It's a Wonderful Life'.

Except in this version, things wouldn't end happily. The angel would shrug his shoulders and say, "I don't know what God expects me to do here, Sydney. He's the miracle worker, not me." Then he would show me Danny and Noah, the people who would still be alive if it weren't for me. It's a wonderful life.

"Sydney?"

I snap to attention and find my handler gazing at me, his eyes clouded over with concern.

"Sorry," I whisper, as I let my dangling feet kick against the side of the crate. I suddenly realize how cold it is in the warehouse and wrap my sweater tighter around me. I wait for Vaughn to finish explaining my counter mission, or to start again because I haven't heard a word of it, but he doesn't.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

I nod slowly. I've become good at lying. "It's just cold in here."

"Here, take my jacket," Vaughn says as he moves to take it off.

"No!" I answer quickly, trying to pretend I don't see the strange look he gives me, the one I see almost every time we meet.

Before Noah, before Cape Town, Vaughn and I had been slowly growing closer. I had come to confide in him, trust him, depend on him. But after what happened with Noah, we drifted apart. It was my fault, not Vaughn's. I'm afraid to let anybody get too close.

"You can continue with the counter mission," I offer, not knowing what else to say.

"I know," Vaughn responds.

But he doesn't continue. Silence seems to blow through the warehouse like a lonely wind, sending chills down my spine.

"Are you sure you don't want my jacket? I don't think it's that cold in here."

"I'm f-fine," I stutter as I try to suppress a shiver. I fold my arms, and my hands feel like ice even through the soft material of my sweater.

My fingers, the warehouse, my life. When did everything turn so cold?

"You should go home and lie down," Vaughn says, the worry filling his eyes. "You don't look like you feel very well."

I give him a weak smile. "I'm not sick, just tired."

Actually I am sick. And tired. I'm sick and tired of…well, of almost everything. But I can't tell him that.

Vaughn sighs. He knows I'm not telling the truth, but he doesn't say anything. It's the game we play: a never-ending game of tag. I've gotten sick of it and I know he is tired of it too, but neither of us say anything. It's part of the game, and we've grown too used to playing it to change the rules.

Vaughn is still looking at me; his eyes are piercing my skin. Finally, he breaks the silence and begins to outline my counter-mission. "When you hack into the main computer…"

I'm not listening again, even though I know that I should be. I let the sound of Vaughn's voice swim around me. His voice and his presence are comforting, but even they can't warm me.

It's so cold. I try to wrap my sweater around me tighter, and rub my arms with my hands. Everything's so cold. I feel like I'm frozen in a block of ice and I can't break through. I try to chip away at it from the inside, but with every second the outside thickens. I become colder. My life becomes more frozen.

Snatches of Vaughn's instructions make their way to my ears. Words, bits and pieces of sentences. Maybe my ears are frozen too.

"…on top of…device will…copy information…signal…transmit the…Sydney?"

He says my name softly, with concern. He's not impatient, not angry. I want to smile for him, to tell him that I'm okay. But I can't.

"Sydney, your teeth are chattering."

They are. I hadn't noticed. Now, I can hear the clicking, but I can't control it, can't stop it. A chill runs down my spine, making my entire body shiver. I wish I had brought another sweater. I wish it wasn't so cold.

"I think you have a fever." Vaughn stands up and walks toward me, taking off his jacket.

"No! Don't!" I'm almost shouting at him and I put my hands up as if to push him away. He stops a few feet away from me.

"D-don't," I repeat, this time almost in a whisper. "Don't get c-close to me."

He gives me that look again, but I turn my eyes away.

"I'm not worried about catching whatever you have," Vaughn says. He sounds confused.

That's not what I meant. I don't look up at him, and he doesn't move.

Danny.

Noah.

Vaughn.

It's like the Rule of the Threes. First something happens. The second time, it's a coincidence. The third, it's an established pattern.

I've already killed one person that was close to me, one person that I loved. It was indirectly, I didn't fire the gun. But it happened, and it was still my fault.

That was enough for me. I learned my lesson, and thought I could spare myself the pain of losing someone else if I kept my life a secret, if I didn't tell anyone what I did. Then Noah happened. This time, I killed him. I held the knife, I saw the blood, I heard the last breath leave his body. That was the second time someone close to me had died, and it was one hell of a coincidence.

But what if it wasn't a coincidence? What if it happens again, if it becomes a pattern? I don't want that to happen. I don't want Vaughn to die; I don't want to kill him too.

So, I don't tell him how I feel about him. I don't let myself love him. And because I don't let myself love him, my life is cold; it has turned to ice.

I start shivering again and Vaughn takes a tentative step forward. Part of me wants him to come closer and part of me wants him to stay away.

I look up at him and he stops again, waiting for me to say something, to do something, anything.

"Everyone who gets c-close to me d-dies," I finally whisper through my chattering teeth. "I…I k-kill them."

I want to cry, but I can't. I turn away so that I can't even see Vaughn in my peripheral vision and focus my attention on the wall. My eyes follow the intricate pattern of cracks and scratches that mar the concrete.

Suddenly, I feel Vaughn's jacket around my shoulders and he sits next to me on the crate.

"Sydney," he says softly, and gently turns my chin so that I'm looking at him.

I don't resist. I'm too cold, too tired.

"I trust you, Sydney," he continues, and I gaze into his eyes. "I know you won't do anything to hurt me, and I would never do anything to hurt you. I won't leave you."

With that, he puts his arm around me and I snuggle against him as I pull his jacket tighter around me.

Suddenly, it's not so cold anymore.