DISCLAIMER: I don't own any part of the 'The Bourne Supremacy'. All rights belong to Universal Pictures (and Robert Ludlum for the novel, I suppose, though this fic is based on the film).
ARCHIVE: You are welcome to download this story for your own reading but please do not archive it on any website without my permission.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: SPOILER WARNING!!
If you have not yet seen the movie and don't want an important plot point revealed, do not read this yet. Wait until you've seen the film. Besides, the fic will be much more meaningful that way, as this is a short "scene gap filler".
Breathless, my heart pounds with such fierceness it's poised to leap out of my chest. I watch the man and woman in the next room. She isn't supposed to be here. Not part of the agenda. I feel an unfamiliar hesitation cloud my judgement, then Conklin's harsh voice in my ear. This is not a drill. I know what I must do.
Bursting through the door, my actions are swift and brutal. One bullet through the target's skull. Another shot silences the woman's pitiful screams. As I look down at her corpse, my breath catches, my heart now constricting with anguish and disbelief. It can't be. This is impossible. I close my eyes, shake my head, and when I find the courage to take in the sight again, I am still greeted by the white, dead face of Marie. Her eyes remain expressive, even in death, staring at me with accusation and bitterness. Jesus, what have I done? Forgive me.
"Marie!"
As the force of the name ripped through me, I jerked back to reality, gasping, sweating, the taste of bile in my mouth, my head throbbing with such intensity, I feared I would vomit in my lap. For the briefest moment, I'm completely disoriented. What am I doing in this car by the side of the road, in the middle of the night? Rain has splattered the windshield, distorted the coloured lights in the distance and blurred my vision. But then the memories crashed around me once more, the sea of despair threatening to drown me in its murky depths. India. Marie. Dead, because of me.
I've had this dream before, countless times now, but this was the first time Marie had entered the scenario. This newest twist has left me shaken more than I care to admit. She had tried to convince me the recurring vision was just a nightmare but I knew it was a concrete memory. I had been in that room. Killed those two people as if their lives had been meaningless. Of course, Marie hadn't been there, shot by my own hand. But she may as well have been. The final outcome had been no different.
How selfish I had been to want her with me. Need her with me. I should never have involved her in my private battle in the first place. And once she'd been enmeshed in this tangled web, I had ignored all the instincts that had screamed at me to abandon her at the next restaurant. The next city. But each time I'd seen her tentative smile, her loving eyes, I couldn't do it.
My breathing shallow and under control once more, I reached for the ignition key and then stopped, my gaze falling on the photograph beside me. The only piece of her I couldn't bear to destroy. Marie, her face alit with joy, her tanned arms embracing me. And me, my eyes crinkled in similar happiness, returning her smile. I couldn't recognize myself in that picture. I didn't remember what it felt like to laugh.
My hand falling to the side, I sat back and let the memory of that moment wash over me. It had been only a couple of weeks since we had settled in Goa. It had been her birthday.
"I know you're ticklish."
I press my lips together, willing myself to remain stoic as her clever fingers find my weak points. "No I'm not," I lie through gritted teeth, flinching as her feathery touch brushes against a sensitive spot.
"You are. You can't fool me," she grins.
The dam of laughter bursts through and I reach around, pulling her down into the sand with me. We kiss playfully for a moment and then she breaks away, giggling, tossing grains of sand at me but careful to avoid my eyes. As I sit up, she throws her arms around me, her skin warmed from the sun.
I hear the subtle click of a camera shutter and the smile dies on my lips. Instantly, I'm on alert and my muscles tense. I locate the source and am on my feet, my voice sharp. "Hey! What are you doing?" I bark at the boy, who looks to be no more than eight or so.
He freezes, eyes round, and looks as though he will take flight. I try again, speaking in a lowered, measured tone. "Tumi ooloy-ta English?" No response. Great, my Konkani is still limited.
"Portuguese," the boy suddenly pipes up.
Ahhh, I'm in luck. "Por que você nos está fotografando?"
"Eu gosto de fazer exame de fotos," he replies, tiny hands gripping the camera tightly.
"Alguém pagou-o para fazer este?"
"Não." He shakes his head, starting to back away with small steps.
I hold out one hand and dig into my back pocket with the other. "Espera."
Marie is standing beside me, her voice questioning and with a hint of concern. "Jason, what's going on?"
"Just a minute." I hold out several Rupee notes to the young photographer, no doubt in denominations he's never seen before, judging by the bulging whites of his eyes. "Eu pagá-lo-ei pela câmera."
I understand his hesitation. He thinks this is some sort of trick. "Pertence a meu pai," he protests softly. But his gaze remains glued to the temptation rippling in my hand and he hedges forward.
"Este é muitos do dinheiro. Você pode comprar uma câmera melhor." I don't have to try hard to be convincing. I'm offering the equivalent of approximately six months salary to the average family.
Solemn, dark eyes rise to meet mine and the decision is made. In a flash, the camera is dropped at my feet and the Rupees are snatched from my fingers. I watch the boy weave among the throng of tourists on the beach and he is soon out of sight. Scanning the crowd, I can see nothing amiss, but I feel uncomfortable and edgy.
"Well?" Marie demands again.
I pick up the camera and give it to her. "Here, a birthday present. Sorry it's not very romantic."
"What just happened there?"
"It's nothing. He just likes taking pictures. But I thought..."
She looks up from her gift as my sentence trails off. "You thought...?"
I turn and face the water, aware once more of the nagging headache that forever lurks just beneath the surface of my skin. Sometimes, in precious few moments of unguarded laughter with Marie, I'm blissfully free of pain. But inevitably, it always comes sweeping back to haunt me.
"Jason?"
"It's nothing. Let's go back to the house."
I can never stop looking over my shoulder. I'll never be free.
The blinding headlights and whine of a car speeding by jolted me out of the past. It was time to get moving. I had sat here reminiscing for long enough. Tracing a finger along the edge of the photo, my hate deepened, hardening my resolve. I would find the bastard who did this and rip his fucking heart out. I owed that much to her.
But I'm the one who got her into this mess. My mess of a life. She was dead the moment she began to drive me to Paris.
The familiar lump began to clog my throat but just as I had in the last two days, I fought it back down again. I had no use for emotions. If I hadn't become so attached to Marie, I could have let her go long before this. She would still be alive and I wouldn't be sitting in this car, pathetic and sniffling.
I'll find whoever was responsible and bring them down. I promise you that.
But Marie wouldn't have wanted me to end it like that. What had she said? That I had a choice. Damn right, and my choice was to the kill the man who had extinguished the only light in my cold, dark existence. She had been warmth and tenderness. The soothing comfort that had saved my sanity in so many ways. And now she was gone. Someone had to pay.
Gunning the motor and throwing the car into gear, I sped away down the inky, slick highway. My future might be bleak, but I would go on and see it through to the very end, whatever that may be.
THE END
AUTHOR'S NOTE (PART 2): First, my apologies upfront for inaccuracies in language.
Tumi ooloy-ta English? is Konkani for "Do you speak English?" According to my research, Konkani is the "official" language spoken in the region of Goa, India. But since I couldn't find an online English - Konkani translator and there is a history of Portuguese in Goa (again, according to some quick research), I decided the little boy had to speak Portuguese.
The following translation is courtesy of Babel Fish at AltaVista:
Por que você nos está fotografando? Why are you photographing us?
Eu gosto de fazer exame de fotos. I like to take photos.
Alguém pagou-o para fazer este? Did someone pay you to do this?
Não. No.
Espera. Wait.
Eu pagá-lo-ei pela câmera. I will pay you for the camera.
Pertence a meu pai. It belongs to my father.
Este é muitos do dinheiro. Você pode comprar uma câmera melhor. This is a lot of money. You can buy a better camera.