The Secrets of John Hamish
John knew he was dreaming. He even knew what would happen in this dream. He knew and dreaded it. He hated this dream, dreaded it, despised it, and yet felt so nostalgic.
The dream always started out the same. His mother, an average woman whose only remarkable trait was her kindness, was holding his hand and they were in a beautiful rose garden during the spring. His half-sister, Harry, was sitting on the bench talking to an elderly man. The elderly man's hair was very silver, so silver that the sun's reflection formed a sort of halo around his head. He sat straight as one hand rested on a cane and the other patted Harry's head. The two would notice them, look at them, smile, and wave happily. A butterfly would land on the old man's knee and John would wobble over there as quickly as he could on his chubby five year old legs.
A sudden noise would cause the butterfly to take off and he would hear Harry's scream and the elderly old man's shout of rage. His eyes would be following the butterfly, watching the blues, blacks, and whites of its wings as the fragile insect took for the sky. Only to be forced back to the ground by a splash of red as another noise echoed.
He would then look around himself and see his mother laying face down in the grass and the elderly old man, his silver hair slowly being dyed pink, using the cane to block the swinging arm of a big man. Harry was beside their mother, shaking her and weeping. John wouldn't move, at this time he was too young to understand why his mother wasn't moving nor why Harry was screaming so loudly. He would only stand there as the elderly man called for help and fall to the ground with a hole through his eye.
He would only watch as a group of men swarmed into the garden, killed the big man, and started to try to revive his mother and grandfather. One of the men would sink to his knees beside both and weep harshly into his hands. Harry would be by this man's side as she used her fists to pound at his shoulder while she screamed for him to return her Mama and Grandda right now. And all John could do was watch as his mother and maternal grandfather were lifted by the group and taken somewhere.
The fallen man would cradle Harry to him only to be shoved away. Harry would then look at John and silently turn away before taking off into the garden. The man would also look at him before the man slowly rose and went over to him. John would then raise his arms to the man and ask him "Why was Mama lying on the ground, Da? Why did Granda fall down?" And all he would get for an answer was a shaking of the head before his father started to weep into his shoulder.
John slowly opened his eyes and blinked away the tears. He didn't need to look at the clock to know it was only 4 in the morning. He also didn't need to ask himself why he, after 5 years 9 months and 27 days, would dream about the day he went from John Hamish Watson to John Dominick Gorbunov the illegitimate son of a Russian Boss.
"Damn you, Alyona." He weakly cursed as a few tears slid down his cheek, "Why did you have to show up now?!" John closed his eyes and wept himself to sleep.
Across the city Alyona Deniken was polishing her gun. The blank mask she had worn the night before looked up toward the Heavens. Her electric blue eyes were cold as she looked into the webcam.
"Yes Boss. Я нашел молодой мастер."
