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Chapter 4

SIX

I wonder if anyone would believe me if I said that my parents' story is a love story. But, just like any good love tragedy, the ending is not guaranteed to be good.

It is hard to believe the king of crime is capable of such a thing. Love. I bet no one would be shocked to know it ended in tragedy. But I am here, still alive, and so is my father. That has to mean something, right?

It was not supposed to end the way it did. There was no possible way the ending of their story could have been good, but it should have at least ended better.

She was a good person, my mother. She was smart and kind and patient and optimistic. Or, at least, that is what my father has told me. I did not know her well enough to measure her traits, but all I needed to know when she was here was that she loved me. She loved me before I even knew what love was. Part of me still does not know.

The thoughts of my mother are the closest things I have to love.

My grandfather, The Grandfather, believed in the traditional things. One of those meant getting a proper education. He sent my father to public school, in the hopes that he would get an education and create possible connections. But the connection my father made was one my grandfather was not planning on.

She was smart and one of the best math tutors in the school. So, when my father was failing Algebra II, my mother was there to help his dying grade. They both did not plan on falling for each other, but it happened. He saw a part of her that was kind, yet strong. And he showed her a loyal, devoted side.

Of course, my father's father did not approve of them being together. My father was to inherit the family business, and she was a blonde suburban girl. They were two different people, on two different paths.

They continued to see each other, but deep down, my father knew the danger he was causing her. Being truly in love with someone in a world he lived in was bad. And a weakness. They were in love, but they had to keep it a secret.

It was not long later when my grandfather, The Grandfather, became overwhelmingly sick, leaving my father to become the new Grandfather. He took over the family business, knowing his duties, but he still loved my mother. He had to keep her safe, so when she became pregnant with a little girl, they got married in private. He knew he had to keep my mother and me safe, so he hid us from the world.

But my father and The Family had great enemies. Not to mention a mole that had surfaced. And that is when the love story turns into a tragedy.

Maybe that is why my father never sent me to public school. Perhaps he is afraid I will find my own Natalie. As much as he loved her, and as much as he loves me, he knows the price to that love. And how fragile it is.

But I hold on tight to one thing.

There is something admiring of my mother. Through everything, she stood with my father. She loved him, and after finding out about who he really was, she still loved him. She loved the man she knew was inside of him. She stayed with him through her tragic end, and she loved him and I through it all.

Who said stories had to have happy endings, anyway?

I stare down at their sleeping faces just seconds before my watch beeps for six in the morning. There are two kinds of people in this world. People who sleep soundly like a baby, nothing shown on the outside other than a peaceful sleep. Then there are people whose dreams coarse through their sleeping minds and send such vivid images appear that they cannot contain their emotions.

There are more of the latter in this room.

Everyone is scarred, and I have come to know that only in sleep is when those scars truly show.

I hear my watch beep, and I take the metal pole in my hand and start hitting the wall. I say, "Rise and shine, Fosters. You have five minutes to get dressed and report for training."

I walk out of the room, and as I do, I hear a few hints of moans. I'll get them later for that. As I make my way to the table of assorted guns, Harrison walks in with a big bag.

"I just woke them up," I say.

"I'll just throw these in there, then," Harrison says as he approaches their door. He tosses the bag in and walks back to me, where I have made a nice place to stand at the table. "Excited? I know guns are your favorite to teach."

"There's always one person who can never focus, thinking shooting a gun is easy. It's not. It takes a lot more than just pulling a trigger."

"I'm sure you will come up with something to get them to focus," he says as he walks to the back of the room.

It only takes a few minutes for the Fosters to scurry out of the dorm and into the training room. Along with them, I notice a particularly large (and loud) fly. At first I find it annoying, but if I have ever learned one thing, it is to use what brings weakness on me and turn it into a weapon.

Buzz... Buzz

I focus in on the buzzing, letting it soak my thoughts, and then I push it out. A key to everything I have learned is keeping a strong mental mind. I'll get to it later.

Harrison walks up to the table and I crouch down to him. He says, "I figure you've already picked up on the runt."

I nod and say, "I already have a plan."

I get back up and jump down from the table. Once I am down, I look at the choices I have to choose from. I decide on a simple gun. I say, "Today, right now, is dedicated to shooting guns. I assume we know how to load and fire one, correct?"

I see a few heads nod and figure it is good enough and if they cannot keep up then that is their own fault.

"Over there are twenty targets. You all will fire and when the light above the target blinks, you have passed. Like this."

Buzz... Buzz

I walk in front of one of the targets. I have done this too many times to count. It was the first thing I used when I was taught to fire a gun. I focus on the circles on the paper, imagining him in front of me. When I do imagine the devil who killed my mom, my aim is never off. I plant my feet firmly into the ground as if they were roots of a tree.

My muscles are relaxed, but at the same time they do not move. I can feel the burning silence in the air, which is a good thing because I know they are watching me. I make the slightest move, but it is enough to send the room into a blast of bullets. And each one of them hits the center perfectly. Dead.

The light turns on, and that is when I stop.

Buzz... Buzz

This is my chance. I do not break my concentration as I turn and search the air for the black dot. I see it. And I take the chance, with all their dead set eyes on me, and fire into the air. But it is not the air, it is the fly that receives my bullet and flutters to the ground.

I walk over to the fly and pick it up. Just as I aimed to do, a wingless fly. I show the group and say, "After we're done with you, and if you survive that, you all will be good enough to shoot the wings off of a fly... Like this."

Harrison, who is still in the back, says, "You all will shoot at the targets until you see your light turn on. And don't be the last one!"

They scatter to the different targets as I replace the paper from the one I was on. The gunfire in the room begins immediately. With a lot of people, gunfire is unnerving. But it soothes me, almost. It reminds me of time with my father, with my grandfather. Call us anything you want, but we are a family.

And those moments when they beat me down, forcing me to get up and succeed, are the most powerful memories I have, and the most grateful ones, as well.

The Fosters continue to shoot, some of them with really good form. I can see some frustrated faces across the room. Sucks for them, a simple hit on body may mean something where they are from, but here we demand perfection.

A light goes on off on the other side of the room. Harrison moves over to that person. It's one of the smaller guys, surprises me a little. But as I think about it, he seems more brains over brawn. Besides, I want this exercise to test the mind more than the body. And maybe I tampered with his light to make it turn on sooner than the others.

I really want to test them. If one of the youngest Fosters can master the task first, with is small size, then I want to see how the others take it. I walk around the room and find the perfect person who will fall victim to my mind test. I know my father wants this stage of training to be pure body and the next to be mind, but to me they work hand-in-hand.

It does not take me long to find a busy mind. They are easy for me to spot. Four. One of the supposed best that we have. We shall see how he handles me. I take the revolver I had hidden on me and place it on his head. I tell him, "Shoot the target."

"What?"

"Shoot the target."

"Right now?"

"Or I could shoot you. It's not that hard. Now, hold up your gun and shoot the target."

His eyes go crazy, but then he tries to calm down. It does not work well because when he brings his gun up and fires, the bullet misses the target bad.

"Your mind is too busy; you're not focusing."

"How am I supposed to focus when you have a gun to my head?!"

"You learn to focus. And you just do it."

This is what most people would call a teachable moment. Four is not the only one who is having trouble focusing, but he is the one I have chosen today. I do not know why I decided on him. There are other people who are doing worse than him, so why do I put him on the spot. Maybe it is because I know for some odd reason that he can take it, and that he is smart enough to get himself out of this mess.

"Our job is our target. Nothing else matters. So you channel everything out except for that target. In The Family, we learn through practice and application. We don't baby you and hold your hand." I turn back to him, bringing the gun to his head, "Now, shoot the target."

He holds up the gun, but hesitates to pull the trigger. He still cannot focus. I was hoping he could figure this out on his own, but get taken back to one of my first days of training so many years ago. I come to his ear and say, "Breathing. Focus on your breathing."

He turns his head just enough to see the gun. His eyes linger though, but not on the gun. They linger on my hand, on the scar that lays on my right hand. I am about to press the gun harder to his head when he turns away.

He begins to take in and release good, solid breaths. Then he pulls the trigger and a line bullets hit the target. I can see his mind focus and sharpen with each breath he takes. It does not take long before the light turns on and I bring the gun held up against his head down.

"Not bad. Your mind is too busy... Too many thoughts running rapid," I say, returning to my instructor mode. "But don't worry, we'll fix that."

"Who says I need to be fixed?"

I come up closer to him. I have a feeling he is testing me, just like I just tested him. Part of me admires him for the challenge, but a more powerful part strives to beat him back into his place. I need to make sure him and all of these people know who they are dealing with.

"You think you're good, don't you? You think you are the shit. Well I'm here to tell you that you are pretty good. But we are better. And we are going to make you lethal. But don't forget... We own you."

Author's Note

This update kind of came out of nowhere. Let's just say plans fell through and I am dealing with a horrible cold. AKA I am coughing up my lungs. I hope you guys liked this and hopefully I can update FTS soon! (I am having trouble with one specific section.) Anyway, reviews are always encouraged and wonderful.

Be brave, everyone!