Author's Note: I've enjoyed every minute of being free from the internship by writing. This entire weekend was spent by me in front of my computer, making up for lost time. So now, we have Chapter 14, which is probably in my opinion the most important chapter in the story. We'll be entering the third and final act after this. We have revelations, secrets revealed, and sparks flying between characters. Because so many important things happen here, we have a lot of content to cover so it will be the longest chapter in the story. If you want to read and understand this fully, I suggest you set aside some time where you can read without interruptions. I will try not to exceed the length of this chapter in the future. Enjoy.
Chapter Fourteen
May 1st, 1943
In the week since 909's rescue, Chertov issued a new order to lay low and wait. While the first failure only resulted in raising suspicions of Renton Thurston, this latest failure not only confirmed his fears but also aroused the suspicions of the local militia. It was a close-run thing to save 909 and prevent further critical information from falling into the wrong hands. Tensions were running high, as each waited in anxiety for what would come next. 340, however, felt not anxiety but confusion.
Chertov had been obstinate in giving any details about this mission. Ever since the beginning, he was tightlipped about why the American Russian had to die, what purpose it would serve other than providing a martyr for the people to rally behind. He refused to divulge to her, or anyone in Alpha Squad, why he took the mission with no hesitation, no second thoughts, and no consideration of what may become of the war effort by Renton's demise. 340 knew if she didn't ask now, in the moment of silence between attempts, she would never know, and would hate herself for it. She was determined to get an answer.
The abandoned apartment building that provided their headquarters had some small amenities for the squad. Each had a room one could claim for personal quarters. Surprisingly to 340, the building still had running water, which meant a clean, refreshing shower awaited each member after a long day of operations. The only thing lacking was heating, which meant the waters were always cold. Still, better cold water than none.
As 340 gently trotted down the narrow corridor, she ran into 271, the only agent she was close to in the squad. Her dark hair swished as she turned to her, a white smile on her face. So dissonant from the hard-fighting, deadly, and silent assassin that assisted her in 909's rescue merely a week prior. In any other place, in any other time, without that uniform, she would be good friends with her.
"340! Happy Workers' Day!" (A/N: May 1st is known as International Workers' Day, a celebration of the international labor movement. In the Soviet Union, it was an officially recognized holiday, often celebrated with elaborate parades in major cities.)
"Happy Workers' Day," 340 returned sullenly.
271 raised an eyebrow.
"Why so glum? We should enjoy this day, comrade."
"I would, but there is something I need to discuss with the Lieutenant. Do you know where he is?"
"He's in the studio room. What are you planning on discussing with him?"
340 looked around, to make sure no one could eavesdrop. Any of her words could be incriminating. She ushered 271 closer and whispered,
"I need to know why we're really here."
"What do you mean?"
"271," 340 asked sternly, "we've been ordered to kill a child, and we don't even know why. Doesn't that bother you?"
271 visibly shrank, obviously troubled by that question she dared not ask.
"Of course it does," she admitted. "But you know how the Lieutenant is. If I asked, he'd bite my head off."
"I'd have rather have a bitten head than not know why we're here. No one has said a damn thing! Not the Lieutenant Colonel, not Lieutenant Chertov, no one! I'm tired of the silence!"
271 said nothing and only blinked. She could understand 340's frustration, but unlike her, she lacked the will to ask her commander. Chertov had already established a reputation for being violent and irritable. One wrong word could prompt a cruel punishment. Most of the squad went along with his plans not out of loyalty, but out of fear. For her, it was enough to keep her silent. 271 could only feel admiration for her superior to so readily stand up to the powers that be.
She hesitantly pointed 340 in the direction of Chertov's personal quarters. Down the hall, and to the left. With one resolute step, she went off in search of her superior as 271 silently wished her the best.
340 hesitantly knocked on the door to the studio room, and was about to identify herself when a voice from within called.
"Enter."
340 quietly opened the door and found the young lieutenant seated at a desk, pouring over the case file of their target, the one reason they were all here. A photograph of Renton hung on the wall by a knife through his face, a lethal portent of the answer that awaited 340. Chertov was hunched over and deeply fixated on the case file, looking obsessed.
Chertov looked up, and the moment his decadent chocolate brown eyes met her light blue ones, he smiled contentedly. He seemed to be delighted to see her.
"Ah, 340! Come in, come in! I don't bite…"
She wondered if the last statement was actually true as she shut the door behind her and approached the desk. It felt like walking a thousand leagues, with each step being harder than the last.
"What can I do for you, 340?"
"Actually, comrade Lieutenant, I was wondering if you could answer some questions I had."
"Regarding what?"
"This mission."
The smile ran away from his face and was replaced with a look of inquiry.
"What about this mission has you vexed, 340?"
340 looked down at her shoes, somewhat hesitant to get to the actual question. Despite her desperation to know the truth, she still had the possibility of a verbal whipping from Chertov, or worse. She decided to approach the question indirectly.
"Come, now, 340," Chertov said impatiently. "I can't read your mind."
"W-when will we make our next move? The other squad members are rather antsy."
"Well, they better get used to doing nothing for a while. Thanks to the last failure, the entire militia is on high alert. Unless we all want to get caught in the act, we need to lay low."
At that thought, Chertov leaned over and looked again at the target case file. It held everything, even some information that none of the agents ever received. He smirked deviously as he tapped his finger on a line of print.
"But…we have one window of opportunity."
"When is that, sir?"
"Thurston' birthday. June 3rd. He'll be 17 this year."
"Are you proposing we attack then?"
"If we catch him on or near that day, it'll do tremendous damage to him mentally. Even if we don't catch him, the knowledge it will be his last birthday will leave him weak."
"So you mean—"
"Destroy him from within before dispatching him from without," Chertov said as he leaned back into the chair, smiling. "Call it what you will: Mind games. Demoralization. Psychological warfare. We weaken our prey so it cannot fight, making it easier to kill. Does that answer your question, 340?"
"Yes, sir, it does," 340 replied unaffectedly.
Her stomach turned at the very thought of this kind of torment, insidious and subtle. She had presided over interrogations of prisoners beforehand, but this was completely different. To destroy someone internally before killing him seemed torturous, like shooting a wounded animal. Nonetheless, she had to keep her head and not lose sight of the reason she came in to see him for.
"Is that all, 340?"
"No, sir. There is one other thing I wish to know."
Chertov folded his hands in his lap, and blinked. 340 inhaled deeply, bracing herself for what was sure to come after this inquiry.
"Sir," she asked, hesitantly, "I still don't know why we have to kill the boy."
The mood quickly soured as Chertov sat up, making sure he heard her correctly. Surely, he thought, this matter was settled.
"I am sure I told you and the others," he recounted, his voice threatening, "but that is not for you to know. All you need to know is he poses a threat."
"But why does he pose a threat? If I may say so, comrade Lieutenant, he's just a child. What purpose would his death serve? We'd just make a martyr out of him. He hasn't harmed our cause in any way."
Her lieutenant's eyes narrowed, as he ushered her closer. She feared the worse as her step echoed in the studio room.
"I am not at liberty to discuss in full the reasons why he must die," he said in a tone of warning. "If you are really determined to get those answers, I suggest you talk with the Lieutenant Colonel upon returning home. I cannot provide you anything."
340 wanted to say more, but the glare in Chertov's brown eyes told her not to. She feared pressing the matter further would provoke an angered response. Still, she was not satisfied, and so chose a more subtle question.
"In that case, sir, may I at least know why you chose to lead this mission?"
Chertov raised an eyebrow in confusion.
"Pardon?"
"The Lieutenant Colonel could have chosen anyone to lead the mission, but he chose you. Why?"
She thought for sure the lieutenant would lash out at her for asking something so personal, but he chuckled. He laughed for the first time in a long time. Seeing him laughing was like seeing a completely different person. Perhaps someone was masquerading as him and had stolen his uniform.
"While I cannot tell you the reasons the Lieutenant Colonel wants him dead, I can tell you why I want him dead."
340 smiled inwardly in triumph. Finally, she would get some long overdue answers. Granted, they weren't exactly the answers she was hoping for, but it was better than walking blind. Chertov surprised her by standing up and walking over to the dinette of the studio room, and turning on the faucet. He then proceeded to fill his canteen with water as he continued to address her.
"This is going to take some time to explain, so you may want to take a seat."
She did not quarrel, and found a spare chair near the windowsill. She watched as the late morning light streamed into the room, casting a yellow glow on the back of her superior, distilling through his matted brown hair.
"The truth is, 340," he continued, shutting off the faucet, "that boy and I have a history."
The revelation hit her like a bomb. Chertov never spoke about his personal life, and he made no mention of even knowing the American Russian. This new development only raised further questions. If they knew each other, why did he take the mission that would ensure his death?
"A history, sir?" 340 repeated. "Are you saying you know the target?"
"For a long time…and he and I have a score to settle."
340 sat wide-eyed as Chertov came back to his chair, took a swig from his canteen, and began to tell her stories of the past. Stories from a city that had once been a beacon of the future for their great nation. Stories of a foreigner and his son travelling the world before it would fall to ashes. Stories of a bond forged between the foreigner's son and a family of high standing. Stories of a neighbor writhing in jealousy and anger at the spotlight being stolen from him.
»»»»»
September 1st, 1938
Stalingrad, USSR
The school year had started again for all of them, and the happy days of summer quickly disappeared. It felt like only yesterday when the entire city had welcomed the American and his father as if they were Soviets themselves. Chertov could only huff in anger at the thought of Renton Thurston as he turned a street corner, heading in the direction of the railway station. A cold autumn wind swept by him and sent a shiver down his spine.
He was dressed in his traditional school uniform, consisting of a black jacket and slacks over a bleached white shirt. Around his shirt collar he sported a red neck scarf, signifying he was with the Pioneers. In reality, he would be heading to the local assembly, but there was more pressing, personal business to attend to.
In the days since the American left, the aura of his neighborhood had soured. The Novikov children completely avoided him, even more than they did when the American was around. The other children grieved at his departure, as if they had all lost a close relative. What on earth were they so utterly sad about? People come and go from the city everyday; it was nothing unusual. It hardly warranted the mood of a funeral, especially from the Novikovs.
The Novikovs' daughter, Eureka, was particularly grief-stricken. Since the day Renton left Stalingrad, she made it a point to stop by the train station for a an hour or two each day, simply watching the trains go by, and waiting. Waiting for an arrival from Vladivostok. Waiting for a familiar voice to call her from the train. Waiting for a return that, in Chertov's mind, would never come. Eureka needed to move on. Two weeks had passed; the time for grieving was over.
It was more than that, however. He wanted her to forget. He wanted them all to forget. The sooner they did, the sooner things would go back to how they were. Ever since the American set foot in this city, all attention had been focused on him. The neighborhood children treated him like one of their own, inviting him in their games, taking him on tours of collective farms, even a weekend trip to Yalta. And Chertov subsequently faded into the background. It was outrageous, and unfair. Why was everyone so smitten with the boy whose nation was meant to be their sworn enemy? The bastion of the bourgeoisie that threatened to crush their Workers' Paradise? What about the American commanded such attention, while he garnered none?
(A/N: Yalta: A city in the Crimean Peninsula, in what is now Ukraine. During the 20th Century, it was the primary holiday resort of the Soviet Union. It received international attention in 1945 when the Yalta Conference between the Allied Powers was held there at the summer retreat of Livadia Palace.)
Chertov approached the station, and shuffled past a young man about his age, wearing a school uniform. He had a full head of tousled grey hair, looking as if a tornado had wreaked havoc upon his head. His strong blue eyes appeared distant, searching for something he could not grasp. His steps were heavy on the wooden ramp, reverberating with the force of an earthly tremor. The wind whipped at his face and threw his yellow neck scarf into a frenzy as he stepped onto the cold pavement. Chertov paused for a moment and looked back at the walking figure. He could have sworn that was…
"Holland…" he hissed, voice barely above a whisper.
The young man said nothing and only hurried on. Did he not hear him, or was he just ignoring him?
Chertov continued up the steps and onto the platform of the station, where he found the person he wanted to see sitting on a wooden bench, under the shade of the station's roof.
Eureka was dressed primly for the first day of school, clad in a black dress with a frilled white apron donned over it. She wore white bows in her dark brown hair, neatly combed back as if she was a secretary in an office. On her feet were black Mary-Jane style shoes complemented by knee-high white socks. Her gaze was away from him, staring down the railway tracks off into the distance. The direction was north and east, towards Siberia and Vladivostok. Beyond Vladivostok was the Pacific, and the country of the boy who was embedded in her mind. The boy he was determined to have her forget.
He approached her silently, and spoke.
"I knew I would find you here, Eureka."
She turned her head slowly, and found him. Her face was morose, downcast and dejected. If he didn't know any better, he'd say she just experienced the death of her parents. The disconsolate gaze in her grey eyes did not deter him.
"Oh, Ilya, it's you," she said morosely. "Shto tiy khochesh'?" (A/N: What do you want?)
"I want to know what brings you here every day. I want to know why you are stuck in the past."
"I would think you know, already."
Chertov was unsatisfied, and pressed further, taking a few steps closer to her.
"So are you just going to waste away your life here every single day, waiting for someone who'll never come?"
"Renton WILL come!" Eureka retorted, her voice seething. "He and I promised we'd meet each other again. He swore to me he wouldn't forget me."
"Talk is cheap, Eureka, and so are promises. Especially coming from the mouth of a bourgeois kulak."
"That is all you see in him. To me, he was…more. So much more."
Eureka's eyes began to water and her heart began to break. Nonetheless, Chertov was relentless.
"Eureka Petrovna, that boy only stayed here for little over a month. What makes you think he's going to remember you, or any of us? He's a speck of dust! He's a feather, easily blown away by the wind! Why do you waste your time pining for that pipsqueak?"
"Because he was kinder to me and my family in one month than you have ever been in our entire lives. He was my greatest friend in this city. No, in this world."
Chertov choked at what he saw as her heart opened for the whole world to see. How could this girl be so faithful? How could girl be so certain he would return, when it was clear that any chance of this friendship lasting was close to nil?
"You're gagging me with your sentimentalism," he shot back coarsely. "I'm old enough to know friends and acquaintances come and go, like the seasons. If you're content to live in a fantasy, that is your own business. But I am here to tell you: one day, reality will smack you in the face. In a year or two, he will be forgotten in this city."
He stepped closer, now less than a foot away from her. As he knelt down to be at her level, his voice hissed with bellicosity.
"No one will remember him in that time. Not Petya. Not Natasha. Not your brothers."
He pointed an accusing finger at her, making his point crystal clear.
"Not even you."
At those three words, Eureka's brow furrowed deeply in anger. Her eyes still streaming tears, she grabbed Chertov by the neck scarf and stood up, shaking him violently. Never before had he seen her lose her temper. Always she was a calm, meek, and somewhat vulnerable girl. She exercised such control, commanded such power. It was frightening to see her so incensed about anything.
"I'LL REMEMBER HIM! I'LL ALWAYS REMEMBER HIM!" Eureka screeched, her voice cracking with sadness.
"You say that now," Chertov pressed callously, "but when you are older, you will know I'm right."
Eureka slapped him hard across the face, sending him careening to the wooden platform with a thud as she let all her grief flow, just as her tears hit the floorboards.
"And what would a egotistical thug like you know?! He was a better friend than you have ever been to me! You don't care about anyone, as long you get something from them. Renton never sought to gain anything from being my friend!"
She cried uncontrollably as she choked out her testimony to the American's sincerity of friendship.
"He was kinder to me than anyone else in his time here. More than to my brothers…more than to the other children…maybe even more than to himself. And that kindness is something I know you cannot understand…and never will understand!"
"What I understand, Eureka," Chertov hissed as he lay crumpled on the floor, "is that you're being childish."
"Don't you DARE talk down to me!" Eureka sobbed. "All you ever did was abuse and harass Renton! You treated him like dirt, and you call me childish?! You're just angry because he stole attention away from you, like we all owe you something!"
Chertov struggled up onto his feet, and wiped his hand on his cheek. It felt blistered, as if she had slapped the skin right off it. Then as he swept past his mouth, he felt something warm, and sticky. Gently he dabbed his fingers in it and brought it to his eyes.
Red.
She drew blood from him. Chertov had so angered and provoked Eureka that she made him bleed. Now his eyes contorted into a stone cold glare at the girl before him, crying her eyes out. She struck a pathetic image, one that made him fume in rage. As she wiped away her tears, her grey eyes struck a dagger through his heart and he was powerless to stop her from delivering the conclusion of her sorrowful outburst.
"Well, I owe you nothing," she said, her voice shuddering. "You're just a bully, Ilya. A bully and a coward. I won't give up Renton Thurston! I WON'T!"
At that, Eureka ran off bawling, a trail of melancholy following in her wake. And thus Chertov was left alone to contend with her soul laid bare for him to see. As he wiped away the blood from his lip, he could not dig out from him the deep, burning feeling of rage and jealousy. That boy clearly had made his impact on everyone, especially her. It would not be the simple passage of time that would wear away the bond they had forged in merely a month. Much more would have to be done to break it. Even then, it would be hard-going before things could return to as they were before the American came. Chertov huffed angrily as he made his way off the platform.
"So that's how it is, is it, Eureka?" he muttered angrily to himself. "You won't let go of Thurston? Fine. Then I will break him. And when he comes back…if he comes back…I'll be waiting."
He clenched his fist as he came down the steps, and made off in the direction of the assembly hall. The Pioneers were waiting.
»»»»»
May 1st, 1943
Bellforest, California, USA
340 sat in silent shock after what felt like hours of a monologue from her superior. Countless stories filled with repressed anger, jealousy, and a desire for vengeance. Chertov's entire raison d'être for this mission was placed before her feet, and with it, his true nature. It wasn't just her commanding officer sitting in front of her, sipping his canteen as if he told her a simple childhood tale. He was a child in a uniform too big for him, seeking attention and recognition. A firebrand who simply wanted a thorn in his side removed and wiped from the face of the earth. 340 suppressed a desire to smack his mouth shut as he concluded the last of his tales.
"So, you see, 340, even if I could tell you the larger reasons why he must die, those aren't my reasons. As long as that bourgeois brat lives, he perpetuates the lie he created the moment he set foot in my city all those years ago."
He set the canteen down on the table, and his tone grew more resentful.
"But I say, screw that. There is no way I will ever accept that boy living in this world, receiving that undeserved praise, and being placed on a fake pedestal, worshipped like a god! I will never accept it!"
He closed statement with a bang of his canteen on the table. The force shook the floor beneath her as he eyed her expectedly, his brown orbs cutting through the afternoon light. As the bang's echo faded, 340 knew that this mission was more twisted and darker than she imagined. If she participated in the murder of a child to restore her officer's damaged pride, she would only share in his sin. If she were to be complicit in this assassination, she was doomed to the fate of a life with a heavy conscience.
"Now do you understand, 340?" Chertov asked.
"Yes, comrade Lieutenant," 340 replied. "I understand perfectly."
Chertov smiled.
"Good. Do you have any other questions or demurs?"
"Not at this time, sir."
"In that case, you are free to go."
340 nodded and left, but the mood had grown blacker, as if she was emerging from Hell, after speaking with the Devil himself. She could only ask herself, over and over: how did she get mixed up in such an underhanded, dark and reprehensible mission?
She failed to find any answer that would satisfy her as she made her way down the steps of the apartment building. The lieutenant's stories of vengeance and abuse reverberated in her head as she walked through the empty streets of the little town. Chertov's crooked grimace and dark glare haunted her every time she closed her eyes, even for a split second.
In the end, all she could do was wander aimlessly through the winding streets to remove the thoughts from her mind.
Eventually, she found herself in front of the Thurston residence. The very home of the boy who caused such ire from her superior. The fulcrum of this game of intrigue, assassination, and revenge. She wondered what could be done for him, his family, and the others who knew him and loved him. No matter what would come next, 340 swore to herself she would not be a willing participant in this vengeful act of murder. From now on, she had to obstruct and hamper this plan in any way possible. Even if it resulted in her death, it would be better to die with a free and clear conscience than to live forever in shame and disgrace.
Without a moment's hesitation and without an ounce of regret in her soul, she strode up the hill to the little bungalow, being careful not to slip on the stone steps. Even if he would never know her, or what she would do, it was better she did something for him than to be complicit in this assassination.
Once she was at the top of the hill, 340 searched her person to find something, anything, that could be of warning to him for what was to come. Then she felt something in her pocket.
A notepad. A pencil.
This would be enough, she thought.
She set pencil to paper and scribbled a note of caution, forewarning him of what was to come. Even though she could not divulge more, this was better than catching him on his birthday, defenseless and ripe for a kill. The message was simple, and clear.
This will be your last birthday.
»»»»»
June 2nd, 1943
The message received on Renton's doorstep put him extremely on edge, along with everyone else. He was sure something was coming on his birthday. Whether it was an attack, a revealing of the perpetrators, or something else entirely, Renton was always on guard for something. To ensure absolute protection, he presented the note to the soldiers of the militia. In response, the militia doubled their patrols and night watches, skinning their eyes for any suspicious persons. However, Renton held a dire fear that the militia might not act until it was too late. He was grateful for the militia's protection. Any kind of help was better than none at all. But Renton could not bring himself to depend on anyone. All he knew was the fact that he and the others could not stay there. He didn't even feel secure in his own home.
They all decided it was better if they left the house and stayed at some other place, preferably with friends. William found a workmate to stay with in Marin City, while Holland chose to (again) be with Talho on her night watch at the militia office. Anemone had offered to take Eureka in at her place, which she accepted reluctantly; she was hoping to stay by Renton's side.
Renton himself planned to stay at a local hotel somewhere; he was far too paranoid to stay anywhere else. He feared wherever he went, danger would follow him like a shadow. During final examination week, as he explained his desperate situation to Jane, she offered him the chance to stay with her. It was clear to anyone who knew Renton this was adversely affecting him. He was increasingly twitchy, had developed bags under his dark green eyes, and often went whole days without saying a word to anyone. He had become restless and feverishly on edge.
Renton accepted her offer, on the condition he bring his weapons with him. There was always some chance that he would be found. Whether those predictions held any water, she could not tell, and she doubted if he could.
It was a mild, clear summer night with a new moon, providing no natural light, except the stars. It was under this shroud of darkness that Eureka approached the apartment complex that made for Anemone's home. After being ushered in by the gatekeeper and directed to Anemone's floor, she hesitantly knocked on the door.
"A-Anemone?" she asked, meekly. "Are you in?"
Her answer came the minute the door flung open. Eureka was greeted by the enthusiastic happy embrace of her fiery red-haired friend. Anemone Doolittle. The first friend she made in this country.
"Eureka, you're here! So glad you could make it! Please, come on in. Don't be shy."
"Thank you, Anemone. I didn't interrupt anything, did I?"
"No, not at all. Dominic and I were just about to have dinner."
When Eureka stepped inside Anemone's apartment, she was quite impressed with what her friend had to offer. It looked far different than her boyfriend's home. There were personal adornments of all kinds lining the walls. Photographs. Porcelain figurines. A vase with a bouquet of flowers. IT was like another world compared to the Renton's Spartan home. Eureka felt envious and somewhat embarrassed over the fact.
That didn't matter, however. Anemone was her friend, after all. There was no need to be jealous over domestic comparisons. Eureka had to relax for the night, and try not to fret. Still, she could not help but feel quite worried for her beau, Renton. Out of everyone involved in this tribulation, Renton was the edgiest about a possible third attempt on his life.
Eureka wished this troublesome ordeal would go away already. She wanted Renton to revert to the kind, thoughtful boy she met and fell in love with those five years ago. She missed the old Renton. Sadly, given the situation, seeing him return to his normal self would take time.
Anemone ushered her to an empty seat at the dinner table, with a full plate set in front of her. The dish was nothing special: vegetable soup with saltine crackers. Eureka humbly sat down and began to eat, just as Anemone saw good to strike up a conversation.
"Did you find the place okay, Eureka?" Anemone asked.
"Mhm, I did, though the darkness made it a bit difficult."
"That's good. How is everything on your end?"
Eureka looked down at her soup as she took another sip from her spoon. It was enough to communicate the troubles ongoing at the house. Anemone frowned in worry.
"That bad, huh? I'm really sorry, Eureka. But you shouldn't worry; you'll be safe here with us, won't she, Dom?"
Dominic, a 17-year-old boy jet black hair and gunmetal grey eyes smiled, and nodded in agreement.
"Yeah, don't you worry none. I'm sure Renton will be fine too."
"That's just what concerns me," Eureka explained. "I feel more worried for Renton than anyone else in this. This whole thing has changed him…badly."
"You know, I've noticed it too," Dominic noted. "He hasn't talked to anyone this week. Has he been the same way to you?"
Eureka nodded sadly. The mood soured, and Anemone nudged her boyfriend in the shoulder.
"Dom, don't spoil the evening!" she whispered. "She's gone through enough as it is."
"Oof…sorry, Anemone. I just can't help but feel for the guy."
Anemone turned her concerned amethyst eyes back to Eureka. Before she could say anything, she continued on about her domestic troubles. Clearly, the chain of events were negatively affecting their relationship.
"I just wish this would go away," Eureka lamented. "It's because of this that Rentoshka is acting this way now. He won't turn to anyone for help, not even to me. I know he's trying to be strong, but…"
"But you wish he would turn to you, right?" Anemone finished.
"Yes. Anemone…you don't think that…he doesn't—"
"Of course Renton loves you, Eureka! Everyone knows that!"
"Yep, he's real crazy about you," Dominic interjected. "Any time someone brings it up, he throws a fit."
They all laughed at that, and the aura of the apartment brightened.
"Dominic," Eureka asked innocently, "do you live with Anemone here?"
Dominic blushed at the question and almost choked on his soup.
"No, I don't," he explained, "I live in an adjoining flat. Though I'll tell ya, Anemone's parents think I might as well live here, as often as I visit."
Anemone giggled at that.
"Why do you want to know, Eureka?"
"Renton took me in because I had nowhere else to go, but I just wonder if that's normal for couples."
"Can't say it's too common. It'd raise a lot of eyebrows if we did. If we were older and married, then it'd be a different matter."
"Oh, but that's so far off," Eureka said, daunted by that prospect. "So many things could change between now and then."
"If I know Renton," Anemone said smiling kindly, "it's that you've made a big impact in his life. Something tells me that's not going to change…and neither will either of you."
"Do you really think so?"
"I know so, Eureka. Take it from me."
Dinner managed to pass quietly, with only idle chatter between them not noteworthy to be recorded. However, given the time Eureka arrived, they had to retire to bed early. Dominic left to return to his apartment and the two girls were left alone. As they prepared for bed, Eureka divulged more of her relationship troubles to Anemone, who listened as she brushed her long fiery hair in the mirror.
"Anemone," Eureka started as she fixed her nightgown, "ever since this whole mess started, Renton has been spending less time with me. Do you think there's a way I could change that?"
"What do you mean?"
"I guess I just want him to notice me more. You helped me before with getting new clothes, but I wonder…is there anything else I should change?"
Anemone turned to her friend, and immediately noticed something that had to be gotten rid of.
Despite her best efforts to school Eureka in ways of fashion, she clung stubbornly to some vestiges of her old life in Russia. One of them was her nightgown. At first glance, it appeared to be from another century, more fitting for display in a history museum than for actual use. The nightgown was white, with long frilled sleeves and a hem that reached down to her ankles. The collar was upright and stiff, trimmed with lace. Despite being only 15, Eureka looked like an old maid to her.
She sighed and shook her head in disapproval. Eureka raised an eyebrow in confusion.
"What's wrong?" Eureka asked.
"One thing you've got to lose is that nightgown. It looks like something my grandmother would wear!"
Eureka looked down at her sleepwear. It was the first and only nightgown she brought with her from Russia. She always thought it elegant and sufficient for sleeping in. Indeed, five years had passed and the gown hadn't shrunk at all. To lose a possession such as this would be to lose a part of herself. A part of her home, and her identity.
"Is it really so bad?" she asked, puzzled, fidgeting with the hem.
"Damn right, it is!" Anemone retorted. "No wonder your relationship with Renton is on the fritz. I told you this before, Eureka: guys love it when girls wear something sexy."
"So—"
"So you have to wear something more appealing! No, not just appealing; enticing!"
Eureka tilted her head in confusion, as Anemone seemed to be more enthused about the concept than she.
"Appealing…and enticing? Is it really that important?"
"Of course, it is! Here, let me show you…"
Eureka sat quietly on the bed as Anemone scrounged around in her closet for something to illustrate her point. Sure enough, she found a personal nightgown, and immediately showed it off. No, not a nightgown. More of a negligee. Just the mere sight of it made Eureka blush a vibrant red. To call it racy was being kind. It was crimson in color, much like Anemone's hair. The hem only reached down to just below the waist, and was open in the front, trimmed with lace and a white bow in the chest area. Eureka knew instantly what Anemone meant by enticing; something like this would make Renton faint.
"Do…you wear that often?" Eureka asked hesitantly.
"Not always. Just whenever Walt stays over on his days off from work."
"What does Dominic think of it?"
"He loves it!" Anemone replied jubilantly. "The first time I showed it off, he practically went red like a strawberry."
Suddenly, Eureka felt envious of her redheaded friend. Anemone was obviously much more comfortable in her own skin than she was. For most of her life, she dressed conservatively and old-fashioned, relying on hand-me-downs from within her family and her small circle of friends. As much as she wanted to be more "appealing," she balked at the idea of wearing such a revealing nightgown.
"I know you mean well, Anemone," Eureka said, disagreeing, "but I want to get Renton's attention, not get him arrested. I'm still 15. Renton will be 17 tomorrow."
Anemone had nearly forgotten about her friends' ages. Still, it didn't stop her from providing an alternative. Once again, she went into the closet, searching for something that might better suit Eureka. Once again, she found something that potentially would be suitable. This time, the nightgown was a baby blue, Eureka's color, and Renton's favorite. The hem was slightly longer, about mid-thigh, embroidered with frills. The gown had no sleeves, and was made of sheer silk. If Eureka looked more closely, it was somewhat see-through. The gown was not nearly as racy or provocative as the last one, but it was still showy compared to what Eureka wore.
"This should be alright, shouldn't it?" Anemone asked. "It's lightweight…perfect for the summer…and just enough to tease him. Renton will love this!"
"A-are you sure that will work?"
"Eureka, Renton is a man. Men are into this type of stuff! If you don't believe me, try it on yourself."
Eureka shifted her gaze back to her outdated nightgown. Compared to what Anemone had shown her, her old Russian nightwear seemed unworthy for a competition. Admittedly, there was some truth to Anemone's words. Because she changed her appearance, Renton looked at her more. She wondered if enhancing her attractiveness had a hand in his confession. She had already changed everything else in her wardrobe. It seemed only logical to give this fashion adjustment a chance. Nodding firmly, she took the nightgown from Anemone and immediately changed out of her archaic white dress.
The nightgown was soft to the touch, and fit snugly over her body. In contrast to her old nightdress, which draped itself like a curtain over her features, Anemone's nightgown seemed to shape itself to her body, accentuating every line and curve.
"Anemone…do you think I have the body for this?"
"Honey, absolutely, you do! This would be really good to give Renton as a birthday present tomorrow night."
"A birthday present?"
"Yeah, something to surprise him. I'm sure he'll love it."
Eureka smiled optimistically.
"I hope you're right. It just means this whole ordeal has to blow over first."
"That," Anemone added, "and you should watch out for strong lighting."
"What do you mean?"
"That nightgown is a bit see-through…"
Eureka looked in the mirror, and immediately saw what she meant. Her figure was silhouetted through the gown. She jumped away from the mirror with a small yelp of surprise, at which Anemone could not help but laugh.
"And that, Eureka, is why you have to wear underwear with a nightgown."
"I don't suppose you have any to spare?"
"Sure! I got a nice pair that'll match perfectly with it."
Eureka smiled as her friend searched through a chest of drawers for something that would give her a bit of decency. It was clear that she still had much to learn in ways of courtship. But she was willing to learn, if it meant getting her boyfriend back to the way he used to be, and having their relationship the way it was before these latest trials and tribulations.
»»»»»
On the other side of town, Renton lay alone on an Edwardian style couch. It was devilishly uncomfortable, and he was unable to sleep. Since dinner ended between Jane and him, he had been lying on his back, staring at the chandelier hanging silently from the ceiling. He was dressed in a simple white sleeveless shirt and boxers. His only company was the continuous tick-tock, tick-tock of a Victorian clock hanging on the wall. That and utter darkness.
It was a moonless night, providing little natural illumination. The lack of a moon seemed to herald what he deeply feared was coming. One day to his birthday, and there was still no attempt on his life. The lack of any activity is what drove him more insane than the possibility of one. Waiting, agonizing, and losing sleep night after night in preparation for an attack that never came. Renton silently thanked God the school year would be over by Friday, and he could try to sleep soundly.
Then again, he didn't have any luck sleeping last night or the night before that. Any coherent thoughts that were in his head were sloppily cast aside by the fatigue. This state of mental siege had left him almost a nervous wreck. To add to the stress placed on him by the threat of assassination, he was staying in another girl's house. Renton began contemplating whether or not staying at another girl's place was either graceless or shameless. However, he had very few choices available; it was either accept Jane's offer, or pay an exorbitant rate for a hotel room.
Renton threw off his sheets in a frustrated groan. Maybe if he had something to drink it would get him to sleep faster. He leapt off the sofa and immediately stumbled towards the kitchen. Even before reaching the kitchen, he almost banged his foot on the butt of his M1903 Springfield rifle, resting against the sofa. As he grasped at the countertop of the kitchen, he tried to look for a glass in the dark. While his eyes grew adjusted to the darkness, Renton opened and closed one cupboard after another, searching for a glass.
At last he found a darkly-colored one, and grasped it by the lip. He turned on the faucet and ran the glass under the fountain of cold, fresh water. Renton needed something to get him off this edgy state. Otherwise, he'd die from exhaustion and stress rather than a bullet. As he let the water run down his throat, a familiar voice came from behind him.
"Renton?"
Renton jumped and almost dropped the glass. Looking behind him, he was relieved to find his friend, Jane. The British blonde was dressed in an elegant white nightgown with a plunging neckline and a hemline just reaching her thighs. On her feet were matching white slippers. Even in the darkness of the night, he could see just what a mature figure his friend had for a teenager.
"For God's sake, Jane," Renton rebuked quietly, "don't scare me like that."
"I'm sorry," she replied. "I heard the faucet running, and thought you had woken up."
"I didn't wake up," Renton explained. "I was already awake. Can't sleep worth a damn tonight."
Jane giggled knowingly.
"I told you that sofa was uncomfortable."
"Yeah, no kidding."
"So you have not slept at all tonight? That is not good for your health."
"No luck there. That sofa is murder on the back. Thought a glass of water would help me out."
"Perhaps with your thirst, but not with your sleep, Renton."
"I guess you're right."
At that moment, the clock on the wall struck ten. A full hour had passed since they had broken from dinner and went to retire for the night. Renton knew that he would not be able to survive the night without a good night's sleep.
"Jane, I don't suppose there's any other place for me to sleep in here?"
"Just my room…" she whispered sheepishly in response.
Renton sighed. He'd rather spend a sleepless night on the couch than impose on her. Especially when anyone could get the wrong idea from sharing the same bed with her.
"In that case, I'll try my best to manage. Sorry to wake you up."
"No, you mustn't!" Jane retorted. "Sleep is important, Renton!"
"Well, I can't exactly sleep in your room, Jane."
"It will only be for one night," she assured him, smiling innocently. "And what's a sleepover between friends, right?"
He blushed bright red at the prospect of sharing a bed with a girl other than Eureka. If word got out to anyone, he'd have hell to pay, and Eureka would surely never forgive him. At the same time, he had to try to sleep, lest he greet the next morning exhausted and vulnerable to attack.
"I-I don't want to impose on you…"
"You're not imposing," she whispered as she walked up closer to him. "I'm just offering you a good night's sleep."
The prospect of a sound, peaceful night was too tempting for him. He relented.
"All right, if you say so. Lead the way."
"Come with me," she responded taking his hand into hers. "Trust me when I say I don't bite."
As she led him through the sitting room up to the staircase, Renton immediately went back to the couch to grab his Springfield rifle. He would not go upstairs unarmed if worse came to worse. He would not afford being killed in his sleep.
"I'm not taking any chances."
"That's quite all right," she giggled. "I prefer being safe anyway."
With a small affectionate smile, she guided him up the staircase and into her bedroom. The first thing that struck Renton was how opulent and plush it was. Even her personal chambers radiated with elegance, as if from a different more respectable time. The queen-size bed had cream satin sheets draped over it with white pillows encased in polyester coverings. Each bedpost had a wooden adornment of a lion sitting proudly, that age-old symbol of the British Empire. Renton couldn't help but feel slightly intimidated as he sat on the edge of the bed with a sigh.
He buried his face in his hands, his breaths heavy as steel. Why did all of this have to happen? Why couldn't his enemies from the past just forget him? Why couldn't they just leave him and Eureka and the others alone? He never wanted any of this. He never sought all this attention; only a chance to live in peace.
Jane sat down beside him, noticing how his heart was troubled.
"Renton, is something wrong?"
"I didn't want this to happen…" Renton eked out.
"What?"
"Everything!" he cried in anguish. "I just want this whole thing to go away…all I want is to live a normal life…"
Jane's blue eyes widened as Renton sat up, and vented all of the pent up stress to her, his trusted confidante in this perilous time.
"Jane, do you know what it feels like to go through each day always looking over your shoulder? Have you ever wanted to forget something about your past…but it won't forget you?"
"I…can't say I have ever felt that way."
"It's a terrible feeling. Ever since I came home from Stalingrad…I swore…to Eureka and myself…that I would put that part of my life behind me. I would go back to being who I always have been. I tried hard to forget about my past there."
His piercing green eyes moistened, and Jane thought he was going to cry.
"One day, the nightmares stopped. I started to get better. I could go to school, hold steady work, and function like a normal human being. And then one night, just when I thought the worst was over, I spotted someone staring into my bedroom, watching me and Eureka."
Once again, he buried his face in his hands, and his voice began to break.
"So I spend the next couple months living in fear, looking behind me, and thinking someone was after me and Eureka. Then as if that weren't enough, two people break into my house and try to kill me. And now, I face the prospect of not even living to be 18!"
His psyche broke down, and tears flowed from his eyes.
"I don't want to die! I want to live…to see this war end…to go back to a normal life…to watch over Eureka. But…but…!"
His anguish-filled admissions stopped as he felt two gentle hands on his shoulders. He turned and found Jane was less than an eyelash's length away from him. Her ocean blue eyes stared deep into his dark green ones, entreating him to turn to her, confide in her, and depend on her.
"You poor, poor thing," she lamented.
Renton gasped, as if her words of sympathy stole his breath away.
"You don't have to hold anything back, Renton. Especially not from me. I'm here for you…always."
"Jane, I—"
Jane stopped him with a gentle kiss on the lips, one that was innocent and loving…at first.
"Don't say anything, darling. Just let me make it right."
He wanted to protest, but she refused to give him any such opportunity. She was determined to have her feelings be known to the young man in front of her. This time, nothing would stop her from being clear, and having what she sought for this whole time. She wasted no time in getting physical as she pressed her lips to his again. This time, however, the kiss was not slow as before. It felt much more forceful and passionate as their breaths became heavy and synched with each other. Renton, exhausted and frustrated from months spent in paranoia and fear, tried to resist at first.
However, Jane continued pressing herself against his body. Renton felt a dark wave of temptation sweep over him. As much as he knew this was wrong, how it was unfair and immoral, this sinful act eased him out of the anxiety and stress that had almost swallowed him whole. She pushed him down onto the bed and his head landed on a soft pillow. Jane pinned him down in an aggressive, feral manner as her legs straddled him. They paused for a moment, the only sound being their heavy breathing, and Renton took in the girl towering over him.
Renton never fully appreciated or realized just how beautiful Jane was. Her blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, and poured to the small of her back, like a large field of grain. Two blue eyes cut through the shadows, eying him seductively. Even in the dark of the night, Jane's impressive hourglass figure was apparent. Her bust was quite bountiful for a girl of almost 17, and her waist was narrow and trim. Jane was supported by two majestic legs like pillars supporting a pantheon that was her wide hips. Renton's eyes traveled further down, and were immediately caught by the hem of her gown, which was spread open with her legs. He blushed a shade of pink at the sight of her undergarments, which had lace trim.
After what felt like hours of them staring at each other, Jane immediately came down on Renton, and continued to kiss him thoroughly and passionately. She left no place untouched by her lips, travelling down his neck, over his shoulders, and even an innocent peck to his forehead. As her lips kept him occupied, her cold hands snaked underneath Renton's sleeveless shirt and whisked it off his body in one simple motion.
Renton was not one to brag or boast about his slim build. He had no definition whatsoever. Jane, however, made an exception by admiring his naked chest with her hungry kisses. He bit his upper lip, suppressing a groan of pleasure. Jane licked her lips seductively, as it was clear she was greatly enjoying this. The British blonde's hands crept lower and lower until they stopped at the waist of Renton's boxers.
Without an ounce of hesitation, the impulsive girl attempted to remove them slowly.
In that moment, Renton's senses were immediately recalled as he felt her cold hands on his center, and his dark green eyes snapped open. It was like awakening from a lucid dream, and finding himself in the cold stone reality of the present. He yanked at Jane by the wrists, and the whole scene stopped in an instant.
"Jane Hart!" Renton exclaimed in a mixture of anger and confusion, "what the hell do you think you're doing?!"
The seductive smile ran away from her face, and any color therein went with it as the mood in the bedroom had suddenly soured. Renton sat up and struggled with his sleeveless shirt to get it back on him. Jane was visibly crestfallen.
"This whole thing is wrong," Renton said quietly. "It's unfair."
"Unfair to who?"
"To Eureka."
Jane's brow furrowed in resentment at the mention of that name.
"Is that what this is about, Renton? Your friend?"
"She's more than just that, Jane. I love her. I love her more than anything."
She bit her lip at that fact, one she desperately wished was not the case. If only he never traveled to Russia, or met Eureka or anyone else in her family, then something was possible between them. Just his uttering of what she knew to be true was enough to incense her.
"And that means I'm nothing to you? Am I nothing more than just your friend? Your acquaintance?"
Renton looked at her in confusion and shock, never hearing or seeing this side of her before.
"Jane, what…"
"I have needs, too, Renton! It's possible for more than one girl to think about you! Did you ever consider how going to Russia, fighting in Stalingrad, and bringing back that girl would affect me? Affect us?!"
She was visibly upset by this turn of events. He knew that, as awful as it made him feel to see her in pain, he had to stand his ground. It wouldn't be right to turn his back on Eureka, on Holland, on everything he believed in and knew was right. He drew closer to her and tried to be as gentle as possible.
"Jane, you're a wonderful girl. You're a great friend, and you've always been there for me. I'm really grateful for everything you've done. But we're friends, and that's how it needs to stay."
"You say that, but did you ever ask me if I felt the same way about you?"
Jane looked to him with strong blue eyes, and inhaled deeply. She had to let him know now, or else she would regret it for the rest of her life.
"Renton, the truth is…I have always loved—"
DING-DONG.
The tension was broken by the ringing of the doorbell, which made them both jump in surprise. Jane looked at an alarm clock on a bedside table, and saw the hour was late. 10:15, to be exact. Who in their right mind would be calling at this hour? Was there some special air raid drill? Or maybe the sound was an auditory hallucination?
"Who on earth could be out at this hour?" Jane asked to no one in particular.
"I know someone…" Renton replied, ominously.
Jane looked at him, and saw his eyes were wide and bloodshot, and he had…of all things…a crooked grin on his face. Then she heard him laugh. It was not the kind, cheerful laugh she was so accustomed to hearing. It was disturbing, fearful, and almost deranged. He looked to be a man who was just greeted by fate, and would go into the darkness laughing. The hour of his death had come. June 2nd, 1943. 10:15pm.
"They're here…they've come for me…"
He stood up and took two steps away from the bed, cursing at the air and launching accusations at the doorway.
"A bit early, aren't you?! My birthday's TOMORROW, you bastards!"
He laughed quietly again, and made for his Springfield rifle. Jane could only watch, dumbstruck with silence, as he loaded a clip of five rounds into the chamber, ranting softly to her with demented determination in his voice.
"Well, if I'm going to die, I'm not dying without a fight. I got a little birthday surprise for them: five .30-06 caliber rounds, straight through their heads!"
Renton turned to Jane, who was wide-eyed in astonishment at Renton's visible descent into madness. Was he like this in Stalingrad as well? How many Germans suffered by his hand while in such a unbalanced state of delirium?
"You got a flashlight?"
Jane tilted her head in confusion.
"A what?"
"A flashlight!" Renton repeated. "You know, you push a button and it shines light in the direction you're pointing it in?"
She processed the vague description and found a match in her memory. It wasn't by his terminology, but nonetheless a match.
"Oh, you mean a torch! I have one. One moment."
Renton waited anxiously as she searched her bedside table for one, and sure enough, found one in the bottom drawer. It was black in color with a metallic casing and button. One push and a single strong beam of light emitted from the black tube. Jane shined it towards the doorway and started to make off in that direction, but he stopped her. She could not look away from his piercing green eyes, but instead of being mad and unhinged, they were fraught with worry.
"Jane, I don't want you getting hurt. Stay right behind me. Understand?"
It was better to side with him, while their lives were in danger, than to call him out for what had just happened a few minutes prior. She nodded and fell in behind him. Before he made his trek down the stairs, however, Jane protectively wrapped one arm around his torso. She leaned on his back and pointed the flashlight towards the staircase.
"I'm not afraid when I'm with you, Renton. I trust you."
Renton said nothing, knowing this was not the time to sort out matters of the heart. He only nodded and made his way cautiously down the stairs. Each step reverberated throughout the house, as if he was a giant shaking the earth beneath him. As he slowly walked down, he once again took in the features of Jane. Her grip on his chest was strong but gentle, and her embrace was affectionate. So different from the cold, prying hands that were forcing themselves upon him not minutes before. Her chest, resting on his upper back, was equally soft, and radiated warmth. Renton could swear he detected the scent of her shampoo, which smelled faintly of tropical citrus.
True, she was beautiful, Renton thought to himself as he came onto the ground floor. But compared to Eureka, his precious jewel, Jane was a mere stone.
The duo crept with care through the sitting room and towards the front door, leading outside. The entire neighborhood was dark, and all the lights were out. No one knew what was about to transpire in this quiet Victorian house on this quiet lane in this quiet valley town. The door had a small peephole through which to view visitors on the doorstep. Renton peered through the hole while Jane swung her flashlight around to the kitchen, guarding his flank.
By this time, Renton had grown adjusted to the lack of illumination, and he had a clearer view out. There was not a soul on the doorstep, nor anywhere in the street. The entire block seemed like a ghost town with no lights and no sounds except for the chirping of summer crickets. Renton immediately knew something was amiss. They clearly heard the doorbell ring. It wasn't possible for it to ring by itself. Unless…
"More stupid mind games," Renton grumbled. "They're going to 'ding-dong-ditch' me…really scary, guys."
As they both turned to head back, they found a figure standing at the foot of the staircase. The figure was female, at least 18 years of age, wearing a military uniform underneath an azure cloak and hood. Renton recognized the figure instantly as one of the two intruders from before. The one he tried to capture but failed. The one who got away, and disappeared into the night. Jane let out a short shriek of terror, while Renton could only laugh and greet her sardonically.
"Hey there, buddy! How're you doing? So, you're here for my birthday, huh? Well, I got a little gift for you, right here!"
The rifle spoke with a crack as the muzzle flash lit up the room. While the bullet scored a direct hit in the chest, the intruder didn't fall. She didn't speak, groan or move at all. The only sound was an audible ping, like metal colliding with metal. Renton, undeterred and now out of his head, shifted the bolt and fired again. The next round landed on the stomach, but again, there was no reaction from the intruder. She only stood there, staring long and ominously, almost regretfully, at the frightened young people. Was she a statue?
There was a moment of silence. What on earth could they do now? Was this girl immortal? Did she have a shield that they couldn't see? The girl did not give them a moment to think of what could aid her against such lethal projectiles.
The girl drew a semiautomatic pistol and fired three shots. With the reports of each blast, Renton and Jane fled for the door. One pistol cartridge clipped off a lock of Jane's hair, which made her scream in fear while another scraped Renton's neck, staining his chest and left shoulder with blood.. There was nothing they could do now except escape. Jane unlocked the door and sprinted out from the house, with Renton following close behind her. As they left the girl lumbered to the door with the sound of metal clanking beneath her uniform. She never realized how heavy the bulletproof vest was.
Pressing on her neck, she screamed through the communicator:
"Alpha Squad, this is 340! The target is mobile. Repeat: target is mobile."
"We'll catch him, 340! Anything we should watch for?"
"The target is armed with a rifle; approach with caution. Also, watch your fire: he has an unidentified female with him."
Outside, Renton and Jane dashed through the streets of the residential section, searching for a place to hide, a place for refuge, anything. There was only darkness, slowly being broken by the switching of lights in select houses, houses the duo made note to avoid. While they feared their lives, they also feared an innocent bystander would get the wrong idea of them together…out in the night…indecently exposed. All the while Renton kept tabs on the rear, making sure no one was following them, while trying to stem the flow of blood from the wound on his neck. Despite Jane's many protests for them to stop, for her to examine his neck, Renton pressed on, determined to warn Eureka and the others.
Bellforest was no longer safe. That much he knew. He had to leave town, go somewhere far away. He had to hide long enough for these cloak-and-dagger ne'er-do-wells to be caught and brought to justice. Staying here one more day, one more minute, only meant certain death. How was it that despite everything done to restrict them, whether through capture, interrogation, or simple reports, they always found a way? Why is it the ghosts from his past would not rest in peace? Why couldn't people just leave him and the others alone?