Chapter 2: Sheer Fucking Boredom

One Week Earlier…

LOCATION: POINT NEMO

I'm making breakfast when my wife comes into the kitchen, looking a mix of confused and downright terrified. I discreetly scan the room, searching for anything abnormal, but the only thing out of place is the envelope in her hands.

"Honey, what's wrong?" I ask her, growing slightly concerned. However, I don't let it show. I don't want to worry her even more.

She looks me in the eyes as though I am stupid. "We've got mail. Mail. We haven't received mail since-"

"Oh, shit!" I exclaim, cutting her off. This isn't good. Knowing my luck and my history, it'll probably blow us up, or give us anthrax, or something.

"Again, we don't get mail. I found it at the bottom of the supply crate. What could this be? Only one person knows who and where we are, and they wouldn't send us anything...Would they?" Her voice fades out.

I sigh at my wife's naїvety. I know full well that the one man who knows the truth would absolutely send us something if it suited him. "I really don't know, Dear, I'm not about to analyze my former boss's thought process."

"Yeah, he was always kind of fucked in the head." This makes me laugh. My wife and my boss had never gotten along. "What do you think the letter says, anyway?"

I shrug, "Only one way to find out." I'm honestly not that concerned about the letter's contents. Even if it does kill me, I've been on this boring goddamn island for over a decade, and death may honestly be an improvement. I miss the thrill of my old life. The excitement, the passion, the adventure, even the danger. I respect the boring, safe monotony of the island, but lately, I've really been missing the action and excitement of my former life. I love my wife, I really do, but she's basically my only human contact anymore. We get a shipment of things from the mainland once a month from a trusted source, but it's not like we ever have much to talk about. He hands me a crate full of newspapers, food, water, and other necessities, and takes back the crate from last month, which was full of the trash from the previous shipment. Then, he gets in his helicopter and leaves. It's the same routine every month, and it hasn't changed in over a decade. It's nice not to have to watch my back constantly, but still, there's something about the calming waves and cold sun that really make me miss the uncertainty of my old life. I don't particularly want to die, but I also don't to live a life that is this fucking boring. I get that this is the safest option for my wife and me, but that doesn't make it any more interesting.

"You're really going to open it?" My wife questions.

"Boss must've sent it. There's no way he would've given us this crate without checking it himself. I'm sure it'll be fine." I fail to tell her my real reason for opening this letter: sheer fucking boredom. In my old life, I never would have opened the mail, but things have changed. We aren't in a constant state of danger and unrest anymore. I know my wife is perfectly content with our life here because she appreciates the relative safety of the island. It was her idea to stay here in the first place. This was supposed to be a temporary stint. We were only supposed to stay until things cooled down, and then move to Canada after getting extensive plastic surgery, but she wanted to stay here because it was safer. Ugh. Safety is relative, anyway. We're really no safer here than in any other place. Either one of us could just drop dead at any second, whether we live in Point Nemo, Canada, France, or anywhere else. I mean-

"Aren't you going to open it?" My wife urges, impatiently, interrupting my thoughts.

I nod. "Of course I am, babe." I begin opening the letter. Inside is a piece of paper and a cellular phone. Once I read its contents, my jaw drops. I am not easily surprised: If there's anything my old life taught me, it's to never be surprised by anything. Or, anyone for that matter. "Bloody hell," I whisper. My wife grabs the letter from my frozen hands.

"What do they mean, he's gone?" She exclaims, "They want you to go back?! There is no fucking way that-"

"There is no fucking way that I'm not going," I complete the thought for her. This is my one chance to get out of this hellhole, and by God, I'm taking it. "You can stay, honey, but I'm going. I'll be back, don't worry. And I'll call, I promise. I think that we can both agree that if there's one thing I'm good at, it's not dying," I joke, trying to lighten the mood. We both know that if I leave our little island-bubble for my former employers, there's a decent chance I'll return in a body bag.

I sigh and pick up the phone. I dial the number that is scrawled on the letter, and tell the woman on the other end I've made up my mind: I'm going home.

Three days later, after I've packed for an indefinite amount of time, a boat arrives. There are a captain and a three-person crew, and they hand me a note, proving they are who my contact said they would be. I accept this and jog back into our cottage to say goodbye to my wife.

"Honey, are you sure you don't want to come with? I'd feel a lot better if we weren't apart."

She smiles, sadly. "I know, but I feel much safer here. You go, though. I'm not naїve enough to try to stop you," It's as she says that when I realize that she knows. She knows I need this trip to keep my sanity. She knows I'm bloody bored and restless on this goddamn island. I feel a rush of love and caring for her. I lean over and kiss her on the lips. It's not an easy feat, as my 6'1 towers over her petite figure, but the two of us make it work.

"I love you."

"I love you too. Have fun, and do try to stay safe! And please bring me back pictures."

I smirk. It's been a while since I've truly smiled, and God, does it feel good. It looks good on me too, or so I've been told by many women over the years.

I walk onto the boat, suitcase in tow, and wave goodbye as the boat pulls away from the shore.

LOCATION: MOTU NUI, CHILE

It takes another three days to get to land. However, the three straight days of pure ocean and anticipation are the most thrilling I've had in years.

When we finally reach land, it's a little island called Motu Nui, which is just Southwest of the Easter Islands. It's so close to one island named Isla de Pascua that you can swim, and while I am tempted, I have a plane to catch, so I just climb off the large boat that took me from Point Nemo, and onto a smaller one.

LOCATION: ISLA DE PASCUA, CHILE

It's a 15-minute drive to the airport. The rugged mountains and cliffs are extraordinary. I may be a little biased, after seeing nothing but the same island for 16 years, but the scenery of Isla de Pascua is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. We, myself and a driver, are in a jeep with the doors off, and the wind is whipping through my hair. The air tastes like freedom, and these 15 minutes were the best I've had in far too long.

LOCATION: SANTIAGO, CHILE

Soon, I'm on a small plane, and just under six hours later, I'm in Santiago, Chile. I board another plane, this time a huge international jet, and I'm off, flying across the Atlantic.

LOCATION: LONDON, ENGLAND

16 hours later, I'm standing outside of a building I thought I'd never see again, shivering in the cold, rainy air of a place I thought I'd never return to. I have just gotten off my plane at Heathrow, and I'm standing on the curb, searching for my ride. I inhale the cold, rainy November air. It smells like home.

I see a short red-haired man wearing a black suit holding a sign with my name on it. Well, not my name, as my true identity could be potentially dangerous to display to the world, but a previously agreed upon name by my former employer and I. I look around, checking that the scene is safe, and I walk over to him. I hand him the letter my wife and I were sent, to prove my identity, and he accepts it, letting me into his car.

The drive to Liverpool Street takes about an hour, due to traffic, but I don't mind. It's wonderful to be home. Before my wife and I were forced to move to Point Nemo, I had lived in London for my entire life. Until I returned, I hadn't realized how much I'd truly missed it. I left an entire life behind-a job, family members, coworkers, and thousands of memories-when I moved to Point Nemo. The only remnants of my old life were two suitcases full of belongings, and of course my beautiful wife.

I step out of the car, which is discreetly, though heavily, armoured, and onto the sidewalk. On the sidewalk is a strange discoloration that takes away my focus for a few seconds. I'm curious as to what had caused it. The building a few meters away looms over me ominously. I take a deep breath before diving headfirst back into my old life.

I take an elevator up to the 17th floor of a building I know well: The Royal and General Bank. It has hardly changed a bit since the last time I was here, over 16 years ago. The only thing that appears different is the nameplate outside of the boss's office. I knock on the door and open it before getting a response. It's basically SOP at MI6 if you're of rank. Across the dull, sparsely-furnished room sits a black woman with shoulder-length dark hair and small beady eyes. She's wearing a black pantsuit with a silver dagger-shaped pin on the brooch. The air reeked of peppermint.

"Hello, Tulip. It's been ages," I greet the new chief executive of the Special Operations Division of MI6. I've only worked with her once before, and it was years ago, so I don't know her particularly well.

"I'm so glad you could come," she says emotionlessly, shifting what is presumably a peppermint to the other side of her mouth, "Do take a seat. The other man should be here soon."

An ungodly amount of research was done trying to figure out distances from Point Nemo to London.

Also, nobody actually lives on Point Nemo, it just serves as a nice little plot point/home for our boi and his wife to hide out on for decades.

Any predictions? This was a pretty vague chapter haha. More chapters to come very soon.