Chapter 6 –

He took a deep, prolonged breath, taking in the nearly forgotten aroma of the city around him. Although much had changed, the scent of the city he considered home for a large chunk of his life was constant.

It had been years, close to twenty, since he'd been back here. The memories that came flooding back, struck a bittersweet chord in his heart. He felt like he was ten years old again, dressed in his proper school clothing while running amuck in the streets with his mates.

Misfit, he remembered being called on one occasion, after colliding with, (and nearly knocking down), an entire fruit stand.

All that was missing on his trip back down memory lane was Nora. His childhood caregiver and surrogate mom while his mother was away on her extensive trips. Her shrill voice calling out his name, with hope he wouldn't ruin yet another uniform or muss up his perfectly kept blonde hair. He allowed a small smile to form on his face, which grew as he continued further in his journey.

The rolling green hills in the distance were still as magical now as they were to a ten year old. He remembered pony trekking around the glorious countryside and coastline with his mother. Some of their finest times were created as they fully explored hidden trails, the smooth beaches and rocky terrains, otherwise not accessible by vehicle. It was their time, and with her visits reduced to once a month, and only lasting close to one week, he treasured them more than anything.

One would think having a mother that popped in so infrequently would have created some feelings of animosity, but as a child, he always knew that he was loved. He may have lost sight of it in his teenage years, when all of the anger that festered had somewhat bubbled over, but once he learned the truth about her, about the situation, he couldn't hate her. Only love remained.

Eyre Square – the heart of Galway, Ireland. It looked much smaller than he had remembered. It was also more majestic in the memories that he had held in his mind. He didn't ponder it too long. It was too close to four o'clock, and a meeting with an old acquaintance.

Early Friday morning, Sark had received a call from Micah McAllister, a forty-year-old compulsive gambler that just happened to be in debt to Sark for nearly ten years now. Word had gotten to Micah, that Sark was in search of information on Irina Derevko's whereabouts. Sark wasn't surprised. Micah was just the sort of snake that would barter information for a reduction of his debt.

"Clean me thirty percent, and you'll get the info you need." Micah threw out his initial figure.

Sark had lived years without what he was owed, a sum that had reached nearly seventy five thousand. The money wasn't of issue anymore, but still he needed to keep up the appearance that it was.

"Twenty percent, plus one point interest."

Micah's brief moment of silence was followed by a sigh. "Twenty-five, plus one point interest. Final offer."

That was that.

Sark was told to come to his childhood home, and meet Micah at a café just past the fountain in the square. As he approached, he found six tables outside, three of them occupied by patrons. Just as Micah instructed, Sark sat at one of the tables, nonchalantly soaking in the environment.

The weather was crisp, around fifty-degrees, but the sun was barely poking out of the light gray clouds. A small crowd of people had gathered at the fountain in front of him, most of them reading. In three minutes, he secured the area.

Around him were two couples, one looked to be American, the other locals. At the last table, the one closest to him on his left, was a well to do woman. Her back was to him, but he could tell her wealth by the expensive white Chanel dress suit with matching hat. He could even smell the strong perfume that she wore, a scent vaguely familiar.

No signs of bodies on any of the surrounding buildings, and surprisingly, the people near the fountain appeared to be there for their own enjoyment. He allowed himself to slightly relax, but he still kept an eye out.

Four o'clock came and went. The two couples that had been sitting at the café had left ten minutes ago. Seemingly engrossed in reading a book, the woman in white remained. Sark had a momentary thought of this being some sort of set up. He could be a sitting duck in this wide-open area. He took a last glance at his watch, four twenty three, and decided two more minutes before leaving.

Just as he was about to stand, he heard a familiar voice next to him. "I have a feeling Mr. McAllister will not be joining you today."

Sark flinched at the sound of his former boss's voice, coming from the lady in white. Other than a momentary twitch, he remained still, and calm. Knowing she likely rid the world of the slime that was Micah McAllister, Sark lost a bit of hope.

"One less debt to concern myself with." His response was low, even though there was no one listening.

Irina didn't move either. She continued to speak with her back facing him. "You need to stop digging for information. I'd really hate to see more of your friends lose their lives just because of your nosiness."

"I believe you were the one that taught me the hindrance of having friends." His tone showed her that he was unaffected by Micah's death. "That's one piece of advice you gave that I still hold in high regard today."

"Dear Sark," Irina shook her head slightly. "What is it you're trying to do by gathering information on where I am or what I'm doing? Do you finally realize what little is left between you and your end? Or are you trying to play the knight in shining armor to my daughter by capturing the enemy?"

Sark smiled, more like a devilish grin. "I don't need to play anything when I'm with your daughter. She seems to want to fuck me even without the pretenses."

Irina kept quiet after his last statement, her anger boiling under her crisp white suit. Sark continued, "You're surprised?"

She cleared her throat, while lowering it to show her disgust with him. "Nothing you've ever done to further yourself has surprised me."

"I did learn from the best."

Sark used her moment of silence to scour his surroundings again. He shook off the feeling of paranoia after finding that nothing seemed out of place. As she broke the silence, he noticed the calm return to her voice.

"It seems just like yesterday when I came here to take you in." Her voice grew distant with her venture back in time. "You were almost nine years old, such an innocent chap. Your perfectly combed blonde hair that lay flat, sticking to your head. Those ever inquisitive light blue eyes that almost took over your entire face. I still remember the mix of fear and curiosity in them when Nora explained that you were leaving with me, Aunt Irina."

Sark hid it, but inside his mind and heart were racing each other, seeing which could move the fastest. He too remembered the events of that day, not to mention the date. March 23rd. The day that he was told that his mother no longer wanted him around. Her new life in the United States had finally become top priority. She didn't have the time to visit him anymore, nor wanted to spend the money to keep Nora as his guardian. How he hated that day.

He kept quiet, also recalling the time period that Irina spoke of. "You were convinced that you were going to grow up to be a pilot, just so you could fly your mommy anywhere that she needed to go. She always did complain about the long flights that she took, just to see you. You even said that you would make sure she'd fly for free so she wouldn't have an excuse to not come. Do you remember that?"

Sark felt the grief beginning to choke him, and weakly attempted to clear his throat. Being here in the city that he once considered home, and being unwillingly taken back to the worst day of his life, was too much. In other company he might have broken down, but not with her. She couldn't see him weak, couldn't see that she had affected him so.

He saw her finally make a movement. Her head slightly turned to look behind her, showing her profile. She wanted to see how badly her words cut him. Sark looked straight ahead, face like stone, but still unable to speak.

After she returned her gaze forward, she continued. "I told you that you could be anything that you wanted to be…"

Sark interrupted her, his voice thick with anger. "Your words meant nothing. You already had plans for my life that I never could have dreamt at that age."

Irina chuckled, the sound insidious. "True, but the grin that appeared on your face after I told you was priceless. You beamed, wanting so badly to show her that you could be the son that she wanted. Anything to prove to her that you were worthy of her love."

Sark felt his face start to turn red, fuming with each word that she spoke. He couldn't keep the mal feeling from coating his voice. "I was lied to. She was lied to. It would have been different if she had known the truth."

"You think so? Do you think you would have been better off as her monthly visits became bi-monthly, ensuring that no minor detail gave away the reason for her frequent trips? Almost every move that she made was being scrutinized. She likely would have stopped coming anyway. I only saved both of you the heartache."

Sark shook his head. The way she contorted everything to try and prove her actions were in the best interest of them both was incredible. She had always been good at it, but it was something he admired when it wasn't being used on him.

"You told her that I was dead."

Right as Sark finished his sentence, a gunshot rang out to his right. His immediate reaction was to divert his attention to where the sound came from. With the sight of a flock of birds dispersing, he relaxed again, turning his attention back to Irina.

She's gone.

Not surprised by her quick getaway, Sark didn't bother to look around for her. Truly, he was glad that she had left. He took a deep breath, releasing it slowly while wrapping his jacket around him tighter. His heart ached, almost mourning the loss of his mother all over again. How he wished he had found the information, all the lies that had been told by Irina to keep them apart, before that bastard had killed her.

With no more hesitation, Sark stood and made his way to his rental, starting to the trip back to the place he considered his new home.