Bloodred Senseless- Chapter 2: Three hours ago
three hours earlier:
Sloane stood in front of Sydney, possibly trying to make himself look taller to her as she sat in a chair in his office.
"Sydney," he said, "I've always been honest with you. And you have been like a daughter to me, especially around the time of my wife's—passing." He took a breath. "But there is one thing I haven't been truthful to you about."
"What is it?"
"It's hard for me to explain without making you angry."
Since when had Sloane cared about emotions? "Go ahead," she said.
"Alright. Sydney, SD-6 is not a part of the CIA."
"What?" Though Sydney had known this for years, she feigned confusion.
"No, it isn't." Then he looked out the window his door was and abruptly changed the subject. "It was me who killed your mother. I was the person who crashed into her car on that bridge all those years ago."
"Why are you telling me this now? You had so many opportunities, especially when she was found again!"
"I felt it had to be done."
What had to be done? Sydney felt like asking. A girl growing up without a mother?
After a few moments of silence, he spoke. "That will be all. Good luck in Miami."
"I don't need your luck, you son of a bitch."
-
two hours earlier:
Sydney sat sipping coffee across from Francie, her facade revealing nothing of what had happened before she had come home. Francie was going on about something—a guy, she deciphered, from repetetive mentionings of someone named Michael. It caused her to smile and think about her own Michael, who would be waiting to see her in an hour.
"Why are you smiling?" Francie exclaimed suddenly. "This is not a good thing!"
"I'm sorry, Fran—I was just thinking."
"Oh. Well I'm still worried about Michael. If I tell him I think he's cheating, he might not be and then he'll break it off. But I really like him! Am I a cheater magnet or something? Three of the guys I've dated in the last three years have accidentally run across some hot blonde."
"Relax, Francie. Just wait a day or two. Then, if you're still suspicious, just tell him."
Before Francie could reply, Will burst in the front door. Behind him was Anna, his girlfriend whom he had met six months previously. Both of them had huge grins on their faces, and Anna's hand was on Will's arm. They hurried toward the twosome in the kitchen. Sydney stood, about to put her empty coffee mug in the dishwasher.
"Syd, don't move. We did it."
"You did it? Did what?"
"We're married!"
Sydney looked at Francie, shocked, before placing her mug on the counter and pasting a grin on her face as well. She went over and hugged them both. "Congratulations, you guys! But wait, didn't you say we could come to your wedding?" she chided, raising her eyebrows.
"Yeah, we did," Anna replied mischieviously, "but we were in Vegas and we thought, 'Why not?' "
Sydney remembered that a few years back, Francie had been in the same predicament. Of course, she hadn't gotten married at all. "Well, congratulations again!"
"I wish we could have been there." Francie gave Will and Anna hugs.
"We're sorry, Fran, but you can plan the reception!"
"The reception? Vegas weddings don't have receptions."
"We're going to have have one anyway. Next Saturday, I was thinking. We both have to work this week."
"Oh, what am I thinking? Let's break out some wine!" Francie said, excited. Her mood seemed to be connected to a light swtich—right now, it was happy. Francie had obviously forgotten about Michael. Sydney got the wine glasses and smiled again.
-
one hour earlier:
Sydney stalked away, tears forming in her eyes. So many of the agents around her were staring, but she neither looked at them nor behind her, where she had left so much of herself. She brought her hand up to her face, brushing away the remnants of her life when she had been happiest. She was sure he would be watching her retreat, unable to do anything about it. He would feel so guilty, but it wasn't his fault. It was all hers. Her temper had gotten the best of her and she had unleashed all the anger she had bottled up for months, years. None was directed at him—never could she remain angry with him—but he had been in the line of fire when she had gone off.
She reached the exit, not wondering if she should turn around and try to make amends. He would reach for her, of course. He loved her now, and always would. He was the one she turned to when she argued with her father, mother, herself. She couldn't think straight when he was near—he was her Achilles heel.
There was no other way she could do this without falling apart more than she already had.
A hand pushed the swinging door open. An arm, weak, supplied the energy she no longer had. A leg stepped through the cleared doorway. An aching heart caused Sydney to wait for the door to close behind her before collapsing, her face in her hands.
-
now this was definitely fun to write. i know i stole that one line from 'counteragent', but please review your overall opinion. it really does help my plotlines and style.
three hours earlier:
Sloane stood in front of Sydney, possibly trying to make himself look taller to her as she sat in a chair in his office.
"Sydney," he said, "I've always been honest with you. And you have been like a daughter to me, especially around the time of my wife's—passing." He took a breath. "But there is one thing I haven't been truthful to you about."
"What is it?"
"It's hard for me to explain without making you angry."
Since when had Sloane cared about emotions? "Go ahead," she said.
"Alright. Sydney, SD-6 is not a part of the CIA."
"What?" Though Sydney had known this for years, she feigned confusion.
"No, it isn't." Then he looked out the window his door was and abruptly changed the subject. "It was me who killed your mother. I was the person who crashed into her car on that bridge all those years ago."
"Why are you telling me this now? You had so many opportunities, especially when she was found again!"
"I felt it had to be done."
What had to be done? Sydney felt like asking. A girl growing up without a mother?
After a few moments of silence, he spoke. "That will be all. Good luck in Miami."
"I don't need your luck, you son of a bitch."
-
two hours earlier:
Sydney sat sipping coffee across from Francie, her facade revealing nothing of what had happened before she had come home. Francie was going on about something—a guy, she deciphered, from repetetive mentionings of someone named Michael. It caused her to smile and think about her own Michael, who would be waiting to see her in an hour.
"Why are you smiling?" Francie exclaimed suddenly. "This is not a good thing!"
"I'm sorry, Fran—I was just thinking."
"Oh. Well I'm still worried about Michael. If I tell him I think he's cheating, he might not be and then he'll break it off. But I really like him! Am I a cheater magnet or something? Three of the guys I've dated in the last three years have accidentally run across some hot blonde."
"Relax, Francie. Just wait a day or two. Then, if you're still suspicious, just tell him."
Before Francie could reply, Will burst in the front door. Behind him was Anna, his girlfriend whom he had met six months previously. Both of them had huge grins on their faces, and Anna's hand was on Will's arm. They hurried toward the twosome in the kitchen. Sydney stood, about to put her empty coffee mug in the dishwasher.
"Syd, don't move. We did it."
"You did it? Did what?"
"We're married!"
Sydney looked at Francie, shocked, before placing her mug on the counter and pasting a grin on her face as well. She went over and hugged them both. "Congratulations, you guys! But wait, didn't you say we could come to your wedding?" she chided, raising her eyebrows.
"Yeah, we did," Anna replied mischieviously, "but we were in Vegas and we thought, 'Why not?' "
Sydney remembered that a few years back, Francie had been in the same predicament. Of course, she hadn't gotten married at all. "Well, congratulations again!"
"I wish we could have been there." Francie gave Will and Anna hugs.
"We're sorry, Fran, but you can plan the reception!"
"The reception? Vegas weddings don't have receptions."
"We're going to have have one anyway. Next Saturday, I was thinking. We both have to work this week."
"Oh, what am I thinking? Let's break out some wine!" Francie said, excited. Her mood seemed to be connected to a light swtich—right now, it was happy. Francie had obviously forgotten about Michael. Sydney got the wine glasses and smiled again.
-
one hour earlier:
Sydney stalked away, tears forming in her eyes. So many of the agents around her were staring, but she neither looked at them nor behind her, where she had left so much of herself. She brought her hand up to her face, brushing away the remnants of her life when she had been happiest. She was sure he would be watching her retreat, unable to do anything about it. He would feel so guilty, but it wasn't his fault. It was all hers. Her temper had gotten the best of her and she had unleashed all the anger she had bottled up for months, years. None was directed at him—never could she remain angry with him—but he had been in the line of fire when she had gone off.
She reached the exit, not wondering if she should turn around and try to make amends. He would reach for her, of course. He loved her now, and always would. He was the one she turned to when she argued with her father, mother, herself. She couldn't think straight when he was near—he was her Achilles heel.
There was no other way she could do this without falling apart more than she already had.
A hand pushed the swinging door open. An arm, weak, supplied the energy she no longer had. A leg stepped through the cleared doorway. An aching heart caused Sydney to wait for the door to close behind her before collapsing, her face in her hands.
-
now this was definitely fun to write. i know i stole that one line from 'counteragent', but please review your overall opinion. it really does help my plotlines and style.