Chapter 11
9
[b]February 13[/b] the calendar states in bold red letters. They protrude from the page and lodge themselves deep in my mind, reminding me over and over that today would last forever.The day my life will begin and the day my life will end. Things have never mattered so much. Never have I cared so little. The calendar can only momentarily distract me from the clock- red numbers tick up and up in an endless cycle that can never be broken. Sixty seconds in a minute, sixty minutes in an hour, sixty hours since I made the biggest mistake of my life. Sixty hours since I stopped living. Yet the clock continues to spiral upwards, counting up to the next day, the next day that I know will never come. Counting down the hours until I will drift away forever. Drift and die. Francie has been gone, but that wasn't anything I didn't expect. As long as you continuously preach your sanity and smile through clenched teeth, people will be happy to agree and go on their way. There are no such things as 'true friends,' not even 'true enemies.' No one knows anyone but themselves, and even when they know that they still can't allow themselves to trust their own judgement. Trust someone and die alone; trust yourself and die with thousands. Your choices are limited to what you live by. Your future may look promising but everyone ends up just the same as everyone else in the end- some people just have more fun getting there. I have not had fun getting to where I am now. As far as I can tell, the end of my life will be the highlight of the decades I have spent watching a plastic alarm clock tick from ten to eleven to twelve in a deathly shade of red. So all I have to do now is wait as thirteen turns to sixteen turns to twenty turns to a pile of wires and plastic on my floor. The numbers flicker black for a second, then reappear at 12:48. They remain there as I leave- one moment frozen forever in time. Never reaching tomorrow.
10.00
The phone is ringing again. It has been doing so every five minutes or so, my caller id informing me that Jack Bristow, Arvin Sloane, Agent Kendall and Mr.Devlin have all been trying to reach me, and that I have been, as I am doing now, ignoring them. The phone also informs me that I have seven missed messages. What popularity. Seven people calling to tell me one of three things: That they are going to kill me, that someone else is going to kill me, or that I am going to kill myself. People these days are so helpful. The phone vibrates in my hand and I am tempted to let it join my clock. The thing is dirty and has a piece of grass sandwiched between the fold-over lid and the phone. The screen flashed ten digits that I have been avoiding. I press the talk button and lay the phone on the table. The man can talk to me all he wants- it doesn't mean I'll listen. But before I walk off to do anything but answer, I can hear three words spoken in a seemingly desperate tone. Three words that scare me to death.
10.30
There is this feeling you have when you lose control, when you just let everything go. You let go of the steering wheel and leave it all to chance, leave it all to fate. Like that movie Fight Club that Francie loved. You have to consider the chance that you are one of God's unwanted children. Once you let everything go, let go of pain, let go of fear- then you can embrace life. It's only once you've left everything behind that you find what really matters. Even if I'm not blowing up five credit card buildings and becoming schizophrenic, I have been pushed to the edge again and again. I'm so fucking [i]tired[i] of people telling me what's wrong with me and trying to help me. So tired of everyone using me as a bag they can push around and order to their will. I've lost myself and all senses I have ever previously upheld. Words have sifted into meaningless jumbles and the world is going to collapse, yet still I can do nothing but sit here and drive myself to insanity. Pardon the pun. The warehouse sits just over the next hill and to the left. How simple it would be to just go straight and turn. My life will never make things that easy for me. There are three cards behind me. One white, one black, one a hot red convertible. Not exactly tracking material, but you can never be too careful. Lose your senses and you'll end up with one night that marks the end of your life. One man that marks the end of your sanity.
I lose the white van by the second neighboorhood, and the black van stops at a house by the time I get back on to the main road. The red convertible had driven straight when I turned. It had obviously turned left as well, for when I turn into the lot of the warehouse there it sits, shiny and beautiful and red. Red. The color of death. Whoever said black held this honor had obviously never experienced death in it's true form. Black was the color of darkness, the color of solitude. Black was peaceful- a haven of sorts. Red was the real color of death. When everything came down to black and white, red was the only color that loved to seep through. Loved to torture you. Red was the curtains and the sheets and blood on the back of the convertible. Blood reading out my name. Shit. I double parked my van and jumped out. I ignored the car- for now- and ran into the warehouse, each footstep echoing the heartbeats I couldn't feel. Oh god, oh god, oh god... The middle room of the warehouse was covered in the very color of the convertible. Red. Everything was red and oh god this couldn't be what it seemed something happened here and my life, my life... The warehouse was filled with roses, rich red roses that seeped with double meaning. Roses, like dark chocolate- the sin of life and the taste of death, I had heard his voice, oh god, where was he? I ran past the roses and almost fell on top of the dark red stain. The stain was wet. It didn't take long to figure what had made it. 'Follow the red brick road' stained the dusty cement floor, and I realized for the first time that the roses made a road. Someone's idea of a sick joke. I wasn't laughing. This wasn't funny. I ran out of the warehouse and followed a thin red line that landed right at the empty convertible. There was a paper heart on the seat. The keys were in the ignition. This was too perfect, too planned. 'Happy Valentines Day!' The card shouted. I opened it so violently that the first page tore off and landed on the floor of the car. I didn't think the words 'from someone who loves you' would be inside the card. I didn't expect his signature. But I did wish to find any of these things, even a ruthless rejection. I didn't care, just as long as I was wrong, as long as this wasn't what I thought it was. The inside was a map. Lines running like veins running with blood...
The great thing about following directions is that it takes your mind off of everything else nine times out of ten. I didn't expect to be lucky and the ten minute drive allowed me thousands of scenarios- Sd-6, CIA, KGB, my father, myself and oh god he has to be dead because blood doesn't dry that fast and The building was decrepit and small. I threw myself out of the car and ran inside, screw being cautious, I need to find him, I need him to be alright. Need him to be alive... I tore inside the small complex, ran through gate after gate until I saw him and oh god the blood, there was so much blood. I tried to run to him but all I heard was a small click that stopped me instantaneously. "So, Ms.Bristow, we meet again." The woman's light accent drifted through the air and I felt the barrel on the side of my head. "I suggest if you have any weapons you remove them now." I didn't carry any weapons and she knew it, but I didn't care. His face was dried with blood on it and one eye was shit while the other lay open and it was watching me...how could I tell him, how could I- "Well, Happy early Valentines day sweety! After that lovely present you gave K-Directorate a couple days ago we decided there was nothing to do but return the favor." "This doesn't have to do with him." I whispered. "Oh, this has everything to do with him. Back in Vegas your husband and you took something that was very special to my agency. Then you trashed that branch of our system. And you, my dear, killed one of our men with your little kick boxing routine. That man was very special to us. I have a feeling this man was special to the CIA, too. Or at least, some people in the CIA." She walked around me and the gun wasn't on my head anymore but in front of me while she walked over to him. She put a hand on his head. "See, I told you she'd like the present!" She smiled at him, then turned back to me. "He was planning on celebrating Valentines Day by suggesting running away to Hawaii and getting married correctly. But see, I here knew you would never go for something as lame as that." This was a dream, this was all a dream and she wasn't here and there was no blood and I would wake up, I would wake up and it would be- "See, I knew that you would prefer him to show his love in true ways. Like, I don't know, sacrifice. Love runs in the same color as blood does. One is destined to the other. You can't change that." He mumbled something and she punched him in the face. "What did I tell you about speaking up?" "You are a sick little bitch." His words came out slowly and almost incoherent. Then his voice became softer. "Sydney..." "Oh, shut up." She said, standing up and kicking him in the stomach. Blood spilled out of his mouth. "Please stop." I whispered. "What?" She turned to me, gun pointed and ready. "Please don't kill him. Kill me, I'm the one you want, please don't let him die, I love him, this is all a dream, this isn't real..." I shut my eyes but all that resulted in was squeezing out the drops of salty liquid that had been resting there. When I opened them again all I could see was his face, his beautiful green eyes staring at me sadly, knowing this was the end... "He's not dead." I whispered to myself again and again as if saying these words would somehow make them true. Anna looked over at me, then walked back to him. "You're right! With good paramedics, he could still survive." She smiled, her eyes mocking me. Then she cocked the gun and fired, shot after shot after shot until blood seeped out of his chest in waves of red. "Now I'd say three to five minutes." My eyes widened and then contracted. Everything was still but moving at an impossible speed. "Michael..." I whispered into the seeming darkness. Then everything came back to speed in a matter of seconds and there was a flurry of unattainable motions. Anna had put her gun away. She looked at me with dark eyes, but I didn't care, all I needed was him, he needed to be alive, she hadn't shot him, this wasn't happening... I threw myself on him and tilted his head back. "Michael...Michael...talk to me...please..." His eyes moved convoulsivly and his throat moved. Blood spit out of his mouth and onto my face, his voice came out weak. "Sss...syd..." "Everything's going to be ok, Michael, I love you, this will all be over, you're going to be ok..." I had his head cradled in my arms and tears slipped down my cheeks. Every note of sound was amplified a thousand times and I could hear the drops fall on the dusty cement floor in the impending silence. "Al..way...always, s-s-sydney. The su..." He swallowed and blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. His wound drenched his white shirt and my frail hands. "Sun will r...rise..tomm..mo..row." His eyes locked in for a second onto mine and my heart stopped beating. "No, Michael..." I whispered, bringing a hand up to touch his cheek. His eyes closed and the hand that had been in mine went limp. "No!" I screamed, tears drenching my face. I looked at his face still in my hands. He couldn't be gone, not now.... "Michael!" I let his head rest on the floor and jumped up to turn to see her. "You sick little bitch! You killed him! You fucking KILLED him!" I wiped furiously at my eyes and tried to jump on her. His eyes, so distant so gone and I was going to kill her with my own hands I was going to kill her and... I saw the metal before I heard it but I didn't care, nothing mattered now but him. "Why the hell did you do this? What good does this do you? Why not me, you little bitch? Why him..." All the energy my rage depended on seeped through my eyes and I fell to the floor, grasping desperately to any hope that I had left but found none. "Next time don't mess with us." I watched as her red stiletto heals clicked their way out of the little warehouse, then dragged myself over to him and placed a hand on his face. "Michael, I'm so sorry....michael..." There is nothing you can say to a dead man, no way to say everything you haven't said, no way to redeem the things you have done. Only people such as Romeo and Juliet get second chances. I didn't even have a way out. My heart was ripping my body to shreds. "michael..." I whispered again, knowing that his name would not bring him back and oh god what I wouldn't give to see him breathe again, to see the blood on his body be transferred to mine. I lay my head down on his chest. "I'm so sorry, michael..." I whispered. The world shifted to black and white and red and he couldn't be dead... I allowed my head to sink into his neck and cry into his soft mess of hair that was clotted with spots of red. My tears lead way for nothing but emptiness. I allowed the blackness to take me.
11.00
The chair has turned itself into a dark colored piece of furniture. Isn't black or white or red... I cant' distinguish anything else. All I know was that he's gone. Someone has taken him from me. I see a figure approach me. "Sydney-" "Where is he?" I demand. "Sydney, he's gone, the wounds-" "Where the HELL is he?" "He's at the hospital, but-" "I need to see him." My father looks at me, cheeks stained with tears, frail and alone. [i]Alone.[/I] The word is beginning to haunt my very existence. "Sydney, please...you don't want to see him like this." I know he's right but I don't care, I have to see him one last time, have to look into those eyes and have them tell me he's ok, that everything is fine and this is how it was supposed to be. Have him tell me the sun will rise when I know it wouldn't. That bastard. What right does he have to leave, especially after all of this? What right does he have to tell me it will be ok when he is leaving me heartbroken, to tell me the sun will rise when this goddamn day would last forever, to tell me he loves me as he's dying... And then all the while to have it be my fault, to die in my arms with his blood on my hands and on my face and in my veins...running through me and around me and oh god I can't get him out of my mind. My father is saying words to me which I can't process but he seems to be telling me I need fresh air and to get some exercise and to clear my mind and all I need is him why can't anyone understand that? He was my savior, my guardian angel, my obsession, my lifeline, my lover...he was everything I ever will be and everything I ever can be. My ambrosia and my nectar. He was all I had and all I needed. And now he's gone. The familiarity of the whole situation is too ironic for my taste. "What hospital?" I manage, and he looks at me with an almost sympathetic gesture. "I know what you're going through, Sydney..." He begins, and that little bastard, how dare he tell me he knows what this feels like? "What right do you have to tell me that? Tell me you know how I feel, what I'm going through. To tell me you care about me and my life when all you've been doing for seven years is pushing me further and father out of yours! Ok, so your wife turned out be working against you. Guess what, dad? The man I was in love with for two years did the same exact thing to me! Not only that, he also tried to kill me. As if that's not enough, my fianse was killed because of a job I wouldn't even have in the first place if it weren't for your fucking Project Christmas or whatever the hell it was. And now...no, don't even try to touch me. I'm done with your bullshit! You come to me and tell me you want to be my father...after all this time, it's too late for that. Danny, Michael...they were both better people then you'll ever be! So don't tell me you weren't there because of heartbreak, that you didn't tell me about your job because you were afraid of hurting me. You've already done too much. So just stay out of my life." Jack Bristow takes a step back. I get out of my chair and walk past him. He doesn't even turn to look at me as I leave. If he had, he would have seen the tears rolling down my cheeks.
11.17
There was no point in going, but I did anyway. They wouldn't let me inside the room, but I was allowed to sit outside and wait for those fated words. The petite blond comes out and looks around until she see me, her eyes lowered in an unspoken sadness that she must have encountered endless times in her line of work. "You are the victim's wife?" I can only manage nodding, fearing a break down if I attempt to speak. The woman lookes down at her chart. "Sydney..." My eyes mist over and I clutch the edge of the chair I'm sitting on. "Oh god..." "I'm sorry, mam, we did everything we could, but the wounds were too close and they punctured the..." Her words fade out to a dull nothingness and I sink back into my chair, eyes red and soar. "I'm fine." I manage to whisper hoarsely, and then repeat this statement again. I'm not sure if I'm trying to convince myself or her, but it works on someone and I find myself alone in the middle of a white hallway, sitting in a white chair and wondering where it all went wrong. It's this horrible feeling, to know that you can never look someone in the eye, can never talk to them, can never be held in their arms and if only I had a second chance... I can keep convincing myself that this is the last time, that three is the charm and I can get over him and I'll fall in love again, but the truth is I have never fully recovered from Danny, and only recently have the deeper scars begun to fade away. I will never get over Danny, and there will be no chance that I will get over Michael. And so you carry on with this sick desolation, where nothing matters but everything seems to need to. People who have never encountered these losses can't understand this feeling. Can't understand the pain the littlest things can cause, when just a comment or a glance of something can set off lifetimes of memories. When closing your eyes is the most painful torture you could possibly endure. I have gone through dozens of fights, dozens of failures, dozens of "dentist visits," but the pain caused by these is only skin deep- recovery takes as long as bones take to heal, and the permanent damage is left to a minimum. Everything does eventually go back somewhere close to normal. Normal. The world that plagues my existence. I am sick and tired of being close enough to taste the one thing I want and then have it taken out from view. Have it lost forever in the game of life and death, the strange ritualistic practices that can make someone's life and take it away just as easily. I can leave this hospital and I can move on and I can live my regular life without him. But part of me will always stay inside this death trap and never leave. Somewhere between here and home I will lose myself forever to this game I play, this game of I love you I kill you- my life is such a despotic version of that addictive little flower game, and never am I lucky enough to be able to have hate as a factor to get over someone, just always love and goodbye. Sealed with a bloody kiss. The hospital walls are closing in on me. My father is beside me and I know he wants to say something but he can't- he can't and maybe I should help him god knows all the things I should have said before, not to him but to Michael... "Sydney..." He begins, like always, just my name like he's proud of himself for knowing it or something. And then he'll go on to say he's sorry, that he wishes he was more involved in my life and for a few days sometimes it will even feel like we're making connection, like he's my dad and I'm his daughter. But then it's just him again, black states, emotionless and cold. I can't go through this whole process again. I've gotten close too him too many times and then had him just ditch me. And now the only person I run to I ran away from and look where it's gotten me. Alone by my fucking self. "I was just leaving." I whispered, trying to sound bold and defiant, but nothing is going right now, everything is spinning out of control and why the hell should I be able to walk away from something that will just screw me over again? No, I deserve pain for never doubting my parents, for risking my life for my country, for devoting myself so entirely to work that I lost control of my own life. Why the hell did this all happen to me? I can get up and I can walk past him. Walk out of this hospital and out of this life. But I'm so scared to leave, afraid that leaving will mean letting him go forever, never to remember the sound of his voice or the way the sun shines on his face at eight in the morning. Never remembering how he'd listen to my problems even when it was killing him inside, how he was always there wether I'd called him or not, that he just knew. To forget his smile and the way his arms felt around me...that would be I worse hell then I was living in now. Sitting here in this single framed chair I can still pretend that he will be ok, that now I I'm here for him and that the fucking blond nurse will come out and tell me that there's been a mistake, that there was something wrong and he's ok, he is alive and... My father doesn't let me pass him, an act that I am almost thankful for. But I don't expect him to think I'll let him get away with his "I am your father, you will listen to me" bullshit. He's never been there for me before, why start now? "What the hell are you doing here?" He asks me, his face which I thought was carrying a look of sympathy turning back to steel again, a look I am usually more prepared for but I'm not prepared for anything anymore, everything's been happening so fast and god I'm losing my grip, I can't do this anymore... "I told you not to come here, Sydney, why the hell didn't you listen to me? [b]Look at me![/b]" He roared, his voice shaking the ceiling lights.
"Why the hell should I listen to you?" He tossed something at me. Manilla envelope. "Tell me whats in there." "How the hell would I know?" I shouted at him, getting up from my perch and up in his face. He picks it up and finds out for me, pulling out black and white stills of me and him walking down the aisle. Color pictures of the laughing, happy couple. The fucking couple that ruined my life. "Why the hell did no one know about this?" "Maybe if you were actually the father you're supposed to be, you would know! What right do you have to come here and make me feel bad about something when I don't give a damn what you think? Did you not get the message last time?" "Do you know who gets those security images via satellite? K- Directorate. The KGB. Anyone can! What the hell were you doing?" "What does it look like we're doing, Jack? Screwing the protocol that has defined my life for seven fucking years. That enslaved me, ruined me, screwed me over again and again." "You exposed yourself, Sydney! What did you think was going to happen, they would come up and tap you on the shoulder and ask you not to steal from them? Not to kill their bodyguards? This is how they give warnings, Sydney! How many times is this going to have to happen for you to get the message? There is a reason those doors are closed right now, there is a reason you are sitting here in the hospital, there is a reason why you are alive and he's not. I'm trying to help you, here." "Help me? By fucking breaking me-" I stop. There was no way I can finish. He's right, just as Sloane was those few years ago. I killed him. I fucking did this to myself. This is my problem and my fault and why does everything always come down to this? My father looks at me one last time, then leaves. I sit back down and curl into a ball. A small little black ball in a huge white empty hallway. Ever since he left things have gotten bigger and I have felt smaller. I'm incomplete now- I've lost something I can never get back. I stay curled up in the chair until a nurse comes to tell me the visiting hours are over. It's raining outside, big drops unfurling their fury upon the ground, wet tears raining down from the sky. I leave my car and walk aimlessly- I know I will end up somewhere some considerable time later, or lost, but all that matters now is just the water beating down on my body, ripping my pity away from me and replacing it with the intimate black of desolation. Things fall apart but they don't come back together. I will never fully heal from this wound, beyond the flesh, beyond my feelings, down deep into who I really am. He was my lifeline, I depended on him. And then he was gone. When you lost your only crutch, do you fall? Have I already fallen?
11.40
Don't move. Don't think. Don't cry. Don't care.
11.47
Things always move faster when they're put in slow motion. It's impossible for me to go back and review every moment I spent with him, every time we slipped and faltered, every time we made a mistake and made ourselves vulnerable. If I had ever read the CIA handbook, I'm sure it would have told me that attachment is a weakness. Finding someone you can get close to will end up getting you further then ever from where you wanted to be. I never wanted this to happen. Somewhere in my mind I was still rooting for a Cinderella ending without accepting that there is a point in your life when you have to realize that happily ever after is only Disney's million dollar lie. I thought we would last forever- this bond I had developed with him, stronger then I ever thought possible. Just being in his presence left me breathless. I couldn't imagine what life was going to be like without him. How could I walk into Sd-6, the CIA, any of the offices I work in without knowing that I can always talk to Michael, Michael is there and he will take me in his arms... If someone told you that love is like a song, somebody lied. Love is like a roller coaster, a hundred foot plummet. It's losing your breath and finding it only to lose it all over again. And then there's the end. The ride is over, you hit the ground. Love can take you away from everything but it will come around again and stab you in the back. Love is not a disaster, but it's not a cake walk either. There is a precious line you must stay on in order not to fall when the act is done. I fell off that line two years ago when I met him.
I am still walking through the pain, these little pellets of fear mixed with bloody sympathy clinging to my face as I walk through the dimly lit streets. The sun set an hour ago. The time is 11:48, that time forever frozen in time. And he did lie to me, because the sun will never rise tomorrow, tomorrow will never even come. I will be stuck in this day, this moment of final indifference and desolation, of complete and utter hopelessness forever. No matter how many tides rise and fall, the sun will stay at the bottom of the sky until I can find him again. Maybe they were right- maybe the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. Maybe anyone can overcome anything. Maybe some things other than emptiness last forever. But for me, the sun rises in hope. It sets in despair. And my small digital watch still blinks 11:48 at me, this time, the day almost over, my sins almost forgotten, my hopes almost reborn, my life almost renewed. And yet the clock will not change, just as the sun will not rise tommorow. I don't think it ever will.
9
[b]February 13[/b] the calendar states in bold red letters. They protrude from the page and lodge themselves deep in my mind, reminding me over and over that today would last forever.The day my life will begin and the day my life will end. Things have never mattered so much. Never have I cared so little. The calendar can only momentarily distract me from the clock- red numbers tick up and up in an endless cycle that can never be broken. Sixty seconds in a minute, sixty minutes in an hour, sixty hours since I made the biggest mistake of my life. Sixty hours since I stopped living. Yet the clock continues to spiral upwards, counting up to the next day, the next day that I know will never come. Counting down the hours until I will drift away forever. Drift and die. Francie has been gone, but that wasn't anything I didn't expect. As long as you continuously preach your sanity and smile through clenched teeth, people will be happy to agree and go on their way. There are no such things as 'true friends,' not even 'true enemies.' No one knows anyone but themselves, and even when they know that they still can't allow themselves to trust their own judgement. Trust someone and die alone; trust yourself and die with thousands. Your choices are limited to what you live by. Your future may look promising but everyone ends up just the same as everyone else in the end- some people just have more fun getting there. I have not had fun getting to where I am now. As far as I can tell, the end of my life will be the highlight of the decades I have spent watching a plastic alarm clock tick from ten to eleven to twelve in a deathly shade of red. So all I have to do now is wait as thirteen turns to sixteen turns to twenty turns to a pile of wires and plastic on my floor. The numbers flicker black for a second, then reappear at 12:48. They remain there as I leave- one moment frozen forever in time. Never reaching tomorrow.
10.00
The phone is ringing again. It has been doing so every five minutes or so, my caller id informing me that Jack Bristow, Arvin Sloane, Agent Kendall and Mr.Devlin have all been trying to reach me, and that I have been, as I am doing now, ignoring them. The phone also informs me that I have seven missed messages. What popularity. Seven people calling to tell me one of three things: That they are going to kill me, that someone else is going to kill me, or that I am going to kill myself. People these days are so helpful. The phone vibrates in my hand and I am tempted to let it join my clock. The thing is dirty and has a piece of grass sandwiched between the fold-over lid and the phone. The screen flashed ten digits that I have been avoiding. I press the talk button and lay the phone on the table. The man can talk to me all he wants- it doesn't mean I'll listen. But before I walk off to do anything but answer, I can hear three words spoken in a seemingly desperate tone. Three words that scare me to death.
10.30
There is this feeling you have when you lose control, when you just let everything go. You let go of the steering wheel and leave it all to chance, leave it all to fate. Like that movie Fight Club that Francie loved. You have to consider the chance that you are one of God's unwanted children. Once you let everything go, let go of pain, let go of fear- then you can embrace life. It's only once you've left everything behind that you find what really matters. Even if I'm not blowing up five credit card buildings and becoming schizophrenic, I have been pushed to the edge again and again. I'm so fucking [i]tired[i] of people telling me what's wrong with me and trying to help me. So tired of everyone using me as a bag they can push around and order to their will. I've lost myself and all senses I have ever previously upheld. Words have sifted into meaningless jumbles and the world is going to collapse, yet still I can do nothing but sit here and drive myself to insanity. Pardon the pun. The warehouse sits just over the next hill and to the left. How simple it would be to just go straight and turn. My life will never make things that easy for me. There are three cards behind me. One white, one black, one a hot red convertible. Not exactly tracking material, but you can never be too careful. Lose your senses and you'll end up with one night that marks the end of your life. One man that marks the end of your sanity.
I lose the white van by the second neighboorhood, and the black van stops at a house by the time I get back on to the main road. The red convertible had driven straight when I turned. It had obviously turned left as well, for when I turn into the lot of the warehouse there it sits, shiny and beautiful and red. Red. The color of death. Whoever said black held this honor had obviously never experienced death in it's true form. Black was the color of darkness, the color of solitude. Black was peaceful- a haven of sorts. Red was the real color of death. When everything came down to black and white, red was the only color that loved to seep through. Loved to torture you. Red was the curtains and the sheets and blood on the back of the convertible. Blood reading out my name. Shit. I double parked my van and jumped out. I ignored the car- for now- and ran into the warehouse, each footstep echoing the heartbeats I couldn't feel. Oh god, oh god, oh god... The middle room of the warehouse was covered in the very color of the convertible. Red. Everything was red and oh god this couldn't be what it seemed something happened here and my life, my life... The warehouse was filled with roses, rich red roses that seeped with double meaning. Roses, like dark chocolate- the sin of life and the taste of death, I had heard his voice, oh god, where was he? I ran past the roses and almost fell on top of the dark red stain. The stain was wet. It didn't take long to figure what had made it. 'Follow the red brick road' stained the dusty cement floor, and I realized for the first time that the roses made a road. Someone's idea of a sick joke. I wasn't laughing. This wasn't funny. I ran out of the warehouse and followed a thin red line that landed right at the empty convertible. There was a paper heart on the seat. The keys were in the ignition. This was too perfect, too planned. 'Happy Valentines Day!' The card shouted. I opened it so violently that the first page tore off and landed on the floor of the car. I didn't think the words 'from someone who loves you' would be inside the card. I didn't expect his signature. But I did wish to find any of these things, even a ruthless rejection. I didn't care, just as long as I was wrong, as long as this wasn't what I thought it was. The inside was a map. Lines running like veins running with blood...
The great thing about following directions is that it takes your mind off of everything else nine times out of ten. I didn't expect to be lucky and the ten minute drive allowed me thousands of scenarios- Sd-6, CIA, KGB, my father, myself and oh god he has to be dead because blood doesn't dry that fast and The building was decrepit and small. I threw myself out of the car and ran inside, screw being cautious, I need to find him, I need him to be alright. Need him to be alive... I tore inside the small complex, ran through gate after gate until I saw him and oh god the blood, there was so much blood. I tried to run to him but all I heard was a small click that stopped me instantaneously. "So, Ms.Bristow, we meet again." The woman's light accent drifted through the air and I felt the barrel on the side of my head. "I suggest if you have any weapons you remove them now." I didn't carry any weapons and she knew it, but I didn't care. His face was dried with blood on it and one eye was shit while the other lay open and it was watching me...how could I tell him, how could I- "Well, Happy early Valentines day sweety! After that lovely present you gave K-Directorate a couple days ago we decided there was nothing to do but return the favor." "This doesn't have to do with him." I whispered. "Oh, this has everything to do with him. Back in Vegas your husband and you took something that was very special to my agency. Then you trashed that branch of our system. And you, my dear, killed one of our men with your little kick boxing routine. That man was very special to us. I have a feeling this man was special to the CIA, too. Or at least, some people in the CIA." She walked around me and the gun wasn't on my head anymore but in front of me while she walked over to him. She put a hand on his head. "See, I told you she'd like the present!" She smiled at him, then turned back to me. "He was planning on celebrating Valentines Day by suggesting running away to Hawaii and getting married correctly. But see, I here knew you would never go for something as lame as that." This was a dream, this was all a dream and she wasn't here and there was no blood and I would wake up, I would wake up and it would be- "See, I knew that you would prefer him to show his love in true ways. Like, I don't know, sacrifice. Love runs in the same color as blood does. One is destined to the other. You can't change that." He mumbled something and she punched him in the face. "What did I tell you about speaking up?" "You are a sick little bitch." His words came out slowly and almost incoherent. Then his voice became softer. "Sydney..." "Oh, shut up." She said, standing up and kicking him in the stomach. Blood spilled out of his mouth. "Please stop." I whispered. "What?" She turned to me, gun pointed and ready. "Please don't kill him. Kill me, I'm the one you want, please don't let him die, I love him, this is all a dream, this isn't real..." I shut my eyes but all that resulted in was squeezing out the drops of salty liquid that had been resting there. When I opened them again all I could see was his face, his beautiful green eyes staring at me sadly, knowing this was the end... "He's not dead." I whispered to myself again and again as if saying these words would somehow make them true. Anna looked over at me, then walked back to him. "You're right! With good paramedics, he could still survive." She smiled, her eyes mocking me. Then she cocked the gun and fired, shot after shot after shot until blood seeped out of his chest in waves of red. "Now I'd say three to five minutes." My eyes widened and then contracted. Everything was still but moving at an impossible speed. "Michael..." I whispered into the seeming darkness. Then everything came back to speed in a matter of seconds and there was a flurry of unattainable motions. Anna had put her gun away. She looked at me with dark eyes, but I didn't care, all I needed was him, he needed to be alive, she hadn't shot him, this wasn't happening... I threw myself on him and tilted his head back. "Michael...Michael...talk to me...please..." His eyes moved convoulsivly and his throat moved. Blood spit out of his mouth and onto my face, his voice came out weak. "Sss...syd..." "Everything's going to be ok, Michael, I love you, this will all be over, you're going to be ok..." I had his head cradled in my arms and tears slipped down my cheeks. Every note of sound was amplified a thousand times and I could hear the drops fall on the dusty cement floor in the impending silence. "Al..way...always, s-s-sydney. The su..." He swallowed and blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. His wound drenched his white shirt and my frail hands. "Sun will r...rise..tomm..mo..row." His eyes locked in for a second onto mine and my heart stopped beating. "No, Michael..." I whispered, bringing a hand up to touch his cheek. His eyes closed and the hand that had been in mine went limp. "No!" I screamed, tears drenching my face. I looked at his face still in my hands. He couldn't be gone, not now.... "Michael!" I let his head rest on the floor and jumped up to turn to see her. "You sick little bitch! You killed him! You fucking KILLED him!" I wiped furiously at my eyes and tried to jump on her. His eyes, so distant so gone and I was going to kill her with my own hands I was going to kill her and... I saw the metal before I heard it but I didn't care, nothing mattered now but him. "Why the hell did you do this? What good does this do you? Why not me, you little bitch? Why him..." All the energy my rage depended on seeped through my eyes and I fell to the floor, grasping desperately to any hope that I had left but found none. "Next time don't mess with us." I watched as her red stiletto heals clicked their way out of the little warehouse, then dragged myself over to him and placed a hand on his face. "Michael, I'm so sorry....michael..." There is nothing you can say to a dead man, no way to say everything you haven't said, no way to redeem the things you have done. Only people such as Romeo and Juliet get second chances. I didn't even have a way out. My heart was ripping my body to shreds. "michael..." I whispered again, knowing that his name would not bring him back and oh god what I wouldn't give to see him breathe again, to see the blood on his body be transferred to mine. I lay my head down on his chest. "I'm so sorry, michael..." I whispered. The world shifted to black and white and red and he couldn't be dead... I allowed my head to sink into his neck and cry into his soft mess of hair that was clotted with spots of red. My tears lead way for nothing but emptiness. I allowed the blackness to take me.
11.00
The chair has turned itself into a dark colored piece of furniture. Isn't black or white or red... I cant' distinguish anything else. All I know was that he's gone. Someone has taken him from me. I see a figure approach me. "Sydney-" "Where is he?" I demand. "Sydney, he's gone, the wounds-" "Where the HELL is he?" "He's at the hospital, but-" "I need to see him." My father looks at me, cheeks stained with tears, frail and alone. [i]Alone.[/I] The word is beginning to haunt my very existence. "Sydney, please...you don't want to see him like this." I know he's right but I don't care, I have to see him one last time, have to look into those eyes and have them tell me he's ok, that everything is fine and this is how it was supposed to be. Have him tell me the sun will rise when I know it wouldn't. That bastard. What right does he have to leave, especially after all of this? What right does he have to tell me it will be ok when he is leaving me heartbroken, to tell me the sun will rise when this goddamn day would last forever, to tell me he loves me as he's dying... And then all the while to have it be my fault, to die in my arms with his blood on my hands and on my face and in my veins...running through me and around me and oh god I can't get him out of my mind. My father is saying words to me which I can't process but he seems to be telling me I need fresh air and to get some exercise and to clear my mind and all I need is him why can't anyone understand that? He was my savior, my guardian angel, my obsession, my lifeline, my lover...he was everything I ever will be and everything I ever can be. My ambrosia and my nectar. He was all I had and all I needed. And now he's gone. The familiarity of the whole situation is too ironic for my taste. "What hospital?" I manage, and he looks at me with an almost sympathetic gesture. "I know what you're going through, Sydney..." He begins, and that little bastard, how dare he tell me he knows what this feels like? "What right do you have to tell me that? Tell me you know how I feel, what I'm going through. To tell me you care about me and my life when all you've been doing for seven years is pushing me further and father out of yours! Ok, so your wife turned out be working against you. Guess what, dad? The man I was in love with for two years did the same exact thing to me! Not only that, he also tried to kill me. As if that's not enough, my fianse was killed because of a job I wouldn't even have in the first place if it weren't for your fucking Project Christmas or whatever the hell it was. And now...no, don't even try to touch me. I'm done with your bullshit! You come to me and tell me you want to be my father...after all this time, it's too late for that. Danny, Michael...they were both better people then you'll ever be! So don't tell me you weren't there because of heartbreak, that you didn't tell me about your job because you were afraid of hurting me. You've already done too much. So just stay out of my life." Jack Bristow takes a step back. I get out of my chair and walk past him. He doesn't even turn to look at me as I leave. If he had, he would have seen the tears rolling down my cheeks.
11.17
There was no point in going, but I did anyway. They wouldn't let me inside the room, but I was allowed to sit outside and wait for those fated words. The petite blond comes out and looks around until she see me, her eyes lowered in an unspoken sadness that she must have encountered endless times in her line of work. "You are the victim's wife?" I can only manage nodding, fearing a break down if I attempt to speak. The woman lookes down at her chart. "Sydney..." My eyes mist over and I clutch the edge of the chair I'm sitting on. "Oh god..." "I'm sorry, mam, we did everything we could, but the wounds were too close and they punctured the..." Her words fade out to a dull nothingness and I sink back into my chair, eyes red and soar. "I'm fine." I manage to whisper hoarsely, and then repeat this statement again. I'm not sure if I'm trying to convince myself or her, but it works on someone and I find myself alone in the middle of a white hallway, sitting in a white chair and wondering where it all went wrong. It's this horrible feeling, to know that you can never look someone in the eye, can never talk to them, can never be held in their arms and if only I had a second chance... I can keep convincing myself that this is the last time, that three is the charm and I can get over him and I'll fall in love again, but the truth is I have never fully recovered from Danny, and only recently have the deeper scars begun to fade away. I will never get over Danny, and there will be no chance that I will get over Michael. And so you carry on with this sick desolation, where nothing matters but everything seems to need to. People who have never encountered these losses can't understand this feeling. Can't understand the pain the littlest things can cause, when just a comment or a glance of something can set off lifetimes of memories. When closing your eyes is the most painful torture you could possibly endure. I have gone through dozens of fights, dozens of failures, dozens of "dentist visits," but the pain caused by these is only skin deep- recovery takes as long as bones take to heal, and the permanent damage is left to a minimum. Everything does eventually go back somewhere close to normal. Normal. The world that plagues my existence. I am sick and tired of being close enough to taste the one thing I want and then have it taken out from view. Have it lost forever in the game of life and death, the strange ritualistic practices that can make someone's life and take it away just as easily. I can leave this hospital and I can move on and I can live my regular life without him. But part of me will always stay inside this death trap and never leave. Somewhere between here and home I will lose myself forever to this game I play, this game of I love you I kill you- my life is such a despotic version of that addictive little flower game, and never am I lucky enough to be able to have hate as a factor to get over someone, just always love and goodbye. Sealed with a bloody kiss. The hospital walls are closing in on me. My father is beside me and I know he wants to say something but he can't- he can't and maybe I should help him god knows all the things I should have said before, not to him but to Michael... "Sydney..." He begins, like always, just my name like he's proud of himself for knowing it or something. And then he'll go on to say he's sorry, that he wishes he was more involved in my life and for a few days sometimes it will even feel like we're making connection, like he's my dad and I'm his daughter. But then it's just him again, black states, emotionless and cold. I can't go through this whole process again. I've gotten close too him too many times and then had him just ditch me. And now the only person I run to I ran away from and look where it's gotten me. Alone by my fucking self. "I was just leaving." I whispered, trying to sound bold and defiant, but nothing is going right now, everything is spinning out of control and why the hell should I be able to walk away from something that will just screw me over again? No, I deserve pain for never doubting my parents, for risking my life for my country, for devoting myself so entirely to work that I lost control of my own life. Why the hell did this all happen to me? I can get up and I can walk past him. Walk out of this hospital and out of this life. But I'm so scared to leave, afraid that leaving will mean letting him go forever, never to remember the sound of his voice or the way the sun shines on his face at eight in the morning. Never remembering how he'd listen to my problems even when it was killing him inside, how he was always there wether I'd called him or not, that he just knew. To forget his smile and the way his arms felt around me...that would be I worse hell then I was living in now. Sitting here in this single framed chair I can still pretend that he will be ok, that now I I'm here for him and that the fucking blond nurse will come out and tell me that there's been a mistake, that there was something wrong and he's ok, he is alive and... My father doesn't let me pass him, an act that I am almost thankful for. But I don't expect him to think I'll let him get away with his "I am your father, you will listen to me" bullshit. He's never been there for me before, why start now? "What the hell are you doing here?" He asks me, his face which I thought was carrying a look of sympathy turning back to steel again, a look I am usually more prepared for but I'm not prepared for anything anymore, everything's been happening so fast and god I'm losing my grip, I can't do this anymore... "I told you not to come here, Sydney, why the hell didn't you listen to me? [b]Look at me![/b]" He roared, his voice shaking the ceiling lights.
"Why the hell should I listen to you?" He tossed something at me. Manilla envelope. "Tell me whats in there." "How the hell would I know?" I shouted at him, getting up from my perch and up in his face. He picks it up and finds out for me, pulling out black and white stills of me and him walking down the aisle. Color pictures of the laughing, happy couple. The fucking couple that ruined my life. "Why the hell did no one know about this?" "Maybe if you were actually the father you're supposed to be, you would know! What right do you have to come here and make me feel bad about something when I don't give a damn what you think? Did you not get the message last time?" "Do you know who gets those security images via satellite? K- Directorate. The KGB. Anyone can! What the hell were you doing?" "What does it look like we're doing, Jack? Screwing the protocol that has defined my life for seven fucking years. That enslaved me, ruined me, screwed me over again and again." "You exposed yourself, Sydney! What did you think was going to happen, they would come up and tap you on the shoulder and ask you not to steal from them? Not to kill their bodyguards? This is how they give warnings, Sydney! How many times is this going to have to happen for you to get the message? There is a reason those doors are closed right now, there is a reason you are sitting here in the hospital, there is a reason why you are alive and he's not. I'm trying to help you, here." "Help me? By fucking breaking me-" I stop. There was no way I can finish. He's right, just as Sloane was those few years ago. I killed him. I fucking did this to myself. This is my problem and my fault and why does everything always come down to this? My father looks at me one last time, then leaves. I sit back down and curl into a ball. A small little black ball in a huge white empty hallway. Ever since he left things have gotten bigger and I have felt smaller. I'm incomplete now- I've lost something I can never get back. I stay curled up in the chair until a nurse comes to tell me the visiting hours are over. It's raining outside, big drops unfurling their fury upon the ground, wet tears raining down from the sky. I leave my car and walk aimlessly- I know I will end up somewhere some considerable time later, or lost, but all that matters now is just the water beating down on my body, ripping my pity away from me and replacing it with the intimate black of desolation. Things fall apart but they don't come back together. I will never fully heal from this wound, beyond the flesh, beyond my feelings, down deep into who I really am. He was my lifeline, I depended on him. And then he was gone. When you lost your only crutch, do you fall? Have I already fallen?
11.40
Don't move. Don't think. Don't cry. Don't care.
11.47
Things always move faster when they're put in slow motion. It's impossible for me to go back and review every moment I spent with him, every time we slipped and faltered, every time we made a mistake and made ourselves vulnerable. If I had ever read the CIA handbook, I'm sure it would have told me that attachment is a weakness. Finding someone you can get close to will end up getting you further then ever from where you wanted to be. I never wanted this to happen. Somewhere in my mind I was still rooting for a Cinderella ending without accepting that there is a point in your life when you have to realize that happily ever after is only Disney's million dollar lie. I thought we would last forever- this bond I had developed with him, stronger then I ever thought possible. Just being in his presence left me breathless. I couldn't imagine what life was going to be like without him. How could I walk into Sd-6, the CIA, any of the offices I work in without knowing that I can always talk to Michael, Michael is there and he will take me in his arms... If someone told you that love is like a song, somebody lied. Love is like a roller coaster, a hundred foot plummet. It's losing your breath and finding it only to lose it all over again. And then there's the end. The ride is over, you hit the ground. Love can take you away from everything but it will come around again and stab you in the back. Love is not a disaster, but it's not a cake walk either. There is a precious line you must stay on in order not to fall when the act is done. I fell off that line two years ago when I met him.
I am still walking through the pain, these little pellets of fear mixed with bloody sympathy clinging to my face as I walk through the dimly lit streets. The sun set an hour ago. The time is 11:48, that time forever frozen in time. And he did lie to me, because the sun will never rise tomorrow, tomorrow will never even come. I will be stuck in this day, this moment of final indifference and desolation, of complete and utter hopelessness forever. No matter how many tides rise and fall, the sun will stay at the bottom of the sky until I can find him again. Maybe they were right- maybe the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. Maybe anyone can overcome anything. Maybe some things other than emptiness last forever. But for me, the sun rises in hope. It sets in despair. And my small digital watch still blinks 11:48 at me, this time, the day almost over, my sins almost forgotten, my hopes almost reborn, my life almost renewed. And yet the clock will not change, just as the sun will not rise tommorow. I don't think it ever will.