Where the hell am I?
I'm wet, cold and tied to a worn out chair. I adjust my eyes to the dim light and find that the room is unkempt and damp. The majority of the furniture, if you can call it that, doesn't look as if it has been touched in years. My attempt to get a glance at the remainder of the room behind me is foiled by the startling realization that I am aching all over. Which poses another question.
How the hell did I get here?
I'm wet, cold, and tied to a worn out chair. And I have no idea why. I try to ignore the state of pain my entire body is in at the moment and shut my eyes in search of answers. Suddenly my memory of the previous night comes rushing back. Water. Lots of water. A closed door. And Sydney's eyes. The pain and regret that flashed across her face are burned into my mind.
For some reason, the aching only gets worse.
I cringe at the sound of slow footsteps approaching and am not at all surprised to find "The man" standing in the doorway. I am, however a bit shocked to see steam rising from a bowl of soup he is holding. His eyes wander over the heinous state I am currently in and he takes a seat.
"Khasinau."
"Agent Vaughn." He nods at me, and for some reason I sense a feeling of regret in his words. "You should eat something."
"I'm not hungry."
He sighs and again gives me a once over. He places the soup on a crate next to me and moves to exit.
"Wait, you can't just leave me here. I have questions."
"I know. And 'the man' will be in shortly to answer them for you."
"Excuse me?"
He stops and shakes his head, but does not turn to respond. He takes about ten steps and stops. I hear voices in a room further down the hallway and again, slow steps approach me. But these steps are different, softer, almost as if.
"Hello Michael."
"Oh my God."
I stare idly at the woman before me, and find myself at a loss of words. All the pain I was feeling before is replaced by hatred. We were wrong. We were so wrong. And it was so obvious. Irina Derevko, the devil herself, was apparently 'the man' as well. She grins widely at me.
"Don't feel too bad Mr. Vaughn, if Jack and Sydney haven't figured it out by now, you most certainly can't expect yourself to have." She moves forward, looking down at me with an amused smile plastered across her face." How have you been, Michael? I haven't seen you sense you were, what, 8 years old I believe. You have grown up into quite an impressive young man."
It takes all I have not to lash out at her for using my father's death against me. I should have expected her to do so, but it is still killing me inside.
"What is it you would like me to call you? Irina, 'the man', or perhaps you still go by Laura."
"So sharp, Mr. Vaughn. Irina will be fine."
"Alright then, Irina, what the hell do you want with me? I know nothing of importance to you."
"It's not what you know, but who you are. My daughter seems to be quite smitten with you and I intend to find out why that is."
"You do not have the right to refer to Sydney as your daughter. We both know that."
I finally get a frown out of her, and while that is a good thing for my esteem, it may not be so good for my health.
"I am her mother weather you like it or not, Agent Vaughn."
"A mother would not have left her child. Sydney was six when you ran yourself off that bridge. Did you even stop to think of what that would do to her?"
"Michael, I do not advise you to."
Shaking my head, I ignore her 'advice. "You were damn lucky though, weren't you Irina. Sydney turned out amazing without your help."
Her playful voice turns sharp and stern, and she begins to glare icily at me.
"I'd like to think she took after her mother. You have to admit that the resemblance is striking."
I choke out the best laugh I am able. I am pretty sure I was drugged at some point during my captivity because there is no other explanation for my outspoken manner.
"Look, I hate to 'burst your bubble' or anything, but that couldn't be further from the truth. Sydney looks nothing like you. If you knew her at all, you would see that. She is loyal, honest and has a heart, a few things you would know nothing about."
Just then, something in her eyes changed, something snapped. She looks at me quizzically.
"I think you may have just sealed your fate, Agent Vaughn. I was going to keep you alive, for my daughters sake, but your existence has turned out to be to much of an imposition." She gets up from her seat in front of me and takes two steps back, reaching into her pocket for what I can only assume to be a gun. "I assume that as a child you wondered the details of your fathers death. You knew, of course, that your daddy died a hero. But you wanted to know how. Protocol, a word I am sure you are more than familiar with, keeps the CIA from releasing those details. Admit it, Michael, you are curious aren't you? "
"Don't."
"Don't what, Vaughn? That's what she calls you is it not? Always Vaughn, never Michael."
"Please."
"Begging, are we? You know, I never would have pinned you as one to stoop as low as begging. Your father never did."
I want to yell, I want to scream, but I can't. Slowly, tears begin to fall down my face. This, of course, makes her smile again, and she begins to pace. "I have no doubt that you have realized by now that I am going to kill you. However, I have also decided to give you a choice. You see, when I was a younger agent, I was enamored with the process of death. I studied every form of murder with fascination; I spent my nights trying to discover the average mans breaking point, the exact moment where everything goes blank." She stops pacing and is standing not more than a foot away, glaring upon me with a victorious look on her face. "Here is your choice, Vaughn. I no longer enjoy my methods of torture. I now prefer a simple shot to the heart. But I am willing to grant you the option you have dreamed of for almost thirty years. Say the word, and you will leave this world the same as your father. You will finally know exactly what dear old dad saw in his last moments. All you have to do is say the word."
My breath catches in my throat as she makes me the offer. As a boy, of course I wanted to die as my father did, a hero But I never would have imagined that. Suddenly I find myself unwillingly shaking my head in response.
"No? Very well then. This may sound cliché, but I cannot resist. Any final words Michael?"
"Tell her. tell her I loved her."
I see her triumphant smile, and shut my eyes, looking for the one image, or should I say face, I want to part with.
And then I hear it.
Unlike she promised, its not just one. Instead, a bombardment of shots ring through my ears. Suddenly, I realize that for some reason, I feel nothing. No pain, no anguish, and no bright light. I open my eyes, only to find that Irina Derevko is no longer the woman standing before me. She is lying on the ground ridden with bullet holes. The woman who has replaced her takes one last shot and tosses the gun with relative ease next the body, and turns to look into my eyes.
Sydney.
I'm wet, cold and tied to a worn out chair. I adjust my eyes to the dim light and find that the room is unkempt and damp. The majority of the furniture, if you can call it that, doesn't look as if it has been touched in years. My attempt to get a glance at the remainder of the room behind me is foiled by the startling realization that I am aching all over. Which poses another question.
How the hell did I get here?
I'm wet, cold, and tied to a worn out chair. And I have no idea why. I try to ignore the state of pain my entire body is in at the moment and shut my eyes in search of answers. Suddenly my memory of the previous night comes rushing back. Water. Lots of water. A closed door. And Sydney's eyes. The pain and regret that flashed across her face are burned into my mind.
For some reason, the aching only gets worse.
I cringe at the sound of slow footsteps approaching and am not at all surprised to find "The man" standing in the doorway. I am, however a bit shocked to see steam rising from a bowl of soup he is holding. His eyes wander over the heinous state I am currently in and he takes a seat.
"Khasinau."
"Agent Vaughn." He nods at me, and for some reason I sense a feeling of regret in his words. "You should eat something."
"I'm not hungry."
He sighs and again gives me a once over. He places the soup on a crate next to me and moves to exit.
"Wait, you can't just leave me here. I have questions."
"I know. And 'the man' will be in shortly to answer them for you."
"Excuse me?"
He stops and shakes his head, but does not turn to respond. He takes about ten steps and stops. I hear voices in a room further down the hallway and again, slow steps approach me. But these steps are different, softer, almost as if.
"Hello Michael."
"Oh my God."
I stare idly at the woman before me, and find myself at a loss of words. All the pain I was feeling before is replaced by hatred. We were wrong. We were so wrong. And it was so obvious. Irina Derevko, the devil herself, was apparently 'the man' as well. She grins widely at me.
"Don't feel too bad Mr. Vaughn, if Jack and Sydney haven't figured it out by now, you most certainly can't expect yourself to have." She moves forward, looking down at me with an amused smile plastered across her face." How have you been, Michael? I haven't seen you sense you were, what, 8 years old I believe. You have grown up into quite an impressive young man."
It takes all I have not to lash out at her for using my father's death against me. I should have expected her to do so, but it is still killing me inside.
"What is it you would like me to call you? Irina, 'the man', or perhaps you still go by Laura."
"So sharp, Mr. Vaughn. Irina will be fine."
"Alright then, Irina, what the hell do you want with me? I know nothing of importance to you."
"It's not what you know, but who you are. My daughter seems to be quite smitten with you and I intend to find out why that is."
"You do not have the right to refer to Sydney as your daughter. We both know that."
I finally get a frown out of her, and while that is a good thing for my esteem, it may not be so good for my health.
"I am her mother weather you like it or not, Agent Vaughn."
"A mother would not have left her child. Sydney was six when you ran yourself off that bridge. Did you even stop to think of what that would do to her?"
"Michael, I do not advise you to."
Shaking my head, I ignore her 'advice. "You were damn lucky though, weren't you Irina. Sydney turned out amazing without your help."
Her playful voice turns sharp and stern, and she begins to glare icily at me.
"I'd like to think she took after her mother. You have to admit that the resemblance is striking."
I choke out the best laugh I am able. I am pretty sure I was drugged at some point during my captivity because there is no other explanation for my outspoken manner.
"Look, I hate to 'burst your bubble' or anything, but that couldn't be further from the truth. Sydney looks nothing like you. If you knew her at all, you would see that. She is loyal, honest and has a heart, a few things you would know nothing about."
Just then, something in her eyes changed, something snapped. She looks at me quizzically.
"I think you may have just sealed your fate, Agent Vaughn. I was going to keep you alive, for my daughters sake, but your existence has turned out to be to much of an imposition." She gets up from her seat in front of me and takes two steps back, reaching into her pocket for what I can only assume to be a gun. "I assume that as a child you wondered the details of your fathers death. You knew, of course, that your daddy died a hero. But you wanted to know how. Protocol, a word I am sure you are more than familiar with, keeps the CIA from releasing those details. Admit it, Michael, you are curious aren't you? "
"Don't."
"Don't what, Vaughn? That's what she calls you is it not? Always Vaughn, never Michael."
"Please."
"Begging, are we? You know, I never would have pinned you as one to stoop as low as begging. Your father never did."
I want to yell, I want to scream, but I can't. Slowly, tears begin to fall down my face. This, of course, makes her smile again, and she begins to pace. "I have no doubt that you have realized by now that I am going to kill you. However, I have also decided to give you a choice. You see, when I was a younger agent, I was enamored with the process of death. I studied every form of murder with fascination; I spent my nights trying to discover the average mans breaking point, the exact moment where everything goes blank." She stops pacing and is standing not more than a foot away, glaring upon me with a victorious look on her face. "Here is your choice, Vaughn. I no longer enjoy my methods of torture. I now prefer a simple shot to the heart. But I am willing to grant you the option you have dreamed of for almost thirty years. Say the word, and you will leave this world the same as your father. You will finally know exactly what dear old dad saw in his last moments. All you have to do is say the word."
My breath catches in my throat as she makes me the offer. As a boy, of course I wanted to die as my father did, a hero But I never would have imagined that. Suddenly I find myself unwillingly shaking my head in response.
"No? Very well then. This may sound cliché, but I cannot resist. Any final words Michael?"
"Tell her. tell her I loved her."
I see her triumphant smile, and shut my eyes, looking for the one image, or should I say face, I want to part with.
And then I hear it.
Unlike she promised, its not just one. Instead, a bombardment of shots ring through my ears. Suddenly, I realize that for some reason, I feel nothing. No pain, no anguish, and no bright light. I open my eyes, only to find that Irina Derevko is no longer the woman standing before me. She is lying on the ground ridden with bullet holes. The woman who has replaced her takes one last shot and tosses the gun with relative ease next the body, and turns to look into my eyes.
Sydney.