Chapter 2:
Vaughn's absence was the product of the CIA's impotence. I wanted to kick something, throw a chair out the window. . . anything to release all the emotion pent up inside of me. But I only felt sadness.
I looked closely at the pictures. Here was Vaughn, in a cell. This had to be a recent one. He looked as though he had lost twenty pounds. There was a fresh bruise on his cheek. I wanted to cry. Once again, a love of my life has been taken away from me. I look at the pictures without seeing them, trying to force them to talk to me and tell me that he is going to be okay. I memorize his face, try to picture him in my mind, talking to me or giving me a mission.
It's always the little things you remember when you lose someone.
I remember one time when it was raining while we were having our meeting. It had been one of our first ones where I still wasn't sure if I liked him or not. I hadn't known then that I would come to love him. He had looked at me, and then said something stupid and obvious like "You're all wet", and then he tucked a loose strand of my hair behind my ear.
I think that's the thing that struck me the most. How he was always able to find compassion for everyone; how he always managed to look out for me in every way that he could when he wasn't even sure he was appreciated.
If he were here now, I would tell him. Tell him how much he matters to me, tell him that I know how he feels and I feel it too.
And then I notice something peculiar about his hands. In every picture, he is in the exact same pose except his hands are always shaped differently. I take a closer look. And finally see it. Adrenaline suddenly rushes through my system as I realize Vaughn's brilliance.
I tie my hair back, keeping it from becoming too much of a nuisance. It was time to brush up on my sign language. Were these pictures in order? Please let them be in order. I quickly flip through them and even though I might just be convincing myself, I think I see his getting thinner, as if I'm looking through a flipbook. But I decide to trust my instinct and get to work. The first one is subtle, as if he's scared and unsure of how smart his captors were. How did they hurt you Vaughn? Tell me where you are so I can save you. I need you in my life. Don't give up on my now. T. Tennesee? Turkey? I flip to the next picture, the next and then the one after that. It's all coming back quickly now. R-A-T-T-O-.
I don't have to go on. I know where he is.
Italy, here I come.
Vaughn's absence was the product of the CIA's impotence. I wanted to kick something, throw a chair out the window. . . anything to release all the emotion pent up inside of me. But I only felt sadness.
I looked closely at the pictures. Here was Vaughn, in a cell. This had to be a recent one. He looked as though he had lost twenty pounds. There was a fresh bruise on his cheek. I wanted to cry. Once again, a love of my life has been taken away from me. I look at the pictures without seeing them, trying to force them to talk to me and tell me that he is going to be okay. I memorize his face, try to picture him in my mind, talking to me or giving me a mission.
It's always the little things you remember when you lose someone.
I remember one time when it was raining while we were having our meeting. It had been one of our first ones where I still wasn't sure if I liked him or not. I hadn't known then that I would come to love him. He had looked at me, and then said something stupid and obvious like "You're all wet", and then he tucked a loose strand of my hair behind my ear.
I think that's the thing that struck me the most. How he was always able to find compassion for everyone; how he always managed to look out for me in every way that he could when he wasn't even sure he was appreciated.
If he were here now, I would tell him. Tell him how much he matters to me, tell him that I know how he feels and I feel it too.
And then I notice something peculiar about his hands. In every picture, he is in the exact same pose except his hands are always shaped differently. I take a closer look. And finally see it. Adrenaline suddenly rushes through my system as I realize Vaughn's brilliance.
I tie my hair back, keeping it from becoming too much of a nuisance. It was time to brush up on my sign language. Were these pictures in order? Please let them be in order. I quickly flip through them and even though I might just be convincing myself, I think I see his getting thinner, as if I'm looking through a flipbook. But I decide to trust my instinct and get to work. The first one is subtle, as if he's scared and unsure of how smart his captors were. How did they hurt you Vaughn? Tell me where you are so I can save you. I need you in my life. Don't give up on my now. T. Tennesee? Turkey? I flip to the next picture, the next and then the one after that. It's all coming back quickly now. R-A-T-T-O-.
I don't have to go on. I know where he is.
Italy, here I come.
