Epilogue
Epilogue
~
The apartment certainly looked better than before. Weiss and Sydney (under the cover of her father) had swept through the small living space, cleaning it in record time, careful to be quiet as their friend slept in the next room. Midnight seemed an unconventional time for the pair to be cleaning, but they were unconventional people stuck in unusual circumstances. The vacuum would be run later, maybe in the morning when it wouldn't disturb so many people. The pair was simply lucky Vaughn had been utterly exhausted and fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow, not even allowing for the time needed to change out of his clothes.
At least, that's what they thought.
Behind the closed door to his bedroom, Michael Vaughn sat at the edge of his bed, his feet hanging on the metal frame for his bed like they had so many times as a child. The metal cut into his feet, but he was too distracted to notice. Hunched over next to the lamp on his bedside table, he held his father's journal in his hand, the pages held down with his thumb. Only five minutes before had he sat in the bathroom, desperately attempting to rid the cover of the blood from his now properly-dressed hand, surprised that his cleaning crew hadn't heard the running water from his bathroom sink. He was left with a pinkish smear across the cover, but he would have to live with it as a constant reminder of the day, of his doubts.
The handwriting was messier than normal, scrawled in a short time late at night, the day before his plane was to leave. His lips curved up as he noticed the date - how Irina had known that, he would never know and he never intended to ask her about it either. There were just some things he'd rather not know;, the old saying 'ignorance is bliss' coming to mind. He didn't need to know details, just truths, and simple ones at that.
Such as the one Sydney (and thank God she wasn't angry with him!) had tried to tell him back in the small hallway outside Irina's glass prison. It was there, staring at him in faded black ink. His father's unwavering love and devotion to his family, his internal struggle over having to leave them behind all the time. The smile on Vaughn's face grew as he read that paragraph, his faith in his idol restored.
And then there was a section dedicated to him, should he read the journal. He flipped the page, the index finger from his other hand resting at the top of the page.
I hope you can understand what I did at some point in your life, my boy.
I never meant for you to become involved in my mistakes, but I know you will grow into the type of man who will know what to do when that day comes. I know you will be confused, lost even, but it will not last. You're stronger than that. I wish I could be there to see you when you're older, and save you from this future.
Despite this journal, I know you will want to follow in my footsteps, you're much too stubborn to be dissuaded. Please be careful and don't repeat my mistakes.
Vaughn sighed, lifting his head. His eyes focused on a photograph he had hanging on the wall, one of his family a few years before his father's death. How had he missed the extra worry-lines engraved around his father's sparkling eyes? Or the worry that resided there, before this moment? His mind zoomed to a college philosophy course, and the teachings of some Asian school of thought, that the reality we see isn't reality at all. Is that what his father was trying to tell him? Irina as well? Warning the children of the next generation that things aren't always what they seem?
What had they gotten this generation into?
A crash in the other room took his attention away from the photograph. For a second, he considered going out there, but stayed put as he heard Weiss swear and Sydney chastise him for being too loud. This is what the elder generation didn't have - trust, fellowship, support.
Michael Vaughn considered himself a very lucky man.
If that was what the afternoon's events were trying to show him, they succeeded. And he was sure the message had been received.
He clicked off the lamp, waiting for them to notice the change in light, but he wasn't caught. The rain had stopped, which made Vaughn frown. He enjoyed listening to its calming rhythm when it came to falling asleep. He lay there, atop of his covers still dressed from that evening, his shoes lying at the end of the bed where he'd kicked them off. The soft scurrying of his friends gathering their things floated through the thin door and was followed by the thunk of his front door shutting as they left. He sighed, laying his arm over his eyes. What a day!
He certainly was tired despite the nap he had taken earlier that day. His eyes slowly slipped closed, the last thing he remembered thinking was that he was never going to be able to sleep. As soon as he had fell asleep though, he was back in the dream.
At first, he had no idea what was going on. Where there had been blood before there was now just simple tan sand, where there had been screams, now the ocean's soft waves sounded unhindered. He twisted around, trying to figure out where he was. At least he was wearing shoes this time, the sand moving out of the way as he took several experimental steps. This was the same beach, wasn't it?
"Mikey!" He knew that voice! He whipped around as fast as he could, a smile springing to his face. "There you are! Don't wander off like that again!" It was his father, dressed casually for a day at the beach, his face formally so full of worry, now sporting a smile that matched Vaughn's own. At first, Vaughn felt like he was in a memory, one in which he had wandered off as usual. But then, once noticing that it was still the moonlit beach with the absence of people, he rethought his position. Had his father in his dream meant wander off in regard to himself? That Vaughn had strayed from some kind of predestined path?
The father put an arm around his son, the feeling odd, as Vaughn was now a few inches taller than his father (he'd never noticed how tall he was before being compared here to the 'giant', as he had called him). He looked at him oddly, the look reflected in the other's matching eyes.
"What's wrong with you, Mikey? You look like you've seen a ghost!" his father exclaimed. Vaughn laughed. It was a loud, rich laugh, releasing all the apprehension he'd held inside all day. He had seen a ghost, hadn't he? The ghost of his father, as created in his mind. All put in motion so many years in the past, flooding him with the experiences that should have been spread out over a longer period. It was all because of his stubbornness, his refusal to read that one final entry. How different would the day have been, if he had just read it?
It was as if he were programmed, in a way, to break down at a certain point. What if he had read it all those years ago, gotten the disk and given the computer to the CIA? This wouldn't have happened, would it have?
"No, Mikey, I supposed not," his father sighed next to him. Shocked, Vaughn turned to the man who was still leading him down the beach. Had he been listening in on his son's thoughts?
"A breakdown was the only way?"
"You read it, didn't you?" the father said, stopping near the steps to the boardwalk. "I'm sorry to put you through all this, son. I knew if you hadn't read it by now, you must have hated me. I had to show you the truth."
"The truth."
"Don't ask me, you're creating all this. This was simply your way of working through your problems. Some people take up kick boxing to battle their demons, son. You're still quite the drama king, so to speak."
They were standing side by side, facing the ocean. The moon was slowly slipping down the sky, the stars already fading in the early morning sky.
"So they're gone?" he asked, hopeful. His father shook his head.
"They're never gone. You simply came to an understanding. You're free," he smiled, sitting down on the sand. Vaughn continued to stand, his hands laced together behind his head. Free? Yes, he could see that, for sure. "Now sit down and watch the sunrise with me," his father asked, beckoning him to sit with his hand. Vaughn smirked, falling to the sand with a whoosh.
The sunrise was beautiful.
In her cell, Irina Derevko smiled. It was time. She would only have to wait a little longer, just a little longer.
~
And that's it! I hope you enjoyed it! The sequel's in the works, so keep your eyes open for it!
Epilogue
~
The apartment certainly looked better than before. Weiss and Sydney (under the cover of her father) had swept through the small living space, cleaning it in record time, careful to be quiet as their friend slept in the next room. Midnight seemed an unconventional time for the pair to be cleaning, but they were unconventional people stuck in unusual circumstances. The vacuum would be run later, maybe in the morning when it wouldn't disturb so many people. The pair was simply lucky Vaughn had been utterly exhausted and fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow, not even allowing for the time needed to change out of his clothes.
At least, that's what they thought.
Behind the closed door to his bedroom, Michael Vaughn sat at the edge of his bed, his feet hanging on the metal frame for his bed like they had so many times as a child. The metal cut into his feet, but he was too distracted to notice. Hunched over next to the lamp on his bedside table, he held his father's journal in his hand, the pages held down with his thumb. Only five minutes before had he sat in the bathroom, desperately attempting to rid the cover of the blood from his now properly-dressed hand, surprised that his cleaning crew hadn't heard the running water from his bathroom sink. He was left with a pinkish smear across the cover, but he would have to live with it as a constant reminder of the day, of his doubts.
The handwriting was messier than normal, scrawled in a short time late at night, the day before his plane was to leave. His lips curved up as he noticed the date - how Irina had known that, he would never know and he never intended to ask her about it either. There were just some things he'd rather not know;, the old saying 'ignorance is bliss' coming to mind. He didn't need to know details, just truths, and simple ones at that.
Such as the one Sydney (and thank God she wasn't angry with him!) had tried to tell him back in the small hallway outside Irina's glass prison. It was there, staring at him in faded black ink. His father's unwavering love and devotion to his family, his internal struggle over having to leave them behind all the time. The smile on Vaughn's face grew as he read that paragraph, his faith in his idol restored.
And then there was a section dedicated to him, should he read the journal. He flipped the page, the index finger from his other hand resting at the top of the page.
I hope you can understand what I did at some point in your life, my boy.
I never meant for you to become involved in my mistakes, but I know you will grow into the type of man who will know what to do when that day comes. I know you will be confused, lost even, but it will not last. You're stronger than that. I wish I could be there to see you when you're older, and save you from this future.
Despite this journal, I know you will want to follow in my footsteps, you're much too stubborn to be dissuaded. Please be careful and don't repeat my mistakes.
Vaughn sighed, lifting his head. His eyes focused on a photograph he had hanging on the wall, one of his family a few years before his father's death. How had he missed the extra worry-lines engraved around his father's sparkling eyes? Or the worry that resided there, before this moment? His mind zoomed to a college philosophy course, and the teachings of some Asian school of thought, that the reality we see isn't reality at all. Is that what his father was trying to tell him? Irina as well? Warning the children of the next generation that things aren't always what they seem?
What had they gotten this generation into?
A crash in the other room took his attention away from the photograph. For a second, he considered going out there, but stayed put as he heard Weiss swear and Sydney chastise him for being too loud. This is what the elder generation didn't have - trust, fellowship, support.
Michael Vaughn considered himself a very lucky man.
If that was what the afternoon's events were trying to show him, they succeeded. And he was sure the message had been received.
He clicked off the lamp, waiting for them to notice the change in light, but he wasn't caught. The rain had stopped, which made Vaughn frown. He enjoyed listening to its calming rhythm when it came to falling asleep. He lay there, atop of his covers still dressed from that evening, his shoes lying at the end of the bed where he'd kicked them off. The soft scurrying of his friends gathering their things floated through the thin door and was followed by the thunk of his front door shutting as they left. He sighed, laying his arm over his eyes. What a day!
He certainly was tired despite the nap he had taken earlier that day. His eyes slowly slipped closed, the last thing he remembered thinking was that he was never going to be able to sleep. As soon as he had fell asleep though, he was back in the dream.
At first, he had no idea what was going on. Where there had been blood before there was now just simple tan sand, where there had been screams, now the ocean's soft waves sounded unhindered. He twisted around, trying to figure out where he was. At least he was wearing shoes this time, the sand moving out of the way as he took several experimental steps. This was the same beach, wasn't it?
"Mikey!" He knew that voice! He whipped around as fast as he could, a smile springing to his face. "There you are! Don't wander off like that again!" It was his father, dressed casually for a day at the beach, his face formally so full of worry, now sporting a smile that matched Vaughn's own. At first, Vaughn felt like he was in a memory, one in which he had wandered off as usual. But then, once noticing that it was still the moonlit beach with the absence of people, he rethought his position. Had his father in his dream meant wander off in regard to himself? That Vaughn had strayed from some kind of predestined path?
The father put an arm around his son, the feeling odd, as Vaughn was now a few inches taller than his father (he'd never noticed how tall he was before being compared here to the 'giant', as he had called him). He looked at him oddly, the look reflected in the other's matching eyes.
"What's wrong with you, Mikey? You look like you've seen a ghost!" his father exclaimed. Vaughn laughed. It was a loud, rich laugh, releasing all the apprehension he'd held inside all day. He had seen a ghost, hadn't he? The ghost of his father, as created in his mind. All put in motion so many years in the past, flooding him with the experiences that should have been spread out over a longer period. It was all because of his stubbornness, his refusal to read that one final entry. How different would the day have been, if he had just read it?
It was as if he were programmed, in a way, to break down at a certain point. What if he had read it all those years ago, gotten the disk and given the computer to the CIA? This wouldn't have happened, would it have?
"No, Mikey, I supposed not," his father sighed next to him. Shocked, Vaughn turned to the man who was still leading him down the beach. Had he been listening in on his son's thoughts?
"A breakdown was the only way?"
"You read it, didn't you?" the father said, stopping near the steps to the boardwalk. "I'm sorry to put you through all this, son. I knew if you hadn't read it by now, you must have hated me. I had to show you the truth."
"The truth."
"Don't ask me, you're creating all this. This was simply your way of working through your problems. Some people take up kick boxing to battle their demons, son. You're still quite the drama king, so to speak."
They were standing side by side, facing the ocean. The moon was slowly slipping down the sky, the stars already fading in the early morning sky.
"So they're gone?" he asked, hopeful. His father shook his head.
"They're never gone. You simply came to an understanding. You're free," he smiled, sitting down on the sand. Vaughn continued to stand, his hands laced together behind his head. Free? Yes, he could see that, for sure. "Now sit down and watch the sunrise with me," his father asked, beckoning him to sit with his hand. Vaughn smirked, falling to the sand with a whoosh.
The sunrise was beautiful.
In her cell, Irina Derevko smiled. It was time. She would only have to wait a little longer, just a little longer.
~
And that's it! I hope you enjoyed it! The sequel's in the works, so keep your eyes open for it!
