Chapter 6

Part 2

After hanging up the phone, Jack slouched back in his chair as the reality of the previous day hit him. Today is the day he will get the DNA report that will confirm the destruction of his daughter or the hope for her future.

It was already 7:30 in the morning. He had to get to the office. From years of abuse, every muscle in his body hurt as he stood up and slowly started to move. Before heading for the shower, he stopped and made a pot of strong coffee.

While showering, he couldn't get Irina's words out of his head. How could she accuse him of using their daughter as bait? Why didn't he just explain to her that she woke him out of a deep sleep? That he had been dreaming about Sydney, when the phone rang.

As he got out of the shower and put on his robe, he was confident that she would call back and then they could talk rationally. As he brought out his razor he laughed at the idea of the two of them having a rational conversation.

"Damn it," he said, as he dropped a fresh razor blade on the floor.

When he bent over to pick up the blade, he punctured his thumb on it. "Damn it," he said again, as he put the tip of thumb in his mouth and then slowly pulled it out.

As he watched the blood slowly trickle out of his thumb Jack sat on the floor of the bathroom, and leaned up against the wall. He picked up the blade that had just punctured his thumb on. He drifted into a mental fog as he laid the blade against his right forearm and lightly ran it vertically up his arm feeling it scratch his skin.

While running the blade against his arm, flashes of his past came to mind. He remembered his wedding day. He remembered the promises they made to love and honor each other in good times and in bad, until they were parted by death.

As he slowly drew the blade down his arm, pressing slightly harder, he remembered the day that they were parted by death. He remembered the look of confusion in his daughter's eyes as he tried to explain to her what death meant. He remembered telling her how someday the three of them would be together in heaven, a conception that he had long ago stopped believing in.

As he pressed the blade lightly into his wrist, and he watched the small droplets of blood roll down his arm, he heard a voice screaming at him. "You were never there for anything in her life. At least be there for her funeral. You were never there for anything in her life. At least be there for her funeral," the voice repeated over and over again until he finally dropped the blade.

"Damn you, Vaughn," he said as he got up and retrieved his first aid kit. He poured surgical glue into the deepest part of his wound and he squeezed the cut together until the glue dried. He then bandaged the damage. He was grateful that his long cuffs would hide the evidence of what he almost did.

After he finished dressing, Jack grabbed a cup of coffee and some toast. He returned to his office and checked for information from his black op contacts. Something was happening, they all told him, but it had been less than twelve hours since he had called them, they didn't have any specifics for him.

Before leaving the house he checked the answering machine that was connected to his private number. There were four calls. The first three calls were hang-ups. The message on the forth call simply said, "Damn you, Jack."

tbc