I: Acts of Desperation
She stared at the broken tumbler before her. It had cracked long before as
she had slammed it onto the motel table. But rather than stopping, she
had continued to drink, only now, straight from the bottle.
She identified with the shot glass. After all it had been through, numerous beatings, it had only taken one particularly hard slam to be cracked. It had broken. Just like her.
"Playground school bell rings again Rain clouds come to play again. Has no one told you she's not breathing? Hello, I'm your mind giving you someone to talk to. Hello."
It had been a beautiful afternoon in Sevilla. She and Julian had been enjoying a midday lunch with Katiana, just taking in the beauty of the town and the peace of their little family. It had been a wonderful week, just the three of them, their first relaxing, family vacation since Katiana's birth. No gun fights. No nuclear bombs about to explode. The world of international espionage simply left behind.
They had just finished their meal when she had received a page. It would figure that her cell phone didn't have service in the area, so she had smiled at Julian and excused herself to go return the call. He promised to change Katiana's diaper and to take care of the check. She had kissed him gently before walking out into the street to find a pay phone.
She had dialed the number in her pager and waited for an answer. After several rings she hung up and turned to walk back to the restaurant. And suddenly, it wasn't there.
"No survivors," she thought bitterly. No chance of the love of her life and their eight month old daughter having survived the bomb that exploded after she had left the building. No chance of ever feeling alive again. No chance at ever being happy again.
She was sure who did it. It was the C.I.A. It wasn't enough to hunt her and Julian down. No...they wanted to capture them and torture them. It wasn't enough to shoot her in her own home last year, killing her and Julian's first attempt at a child. It wasn't enough to nearly make her infertile because of that one damn bullet she hadn't been able to dodge. It wasn't enough to kidnap Julian and torture him at Camp David until she could break him out. Why couldn't they just leave her alone?
She stared at her picture, the only one she could find of her little family. It had been taken at Katiana's first Christmas, Julian's eyes sparkling a more intense blue than she had ever seen. (Well, maybe not ever, she remembered fondly, and with a slight blush.) She herself was radiant, displaying their little bundle of joy wrapped in Christmas colors.
She needed more vodka. Vodka always reminded her of him and his Russian heritage. So she picked up her motel key, picture clutched tightly to her breast. She stumbled to the first car she saw, broke in, and unceremoniously fell inside. She hotwired the engine and began to drive. Had she not been so intoxicated with alcohol and grief, she may have noticed the car that started right behind her and followed several cars back.
The bridge hadn't been part of the plan. She had been driving towards it when inspiration had struck. Her empty vodka bottle forgotten, she had stopped the car and gotten out. She looked down, the stream-like river glistening in the darkness. It beckoned her, called her. A way to end her pain and rejoin her shattered family. A chance to become whole.
She didn't notice the person screaming her name. She didn't notice the person pleading with her to stop. All she noticed was the rush of wind, the shock of her impact, and the feel of her family photograph still snuggled by her chest.
"If I smile and don't believe. Soon I know I'll wake from this dream. Don't try to fix me I'm not broken Hello, I'm the lie living for you so you can hide. Don't cry."
She identified with the shot glass. After all it had been through, numerous beatings, it had only taken one particularly hard slam to be cracked. It had broken. Just like her.
"Playground school bell rings again Rain clouds come to play again. Has no one told you she's not breathing? Hello, I'm your mind giving you someone to talk to. Hello."
It had been a beautiful afternoon in Sevilla. She and Julian had been enjoying a midday lunch with Katiana, just taking in the beauty of the town and the peace of their little family. It had been a wonderful week, just the three of them, their first relaxing, family vacation since Katiana's birth. No gun fights. No nuclear bombs about to explode. The world of international espionage simply left behind.
They had just finished their meal when she had received a page. It would figure that her cell phone didn't have service in the area, so she had smiled at Julian and excused herself to go return the call. He promised to change Katiana's diaper and to take care of the check. She had kissed him gently before walking out into the street to find a pay phone.
She had dialed the number in her pager and waited for an answer. After several rings she hung up and turned to walk back to the restaurant. And suddenly, it wasn't there.
"No survivors," she thought bitterly. No chance of the love of her life and their eight month old daughter having survived the bomb that exploded after she had left the building. No chance of ever feeling alive again. No chance at ever being happy again.
She was sure who did it. It was the C.I.A. It wasn't enough to hunt her and Julian down. No...they wanted to capture them and torture them. It wasn't enough to shoot her in her own home last year, killing her and Julian's first attempt at a child. It wasn't enough to nearly make her infertile because of that one damn bullet she hadn't been able to dodge. It wasn't enough to kidnap Julian and torture him at Camp David until she could break him out. Why couldn't they just leave her alone?
She stared at her picture, the only one she could find of her little family. It had been taken at Katiana's first Christmas, Julian's eyes sparkling a more intense blue than she had ever seen. (Well, maybe not ever, she remembered fondly, and with a slight blush.) She herself was radiant, displaying their little bundle of joy wrapped in Christmas colors.
She needed more vodka. Vodka always reminded her of him and his Russian heritage. So she picked up her motel key, picture clutched tightly to her breast. She stumbled to the first car she saw, broke in, and unceremoniously fell inside. She hotwired the engine and began to drive. Had she not been so intoxicated with alcohol and grief, she may have noticed the car that started right behind her and followed several cars back.
The bridge hadn't been part of the plan. She had been driving towards it when inspiration had struck. Her empty vodka bottle forgotten, she had stopped the car and gotten out. She looked down, the stream-like river glistening in the darkness. It beckoned her, called her. A way to end her pain and rejoin her shattered family. A chance to become whole.
She didn't notice the person screaming her name. She didn't notice the person pleading with her to stop. All she noticed was the rush of wind, the shock of her impact, and the feel of her family photograph still snuggled by her chest.
"If I smile and don't believe. Soon I know I'll wake from this dream. Don't try to fix me I'm not broken Hello, I'm the lie living for you so you can hide. Don't cry."