(the lyrics are to Bowie´s Golden Years)
Redux: Chapter 3
Every morning before school Mom and I went for a run through Arlington National Cemetery, and returned home, if Vaughn wasn't on a business trip, to a homecooked breakfast, his treat. On weekends he made his speciality crêpes, that Mom and I both adored; he also could make a killer French Toast. The three of us chattered about our day, and yesterday before rushing out the door to work and school. It was the only time the three of us had together during the week.
After Mom died Vaughn stopped eating breakfast (he actually stopped eating all together) and I stopped running in the Cemetery. The day after the funeral I got up like normal, put on my running shoes and headed out on my normal route. At the Old Amphitheatre I was in tears. I stopped in front of Kennedy's grave and turned around to graze down Pennsylvania Avenue. I never went for jog there again; actually, I stopped jogging all together.
A decision I regret now as I bolt down the street, screaming at Mitchell to haul ass. We exited the indie theatre, and he was trying to explain something about Psychics to me, which despite his passion for the subject, I was lost. Half way something about Newton, I noticed a man behind us; he had arrived after us in a Blue Explorer and waited behind us in line; he saw the same film, and now tailed behind us a safe distance.
I moved closer to Mitchell, wrapping my arm around him in a couple fashion. He was surprised, and paused mid-sentence, and I whispered to him, "Don't look, keep talking, there's a guy in a tan jacket behind us. Do you have a Swiss-Army knife?"
"How many times do I have to explain Newton's Third law to you? It is the simplest of the three, just think of it like Karma." He chatted away without a change in tone, and slipped his knife into my strategic placed hand. I smiled, and he winked at him. I saw the Ford Explorer parallel parked on the street and causally moved towards it.
We appeared to cross the street behind the SUV, but at the rear tear I stopped, told him to shut up and kissed him. As my left hand caressed his cheek, my left slashed the tire with his Swiss arm knife. A second later he pulled away and kissed me once more on the temple I smiled, and we crossed the street.
Neither of us said anything about it. He continued to explain Psychics and I continued to be perplexed about Psychics, and watchful for the man in the tan jacket's friend. At the corner, I had a bad feeling. There was an unmarked car driving down the street and a hand full of characters I didn't trust. I told Mitchell we had company, and he suggested we get a cab. I agreed, but both we could hail on down, it happened. The unmarked car pull along side us, and the next thing I remembered was Mitchell commanding me to run and taking off down the street. The car did a U-Turn and followed us. How the hell did we find the only abandoned street in D.C.? I lost track of Mitchell, and when I looked back he was gone. My instincts took over, I didn't stop, that would have been suicide.
The last thing I remember was knocking one of my pursuers out with my elbow, then being shot with a tranquilizer gun. I woke up to pitch blackness. Instantaneously, I realized this was the torture and interrogation part of our training.
Fuck, this was going to suck.
I laid in the corner and cover my eyes with my hands, trying to get a hold of my surroundings and trying to predict what they were going to do next. I sat in that room for what seemed like days before someone came to interrogation me. They dragged me to my feet and I managed to knock one of them to his feet before that fettered me to a chair. They wanted to know my name, my position in the Agency, the names of my fellow trainees, etc., etc., etc.
The exercise had no effect on me what-so-ever except to make me bitchy as hell. I knew they were CIA. I knew they couldn't actually kill me, or my family. I knew they weren't going to let me die. They were not actually going to follow through with their threats. All they did was throw me in some little cell for god-knows-how-long and watch me sweat. The sensory deprivation got to me, I started to act crazy. I mindfucked the instructor just as hard at they mindfucked me.
A tall blonde man screamed at him, saying all he had to do was give the go on his two-way cell and my parents were dead. I told him, good. Make sure to kill my mother first, please.
I thought about Mitchell and hoped he hadn't broke yet; or that he had and was safe in his bunk recovering.
They beat me and I asked them if it made them feel good to beat a young woman. They threatened to rape me, and I dared them to – I would have my arm chains so quickly around the poor soul's neck, he wouldn't know what hit him; and if by chance I allowed him to survive I would press changes before he could say Wild Bill Donovan.
My head ached, along with my entire body and I was having trouble saying attentive. I kept falling asleep and having the same dream. I was five and alone in a small room playing with a little doll a strange man gave to me. I was all alone and scared and the strange man kept coming in and checking on me and giving me little candies. And then I cried and saw the door open and Vaughn and Mom came rushing in to save me. I ran into my father's arms and he picking me up, resting my head against his shoulder. He allowed Mom to take me from him, and then he hugged the both of us. Both were crying. Never in my life, excluding Mom's death, had I seen my father cry. Never had I felt so safe.
I woke with a sharp kick to the stomach. I realized were I was and suddenly wanted to be back in my dream again. I wanted my father to burst in and save me. I wanted him to apologize for cutting me off from his life after Mom's death, and I wanted to apologize for being so petty and for joining the CIA in the first place. I just wanted to see him again.
Apparently the interrogators could read minds because they sat me down at a table with a bright light shinning in my face and opened up a file. "The protégé."
I didn't say a fucking word.
"Do you know how long you've been here, Alicia?"
I didn't say a fucking word.
"Two weeks and a day. That is a long time."
I didn't say a fucking word.
"Do you feel you have something to prove, protégé?"
I didn't say a fucking word.
"You have nothing to prove. So, why don't you tell us the names of your team members?"
I was tired. "Okay. Write this down."
He seemed disappointed, but got out his pen.
"I will tell you how to spell the first member's name. E. M. E. T. I. B. Got that. Now, reserve it."
Stupidity, he did, and when he looked up at me, he was pissed as hell. I laughed, hysterically. Mom had a good sense of humour. She taught my that when I was in Middle School and Shelly Jenkins kept picking on me.
He seemed deemed to succeeded where all the others failed. "Interesting, your Michael Vaughn's daughter. How is he doing? He seemed to never fully recover from your mother's death, isn't that right?"
Right then, I knew I was through. I was too tired and too sore and too bitchy to deal with this line of questioning. This was a test of my wits and will, to see how long I could last. I looked him straight in the eye, letting him think he didn't get to me.
"God, he loved her. I saw them once at a Christmas party. He just couldn't keep his eyes off her; spoiled her rotten. Head over Heels. Or perhaps, he was just consolidating for past mistakes."
My father loved my mother. He loved her so much all of this happened. Shut the bastard out.
"After all, he is professional liar. And what about you?"
La la la, I am not listening to you... la la… Golden years, Golden rules, Golden years, don't let me hear you say life's taking you no where, angel….
"What type of father would honestly let their child be tortured? What father would really want the put their child in such danger if they really loved them?"
My father loved – loves me.
"Why hasn´t he saved you or stopped them? All he had to do was make a phone call?"
La la la la… Last night they loved you, opening some doors and pulling some strings, Angel…. Stick with your baby for a thousand years, nothing's doing to touch you in these Golden years…
"But, I've work with him before on a few operations, and he told me the truth. That he never really wanted you."
"Shut up!" I choked back the tears.
"You didn't know the truth? You ever wonder why he hasn't contacted you in all these years? It's because he doesn't give a rat's ass about what happens to you. He wanted your mother to himself, he never wanted a child."
"I am not telling you a god damn fucking thing!" But, that was a lie. I would tell them anything they wanted, if they would stop. Why hadn't he contacted me? Why hadn't I seen him since I joined the Agency? Why so secret? Is this prick actually speaking the truth? He is. It makes sense. It makes complete sense.
"Don't you think isn't strange, he never corrected you when you called him Vaughn? Isn't that what you call him? Vaughn? Just like everyone else. You were never anything but a nuisance to him!"
"FUCK YOU!" I was too tired, too weak. I was starting to forget things about him, I hadn't sent him in two years. I had no idea how he still felt about me. I doubted he cared. I began to cry. I wanted to see my father.
The blonde man didn´t say anything, he just let me cry. After a moment, he asked if I was ready to reveal the name of my team members. I continued to cry.
He opened his mouth, but I stopped him. Softly, I said. "You win, okay. You fucking win. Whatever you want. But, before I do, I want to see my father."
Game over.
The lights in the room flicked on and two other men I hadn't seen before filed in. They looked at the man sitting across from me, who had dropped his guise, and asked me and one of the sweetest voice's I'd heard in months, "Miss, are you okay?"
I wanted to throw up.
The man I knocked out the first week had been watching me from afar all these months. He rarely said more than two words to me, just nodded and took notes. He was the first to named me the "Protég". When he kneeled beside me, I never noticed how gentle his face was; he was older, like a Grandfather. He put his hand on my shoulder, and spoke to me in a pacific voice. "Alicia, Congratulations, that's one of the best efforts I've ever seen."
My father loved my mother. He didn't love me. And they are fucking congratulating me for some goddamn test. I do not care about the test.
The man told me, "My name is Marcus Dixon." – That named sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it. My fucking father…. Why didn't he love me? All those years, they could have been fake; you can't fake that emotion. "Alicia, are you okay?"
Did I look like I am fucking okay?
"I need you to know, because this cannot get in the way of your training, that every accusation about your father and he feels towards you was a complete lie. The purpose of his line of questioning, was to break you. We played to your weakness, and the only one you have is your father. Alicia, you asked me if I knew your father, and I said I heard of him; I was stationed with him for several years, I was at your parents´wedding. Otriz was making false accusations, do you understand?"
I stood up and felt dizzy. The only weakness I had was my father. I wiped my eyes, and told Marcus Dixon calmly, I understood.
TBC...