I was just wondering why you wanted to become an…agent. I mean, it obviously didn't bring a happy ending to your parents. I know this is all a cover, but don't you sometimes wish you had a real family? And that your life was a bit more about you than all the other people you've saved and killed?"

Chapter 8

He was asking tentatively, as if it might hurt me. It didn't. I couldn't explain it, but I sort of felt this wonderful feeling when I was saving someone, as if my parents were right there with me. When I killed someone, it made me feel important, and dangerous. I liked that feeling, because that way, I was tough. And it made up for all of my sensitive spots. The truth is, I didn't really want a family. I wanted my family, and since I wasn't going to get that, nothing could be good enough. Why waste my time on something like family? I was what I wanted to be, and that was that.

Without saying anything to Brent, I just closed the door after him, telling him to stay where he was while I ran upstairs. Once there, I found Carol, my cover-mom, sitting at her dresser, putting make-up on.

"You can drop the act, I know what you were doing," I said quietly.

"Well," she huffed, looking a little surprised. "I couldn't very well stand around and not know what was going on, could I?"

She fiddled with her hands, then threw them up in the air.

"You know I can't rest until I make sure you're all right! And when I heard about what happened…"

"You heard about that?" I gasped. "That was fast. Dam-"

"Angela…"

"Ok, ok. I'm sorry. Dang. Happy?"

"Yes."

With that, she got up from the chair and walked over to me. I could see her glance falling on my shoulder.

"Before you start," I said, trying to maintain composure. "Let me explain."

She looked at me indigantly and told me I had two minutes before she exploded with rage.

"Well," I started, stalling for time. "You see, this guy had a knife, which was so stupid because everyone knows you don't bring a knife to a gunfight. I mean, except for the fact that he had a gun, too. And then this bastar-"

"Angela!"

"Sorry! This, um, jerk said that he killed my mom. And he just…slipped through my fingers!" I hissed the last words, balling my hands into fists to keep from punching something.

"Oh, Angie. I'm so sorry," she said, her voice shaking a little. "Even to this day, I still had hope. We all did. But she lives in here."

With that, she tapped her heart, and walked towards me. Her huge, pregnant belly seemed to be a little heavy for her, and I almost felt like laughing. But when I felt her strong arms wrap around me, I felt more like crying. To be quite honest, I felt sorry for myself, and I felt that it was a sign of weakness. But truthfully, why did it matter? Besides, I knew that Carol loved me like a daughter, so why did I care. I felt a little movement against me, and glanced with surprise down at the bulge coming from Carol. She looked down too.

"Wow," she breathed. "That was a strong one. He's going to be such a big boy!"

While Carol was busy crooning over her "little boy", I went to my room and started to change. I selected a tight black tank top with a tight black sweater over it, and a black hoodie draped over my arm. I wore black skinny jeans, and small black sneakers. In my hand, I had a mini little duffel bag that actually had my entire closet in it, but only one pair of shoes. It also contained a small box filled with hunger pills and water pills, and a flashlight. In my back pocket I had a shiny silver credit card stocked with practically millions of dollars, and in the pocket of my black hoodie I had guns and bullets. In the bottoms of my shoes, I could take out the soles, and in there were some knives, mini-bombs, and bugs. Needless to say, I was stocked. My hair was up in a high ponytail, and in my ear was a mini cell phone. The buttons were on my watch. After a few moments, I realized I was completely ready, and nothing had been left behind. I went down the stairs and found Carol sitting on the sofa, talking animatedly to Brent. He laughed and stared intently at her.

"What," I started, "are you doing? You know no one is to have a simple little chat with the-"

Carol's face paled.

"It's him?" she asked cautiously.

"Yeah," I said angrily.

Brent looked skeptical.

"Why," he asked dryly, "are you all freaking out? And what's the big deal, anyway?"