Short Story
Chapter 02
We are home. Angie is upstairs, fast asleep in her bed. I wonder if she
thinks about the carefree, innocent days of her childhood. I wonder if she
thinks about two weeks ago. Everything happened just like it was supposed to
go down. A perfectly executed cultivation exercise, except for the fat man.
My after-action report will have to detail every step; hopefully we can
figure out what went wrong. Something always does go wrong in this phase,
that’s just the game. Our team is secure, however, so the exercise was a
success. Fat man may be a problem in the future. He knows our hometown;
we’re gonna have to clean that one up.
Even though I would call it a successful pick up, everything caught me off
guard. I mean, when did they start the program at 16 years old? I know not
to press details. Angie won’t share any, and if she does, I won’t know the
difference between the truth and a lie. My dad never asked a single question
– it’s still a mystery to me when he was pulled in. I tried to sneak a few
questions during her brief on the way home.
“You were in there for a long time,” I said, when we first left the
airport. Until then, we were both silent ever since she left the bathroom
and smiled, a signal to move.
“I know, I know. She put up a fight.” Angie was fidgeting with her hands, a
classic sign of inexperience. “I never killed someone before with my bare
hands,” she said while choking back tears. I wanted to reassure her, to
comfort her in some way. It’s okay, darling. It gets better. But I
don’t, mostly because it doesn’t. You just learn to go cold.
Instead, I pressed for more details of the bathroom. I asked Angie, “was
everything left in order?”
“Yes,” she said. “The target is in a stall, set like she is doing her
business. I called for cleanup – they should be on site soon.”
“It’s already done.” Our scrub crews are efficient. They were ready for
this — if they pulled her in this early, they were ready. I filled in the
rest of the missing details. “The fat man must’ve gotten spooked because you
two were in there longer than expected. He bolted at some point when I was
focused in your direction. He is a big boy, but he managed to fade into
nothing.
“I have a backup set of comms at home, if any of yours were damaged in the
bathroom. We’re doing burgers and tots tonight, and I got more of the ice
cream pops that you like. At this point, we are communication level 5, so
let’s just keep that in mind until I get instructions from my boss.”
“Thank you, Daddy!” Angie ran her fingers across the length of my arm,
tracing the scar hidden underneath my jacket that ran from my shoulder blade
all the way down to the wrist. Not once has she ever asked me how I got
it.
We had a wonderful evening sharing stories of her vacation back East. Uncle
Billy and Aunt Sue brought her down to Rockefeller Center to see the
Christmas Tree. They don’t have kids of their own, so Angie is the center of
attention when she’s around. Billy flies out here at least once a year. He
pretends that it is to visit me, but it’s really to steal Angie and bring
her back for a couple of weeks in the summer. Billy always reminds me that I
have an open invitation, whenever I am ready to fly again.
They spent an entire day in New York City, doing all the “touristy things”
my daughter craves when she’s there. I used to like it, as well. Even though
I was born and raised in the Bronx, I’ve been gone for so long that I would
just be a sightseer if we go back. I should make a trip soon. Mom’s not
doing well – I need to get out and see her.
It was wonderful to have my sweet princess home again! Today was only the
sixth day of Christmas, so we have a few more until she goes back to school.
I’m sure we’ll get instructions before then. Tomorrow is New Year’s Eve, but
tonight was our Christmas morning. I bought Angie lots of clothes, innocent
and snuggly stuff for the winter. Nothing too fancy – I’m not ready for my
little girl to grow up. Had I known what was in store, I would have bought
some more practical outfits. She loved them all but asked if I could wash
her new sweatshirt, to wear again tomorrow. Billy always picks out the good
stuff.
Her gift to me had been underneath the tree since before she left for her
trip. I stared at it every day she was gone, thinking about what I would do
if Angie was killed in some tragic accident before I saw her again. Plane
crash, car accident, random street mugging – all sorts of morbid thoughts
ran through my head, like they always do about everything. I wondered if I
would open it or leave it as an unknown reminder of her lost future. I guess
I can now tackle violent actions onto the tragic accidents I fear for my
daughter. When I placed the bags with her gifts (I don’t wrap Christmas
presents) under the tree, I buried her gift to me deep in the back. The ones
from Santa Claus (he wraps the presents) were piled on top of mine. Angie
dug through the stack to find my box, wrapped in beautiful green paper with
cartoon reindeer dancing in scattered directions, and gave it to me.
“You first, Daddy,” she said. Her eyes were open wide, her lips could
barely contain the smile bursting underneath. If I did not open it right
away, I think she would have torn the paper herself. She was patient,
though, so I decided to show mercy and not drag it out too long. Underneath
the wrapping, the shoebox sized carton gave no clue of its contents.
Bouncing with energy the entire time, Angie finally gave in to her impulses
as I opened the box with care and stared in disbelief.
“They said this would fit the piece you carry,” Angie explained. “It’s
custom molded – and there is webbing to wear across your waist or over the
shoulder. I don’t know which is more comfortable for you.”
I stared down at a new holster for my 9mm Luger, the gun she doesn’t know
about, the gift she wrapped and placed under the tree before leaving for her
trip back east. That little minx knew before she even left Wewa Falls. I
wanted to ask her when, how, what else, but we were still level 5. Besides,
she would never tell.
“It’s beautiful, Angie. Thank you,” I said. It was all I could offer while
choking back tears. She was so proud of herself, it’s time to dig into that
glorious stash of presents.
The rest of the night went off without a hitch. Angie loved all her new
clothes. None of them scream Uncle Billy, but she smiled anyway. After
dinner, we sat down to watch a few of our favorite Christmas shows, classics
from even before my childhood. She wanted to fight sleep and watch the rest
I had recorded, but it was time for bed. Plus, I had my journal entries to
make. Angie did, too. I hope she completes today’s entries, but it’s on
her.
When Angie dotted upstairs, I pulled out my tablet to log the details of
this fucking crazy day. I didn’t know where to start.
Dear Diary: today my daughter came home a certified contract killer.
I wonder if I will be this excited when she graduates high school. All
relevant information was recorded; if they want my impression, they can get
it at our debrief. I assume we will debrief together, as a team.
I just put my tablet away when Angie came down the stairs. Poor Kiddo, she
looked so tired.
“Daddy,” she said, “I can’t sleep.”
“What’s the matter, darling?”
“I don’t know.” She just stood there for a moment, decked out in her
brand-new Christmas pajamas. Our matching set were long-sleeved tops and
flannel pants, both with horizontal red/white candy cane striping. “Can you
come upstairs and sing to me?” I could never say no to that request.
“Of course,” I said. “Would you like me to go put my PJs on before I sing
our song?”
“Yes, please.” With that, she turned and walked back up the stairs. I
wasn’t far behind.
“I’ll be there lickety-split, babe.”
“Okay.”
I lumbered up the stairs and grabbed my set of jammies from the dryer
before heading into my bedroom. While I undressed, I stared into the mirror,
inventorying the scars that covered my body. They were all from a life
before Angie. Her mother knew me when I was still in; she nursed more than a
few wounds while they were fresh. I told her I couldn’t give it up, I had a
responsibility to protect this country. When we first tried to get pregnant,
though, everything changed. I wanted a new life, a life with my child, a
life with my family. I tried to walk away from the game. I was
administrative by the, but I made so many enemies along the way. In an
instant, one of them took my wife from me. Her body became a vessel for my
unborn child. For two months, whatever was left of her soul nursed Angie so
she could come into this world healthy and innocent. For two months, I laid
helpless in a hospital bed – my scar count doubled in that same instant. My
first day conscious was Angie’s birthday. When they placed her in my arms,
my recovery became a selfless cause. I needed to be there to raise Angie, to
protect my daughter from every evil.
I walked into the bathroom and stared at my sink. Rows of medicine bottles
lined the countertop. Painkillers. Muscle relaxers. Sleeping pills. More
medication, to treat the side effects of medication. Each one containing
90-day refills I neither wanted nor asked for. The only way I can stay on
payroll is if they believe I’m taking care of myself. If it takes
prescription medication to convince them, I’ll keep the pills coming. I keep
the full containers as a reminder –
if you don’t use them, it must not hurt too bad.
Angie’s bedroom door was open and her light still on but, when I walked in,
the kid was sound asleep, buried in a pile of her favorite stuffys. I sat on
the edge of her bed and whispered our song. Just as I’ve done thousands of
times before.
I wondered what tomorrow would bring and if my little love will ever need
me to care for her again.
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