ALL OVER AGAIN

You close the door as gently as you can, but it still somehow makes a thud.

Which shows you’re nervous. Really nervous. Kind of weird considering you are standing in front of an eighteen-year-old girl. You’re twenty years older. Seen some serious things in life. Pretty serious things. Even things you would really like to forget.

Yet, still, your hands are shaking right now- mildly shaking. If there’s anything you are afraid of, it’s telling the truth.

The ability to tell the truth had been beaten out of you seventeen years ago. Lying used to be your job. And sometimes it meant life or death, too.

You’ve dealt with a lot of nasty people- comes with being in the army- but this is different.

You look at the girl in front of you, namely Helena. She’s facing you only sideways; doesn’t look happy, but expectant at least.

“Hey,” you say. Your fingers immediately tighten. It’s a bad start to the conversation.

Still, she obliges you and nods. “Hi.”

You need to get to point. Right now, or she walks away. Again. But this time, forever. Not physically, but mentally. Emotionally.

Keeping that in mind, you decide to cut to the chase. No point in trying to prepare her in advance with words, or assuring her everything will be all right. Your history with promises isn’t exactly reassuring, either.

“I’m ready,” you finally blurt out.

You’re not, obviously.

Helena nods again.

“… Okay.”

You take the deepest breath you have probably ever taken in your life and slowly exhale.

"Just say it," you silently remind yourself. You know you'd regret it if you don't.

Okay.

And so, you begin.

FOUR YEARS AGO

Time moves in slow motion.

At least, that is what you think, or rather, feel.

“You’re just one of them,” your nemesis says standing at the far the end of the parking lot.

You can understand her. You’d like to explain to her why on earth you would kill two CIA operatives and screw over an entire deal, and worse, the entire nation.

But you know why.

There is absolutely no way you would give up Helena.

You’re really stubborn, you know that?

Understandable, though. Comes with PTSD, and you probably are of the worst hit.

Your entire life, running away from yourself, and now you have finally found where to run to in the form of a girl.

But now she’s being taken from you. All because of some mindless terrorist demands. She knows too much, they say.

She’s not your daughter, you need to understand.

But you already do. And you have made your choice.

You’re quite determined when you make a choice, and that is most likely, an understatement.

So, you lift the pistol in your hands, and point it at Agent Evelyn Winters.

You can’t really tell if you liked the woman, or if you don’t care. Not denying the fact that she has saved you from getting toasted more times than you can remember. Either way, you really do not want to kill her, but you have to.

Oh. You forgot she wasn’t willing to die just yet. As you pull the trigger, she dashes behind a pillar. Your shot hits nothing but the wall.

“I am not one of them,” you say as you take cue from her and take cover behind a car.

“Then why are you doing this?” she screams.

You search your mind for an answer.

“Helena doesn’t deserve this.”

“You’re putting the entire nation at risk!”

“They’ll kill her the first chance they get!” You answer back with uncontrollable amplitude. Not very professional.

“Sacrifice one to save the rest. Millions, in this case. You, of all people, ought to know that! You were a corporal, for God’s sake!”

“The person I was used to believe that. Not me.”

With that, you get up from your cover and fire off several rounds. No hit, still. The metal is starting to get hot.

Winters reciprocates your actions and fires back. No bullet hits you, but you are showered with shards of glass from the broken windows of the car. The vehicle’s alarm is triggered. The loud blaring sounds are disorienting.

She tries to negotiate now. “Just stop! Don’t make me go through you.”

You don’t want to kill her, either.

But about ninety-percent of your life, you have been doing things you do not want to. This is no different.

Right?

“The terrorists have chemical weapons,” Winters says. “Get a grip on yourself!”

You lost that grip a long time ago. By protecting Helena at the cost of everyone else, you are only regaining that grip.

You are selfish.

But you do not feel bad about that.

Helena would forgive you. Maybe.

For killing Winters.

She likes her, you know.

Winters saved her from going insane after she lost her father.

That is what you are taking from her.

So that you can have her. Be the parent she never had.

Laughable.

You push away the gnawing thoughts and return fire.

One bullet… another… and another… and yet another. No hits.

The next time you pull the trigger, nothing happens. Out of ammo. You take out the empty magazine and put in a half-full one.

That is, four shots.

Your bullets are running low. As much as your chances of survival.

Make each shot count. Harder than it sounds. Much harder.

You run out of your cover and run to the adjacent pillar. And to the one front. Winters’ bullets whizz past your head… zzzz.

Winters is just around the corner.

As soon as the firing stops, you spring out from behind the pillar and crash straight into Winters. Her pistol goes off flying away, but so does yours.

Wait. It’s still reachable.

She punches you, trying to stop you from reaching your gun, but your hand somehow manages to remain clutched around your pistol.

You fire at her. It’s a miss by centimeters. Three shots left.

She pushes away your gun and manages to squeeze your fingers enough to make you fire another round.

Two shots remain.

You feel the rage build within. You want to make this quick for her, but she is not cooperating. A shot in the head is impossible.

So, you punch her hard, making her turn away from you, and fire a round into her leg.

Her knees bend in. She lets out a yell and lashes out her left arm in hopes of hitting you.

You grab her arm and pull it away, opening her midsection to bullets. You take advantage and shoot off the last round into it.

Time seems to move normally again.

You instantly regret what you have done as soon as you see her groping towards the wall, choking on her blood.

You walk towards her as she rests her body against the wall, clutching her bleeding stomach.

You desperately want to say you are sorry, but it seems laughably hollow now. You choose the alternative option.

Silence.

And you think as life ebbs away from her body.

Was it worth it?

You are a murderer now.

You used to kill for the government before. That was deemed heroic. What about killing for yourself? Isn’t that murder? But you did it for Helena, so that should make you a hero for her at least.

Do you feel like like a hero yet?

Winters' body finally goes still.

You wipe your fingerprints off the handle with your coat and drop the gun on to the floor with disgust.

There’s nothing left to do here.

So, you leave.

                               ***

 “You killed her?” Helena asks.

Yes.

You did.

But you would rather say that you were protecting her, but decide against it.

Helena sits on the chair. You don’t look at her face. Because you simply can’t.

“She was…” she begins but her voice breaks off.

She starts sobbing.

You put your hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t you touch me!” she screams. “She was never supposed to talk to me, but she did! I-” A pause. “I should have never let her-”

“None of this is on you,” you immediately say.

“But it is! Don’t you see? It’s because of me! If you would have just let me go, she would have never died! My life would have mattered. But you took that from me!”

The words stab through your heat, stunning you into silence. Suddenly, you find yourself regretting that you told her.

 “If somehow I had a second chance that day…” You look up at her. “I would do it… all over again.”

Helena raises her eyebrows. She seems to be in disbelief, yet not surprised. 

“I don’t think I can forgive you,” she says.

And then, she walks out of the room, leaving you alone.

You sit on the chair and look out the window, not knowing what to think.

                               ***

The next morning, you find her room empty. You notice a piece of paper with something scrawled on it.

Went early for school project.

She does that all the time, but never without your notice. Today is an exception. You involuntarily flip the paper over.

I forgive you.

You stare long and hard at those words and then grab the nearest pen.

Thank you.

***