The Roman

             Dane slowly closed the stall door, trying his hardest to not make a sound. He put his fingers up to the lock and moved the lever ever so gently until he heard the faint click. He winced; it made more noise than he had anticipated, he was rusty. He wasn’t exactly sure why he was being so quiet, the bathroom was empty, unusually so for a Saturday night in club Nuance. The music blasted through the empty room from the speakers placed near the ceiling, bouncing off the walls and vibrating the stall doors. The click was audible only to him, but it seemed to cut right through the music. He put his forehead up against the stall door and closed his eyes. He moved his hand up to his chest over his heart. It seemed to beat with the music, and just as loud. He took a deep breath in a failed attempt to calm it down, “rusty” didn’t seem to do it justice.

Dane opened his eyes, moved his head from the door, and removed the duffle bag from around his shoulders. He lowered it to the toilet seat and unzipped the bag, careful to make as little noise as possible.  He reached in and pulled out his suit, hanging it on a hook on the stall door. He stopped; it had been a while since he had worn it. He’d been out of the game for more than eight years; he only hoped it still fit. He pulled back the zipper on the side pocket of the bag revealing a large handgun, burner phone, passport, and the small package he was tasked to protect. He stopped for a moment to touch the barrel of the gun. It shown a sparkling silver with a tiger imprinted on the grip. He closed his eyes and reminisced, his brother had given it to him so many years ago, a gift for his first job.

             Dane was a formally retired member of “Watchdog,” a private organization whom the wealthy hired to protect their most valuable assets, with his life if necessary. Before he was “Dane” he was known by his codename, “The Roman.” He was the best in the business. The one who was called to complete the jobs no one else could. He touched the package. It was small, roughly the size of a ring box. It was wrapped in brown paper with a thin blue rope tied around its middle. It looked as though it could have been a gift for his daughter’s birthday, he thought, so unassuming. He had no idea what was in it, and just now, he didn’t care. He had to stay focused on the task at hand. One thing at a time, put on the suit. 

              Dane removed the suit from the wall. It was a dark, charcoal gray with a solid tie of the same color; it had been so long. As he put it on, he felt a strange familiar sensation, one that seemed to belong to a different life. With each piece of the suit, he began to feel closer to his former life; the life he had worked so hard to leave behind. He would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit it frightened him. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes once more. He had to embrace the change, the return to the familiar. For the past eight years he had been “Dane,” and “Dane” could not complete this mission. The person he once was, the one he had become after years of military service, hard training, and often deadly experiences was the one his daughter needed now. Only “The Roman” could do what needed to be done next. 

Dane slipped into his shoes and tied the laces as tight as he could make them, his shoes needed to hug his feet. He straightened his tie, making sure it was snug against his neck; a loose tie was dangerous. He tucked the gun into the holster under his jacket; he needed to be able to access it quickly. He fixed the suit jacket tight to his shoulders, he needed full mobility. He removed the passport and phone and tucked them into his pockets, they were almost as vital as the package he was protecting. He tucked the package into the inside of his jacket pocket just over his heart, where he could feel it with every beat. The suit was on, everything was in place, he was still Dane, but only just.

Dane placed the clothes he was wearing before he had changed back into the bag. He closed his eyes again and took a deep breath. His wife’s face swam into his mind’s eye, the one person he failed to protect. He could see her so clearly; it was as though she were standing before him again. Her deep brown eyes, full of strength and confidence, staring into his soul, he could get lost her eyes. A tear formed in his left eye and ran down his cheek. He kept his eyes closed; his thoughts traveled to his daughter. He failed his wife; he wouldn’t fail his daughter too; he needed to breath. “Focus,” he whispered. 

             Dane opened his eyes and unfastened the lock. His heart thumped hard in his chest. He opened the stall door and looked around, still empty, still unusually so. He hesitated for the briefest of moments before moving forward beyond the stall’s threshold. He took the lid off of the garbage, gently lowered in the bag and replaced the lid. He glanced into the mirror; his reflection made him stop and turn. He looked older than he had the last time he had worn the suit; he seemed to have aged more than eight years. His dark hair had started to gray. His bright blue eyes had the look of a man who had aged considerably in short period of time, they looked old, tired. He leaned forward slightly and turned on the faucet, letting the cold water run for a moment before cupping it with both hands. When the water filled his palms to the point of overflowing, he bent down, bringing his hands to his face and covering it in cool water. He could feel every drop trickle and run down his face, the sensation brought him back to the moment. He reached for a hand towel resting on the sink and used it to dab himself dry. It was then he noticed there was no bathroom attendant, a detail he wouldn't normally miss. Insignificant? Maybe.

Dane put both hands on the sink, leaning forward, he looked deep into the reflection of own eyes, staring for more than a minute. His heart continued to thump, he had to slow it down. He leaned back; his right hand traveled up to the outside of where the package sat. He looked down at the small bulge in his jacket and squeezed it gently. He closed his eyes once more, and took one last deep breath, focusing his mind on the package, it was time.

The man turned and walked through the door. In that moment his heart rate seemed to slow, the thumping gone, his mind calm.  The man who emerged was not the same man who had entered. This man was a man with a purpose, a mission only he could complete. Gone was the man he had worked so hard to become, emerging as the man he had been before. His eyes were blank, determined, unwavering. The Roman had returned.