Jetaime

Trigger Warning: This story contains minor violence with weapons that may be harmful or traumatizing to readers. Please take this into account before proceeding to read. 

"Yes, yes...alright. We’ll be there tomorrow at dusk."

There was a click as the phone in use returned to the cable. I took small, quick breaths, trying my best to listen for more crucial information. As an agent for the FBI, I was expected to keep track of any data being said that might affect the agency. Yes, I was droopy and tired from the nights spent looking for Him, but I knew I couldn’t stop. Achlys had killed my brother. My Jamie, the only friend I had during my restless childhood days. The only deep, hazel eyes that looked at me with concern and admiration. My only treasure. And now he was gone. 

Achlys had killed Jamie because of a bleed in private information. One of my friends, who was working with him in exchange for his mercy, gave Achlys our names. Since that tragic day, I had not said my name to anyone. I was beginning to forget it, but it was still buried in my head somewhere. Although I had signed a paper claiming that I was on this mission only for the agency, I knew what I was really here for. I was here for vengeance. I was here for Jamie.

Heavy footsteps echoed around the tight room, making me falter in my steps as I crept around the wall. At the edge, I stuck my head out just the slightest bit and caught sight of Achlys. He was as massive as ever; a slab of pure muscle. His hands were as big as my head and I was able to catch a sign of a deep scar that was gorged across his ear. I was suddenly hit with a pang of fierce delight; I had made that scar. It was my stand when he tried to kill me after he demolished Jamie. I had desperately flung a shucking knife at his face. Back then, I hadn’t trained yet so I missed his face but still got his ear. My fingers clamped together and I was instantly aware of the fact that my left hand was on my weapon; a handgun with two bullets. I knew that I wanted to shoot Achlys but the FBI had requested me to not harm him and keep him alive to capture and interrogate him later.

Achlys had killed much more unarmed children than just poor Jamie; a girl, who was about Jamie’s age, was found dead under a tree just a few meters away from her house with FEAR ME in bloody letters, most likely done with the girl’s blood, on the tree. Through months of research, interrogation, and eavesdropped data from other agents, the FBI was able to determine the killer of all those young, unfortunate victims: Achlys Mugger. He was sitting on a big sofa on one side of a table with his back to me, most likely customized so that it could fit him. He was too big for most regular-sized furniture and needed to change his custom-made furnishings often, for they always broke within weeks. I stuck my head out a little more and found that on the other end of the table was a teenager, around my age, bound in the chair with thick ropes. 

“You heard him,” taunted Achlys. “He wants you tomorrow.”

The boy wiggled desperately but Achlys just laughed cruelly. A blood-stained cloth was stuffed in the teen’s mouth, not allowing him to speak.

“Oh, you want to know why?” Asked Achlys. The boy froze, looking shocked and uncertain. “Yes, yes, I know what you’re simple mind is thinking. It’s written all over your face,” continued Achlys. “He wants you for an experiment. A new type of poison. He needs a test subject.” He flashed a dangerous smile as he resumed. “And that, my dear Philip, would be you!”

My heart nearly stopped. Achlys was going to kill someone again and I was staring at the victim, bound in ropes at the other end of the table. Philip thrashed in the chair, his eyes widening as Achlys got up and approached him. Taking out a wickedly long knife, he smiled playfully at Philip as the knife swayed on his finger. “But I would love to have a little fun with you first!” Achlys smirked and lowered the knife to Philip’s ropes, but instead of cutting them, he jabbed the blade into Philip’s chest and the boy let out a muffled cry of pain. Achlys laughed and pulled the blade back out, looking satisfied. A streak of blood pooled out of the wound and Philip sagged, looking defeated. I couldn’t take it anymore. Not after what happened with Jamie. Yanking the gun out of my holster, I jumped out behind the wall, aimed at Achlys, and pulled the trigger. 

The bullet met him in the shoulder and dark blood squirted out of the wound. He roared in pain, his eyes red with fury when he saw me. Leaping towards my slender body, he extended his muscular arms as if to crush me with a single blow. I had no choice but to shoot him again. My second bullet caught him in the chest and he dropped like a sack of potatoes onto the cold floor. For a few heartbeats, there was only the sound of my heavy breathing in the atmosphere. I had never shot somebody before and yet, I had just done it. I didn’t even care to look if he was still breathing. There was a muffled cry and I looked up to see Philip, a bloom of red spreading through his white shirt. 

Dropping the gun, I raced over to him and tried to untie his ropes. Did I hit him? I thought desperately. Did my first bullet meet him? When the last rope was untied, Philip fell from the chair and crumpled to the ground. I turned him over to examine the wound and was somehow relieved to find that it took the shape of a blade, not a bullet. But a wound was a wound, and the boy looked like he was going to pass out.

“Philip,” I gasped, unsure of what to do. “Philip!”

“Unhhh…” he replied, his eyes foggy. “Thanks for...for…”

I nodded in understanding and tried to sound soothing. “Can you try to get up?”

“I...ow!” he was on the ground again after an effort to sit up. Grunting, he heaved himself up to an upright position and slumped against the table, looking deflated. “You saved me. Thank you.” Although his face was sweaty and blood was splattered across his shirt, his sharp, grey eyes were still lucid. He took the bloody cloth that was in his mouth and shoved it against his heaving chest. 

“It’s all right. He-” I caught myself just in time before telling the boy that Achlys had killed Jamie. 

“He what?” Philip asked gently. “It’s alright. He took my sister a couple of years ago.” 

“He took my brother too,” I said, the breath whooshing out of me. “He took my brother and he tried to take me.” 

We sat in silence for a while before Philip spoke again. “I’m Philip,” he murmured, his eyes getting clouded once again. “I think you know that already. What’s your name?”

I waited for a while before answering his question. Were the risks him exposing me high? I was hesitant enough to have Philip figure out the fact that something was wrong. “It’s okay. I just want to know,” he said gently. “You can tell me.” The worn name I had longed to say tumbled out a few heartbeats later. 

“Jetaime,” I whispered, the trace of the name I once carried around proudly fading into the thin, crisp air. “My name is Jetaime.”