by Orion Gaudio
“I got a job here, though.”
“That’s good.”
“Yeah, I mean… it’s not my dream job or anything, but it’ll do for now. I’m working in the office of Altoona Works.”
Turner finished the last of his drink and set the empty glass down on the bar. He stood up and steadied himself on the stool.
“Have a good one,” he said.
“See you around.”
He stumbled to the exit and braced himself on the door before opening it and heading out of the bar. The whiskey was hitting him hard. He hadn’t eaten all day and everything was spinning. That’s what he wanted, though. He just had to get back to his house and he’d be fine.
Turner took a deep breath of the cool night air and focused on putting one foot in front of the other as he stumbled down the sidewalk.
“Might have overdone it a little.”
Turner stopped leaned against a light post.
“Here, let me help you.”
He tried to turn and look at Alice, but everything started to spin. She grabbed his arm and steadied him.
“I’m fine,” he said.
“You’re not… you look like you’re about to fall over. You’re quite drunk.”
“That was the idea.”
He gave in and let her hold his arm as they walked back to his house. She got him to the front door and he fumbled with his keys. Turner dropped them, but she bent down and scooped them up before he could even process what had happened.
“Here, let me.”
He leaned against the door frame and let her open the door.
“Thanks.”
“Get some sleep.”
He nodded and walked inside. She set his keys on the table just inside the door and pulled it closed. Turner stumbled down the hall to his room and collapsed on the bed. He was out cold as soon as his head hit the pillow.
9
He woke to a pounding sound. Turner rolled over and folded his pillow over his head. It was morning, but he was still exhausted. The pounding sound started again. Pain shot through his head.
“What the hell?”
He sat up in bed and blinked a few times. The alcohol had worn off, but he was in rough shape. His throat was coarse and he felt dizzy. It took him a minute to realize that the pounding noise was someone knocking on his door. It was unusual… he didn’t have any friends in the town. He stood up from the bed and made his way down the hall.
“I’ll be right there.”
The pounding on the door had stopped, but his head was still throbbing.
Turner pulled the door open a few inches and put his hand up to block the sun. Alice was standing in front of him with a smile on her face and a plastic bag in her hand.
“I got breakfast.”
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I told you… breakfast.”
“Right… but I don’t know you.”
She tilted her head to the side and smiled.
“I guess I didn’t make a good first impression if you already forgot me.”
“No, I remember meeting you, Alice.”
“Then can I come in?”
He grunted and stepped aside. It was early, he guessed sometime around seven, and he was in no mood to argue with her. His stomach was protesting the fact that he hadn’t put anything solid in his body for well over a day.
She walked into the kitchen and pulled two Styrofoam containers out of the bag and set them on the counter. Turner pulled open a cabinet and fumbled with an aspirin bottle. He took out four of the pills and popped them in his mouth. He got a glass and filled it with water and downed the whole thing.
“You want some coffee?” he asked.
“That would be lovely.”
He filled up the coffee maker and started it. Alice found silverware and set their food on the table after pushing his stack of unopened mail to one side. Turner leaned against the counter and shut his eyes as he waited for the coffee to brew. It started with a steady drip and then turned into a continuous stream as it filled up the glass pot that had been stained from years of use and infrequent cleaning.
“You want sugar? I don’t have any milk.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head, “black is fine.”
He pulled two mugs out of the cabinet and poured a cup for each of them before sitting down at the table. Turner took a sip of coffee and looked down at the food. It was from Frank’s Place, a greasy spoon diner just down the road from his house. Two slices of bacon, some scrambled eggs that looked severely overcooked, and two triangles of toast.
They sat in silence as they ate. Turner went for the toast first, which turned out to be dry and he was forced to wash it down with coffee to avoid choking on it. He started to feel a little more like his normal self by the time he finished. The combination of the food, coffee, and aspirin had knocked out his headache.
“Thanks for the breakfast,” he said.
He stood up from the table and threw the empty Styrofoam containers in the trash.
“You’re welcome.”
He poured himself another cup of coffee and sat back down.
“You really didn’t have to do that.”
“I know,” she said, smiling.
“Why did you?”
Alice shrugged and sipped on her coffee.
“Just trying to be neighborly, I guess.”
He nodded. None of his neighbors had ever dropped by for so much as a cup of sugar since he moved in, which was just fine with him. Part of the reality of what he did was that he might have to pick up and leave at any time… not to mention there was also the chance he would be killed at any moment, so he was never fond of making friends or social connections. Altoona was large enough that he could go about his business without drawing any attention to himself, which he found to be the optimal way of doing things.
“Don’t you have to go to work?” he asked.
“No, I don’t start for a couple of days. Are you trying to get rid of me?”
He shook his head. Alice smiled as she stood up from the table. He watched her as she walked into the kitchen and put her coffee cup in the sink. There was something about her that he found fascinating, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. She turned back around and he looked away.
“I know this is a bit sneaky of me, but do you think you could help me move a few things?”
He stood up from the table, finished his cup of coffee, and glanced at the clock in the kitchen. Almost eight. He had time before he needed to be at headquarters, but he did want to stop by the range in town for a couple of hours before that.
“Sure, I’ve got some time.”
“You don’t mind?” she asked.
He shook his head. Alice smiled and headed toward the front door.
“Sorry… I thought breakfast might be a good way to entice you to come over and help me.”
“It’s fine… and thanks for the food.”
“You’re welcome.”
He grabbed his keys off the table by the door and followed her outside. Turner thought about making up an excuse to get out of helping her, but he had noticed that when he was talking to her that his mind wasn’t focused on the last couple of days. The distraction was welcome.
She was indeed his neighbor as he vaguely remembered her saying the previous night. She had moved into the house three doors down from him that had been on the market for a better part of a year. The real estate market in Altoona wasn’t exactly booming, the city had really never recovered from the economic depression that followed the end of the golden age of railroads.
They went inside the house. The living room was littered with boxes and the only furniture was an old loveseat that had seen better days.
“What did you need help with?” he asked.
“I was hoping you could help me move my mattress.”
He saw it leaning against the wall in the hallway.
“Sure.”
He took one end and dragged it
as she pushed from the other end. They put it on top of the box spring in the bedroom and he pushed it against the wall.
“What else?”
He spent the better part of an hour helping her move boxes around the house and hooking up her new fridge. Once that was done, she offered him some water. Turner drained the glass in one drink and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
“Thank you so much,” she said. “I could have managed, but it was much easier to have you help.”
“No problem.”
He still had enough time for a shower and then a trip to the gun range before he headed to the mine.
“Anything else?” he asked.
“I think that’s it.”
He walked toward the door.
“James?”
He stopped and turned around to face her.
“Yeah?”
“I know I brought you breakfast… but helping me unpack took a lot more time than I thought it would. I’d like to take you to dinner… to thank you properly.”
“Thanks, but I’m going to be busy with work.”
He wasn’t sure what his next mission would entail, but it would likely have him out of town for a few days minimally.
“Are you sure?”
“No worries… happy to help.”
She grabbed a pen and paper from the kitchen. Alice scribbled her phone number down on it and handed it to him.
“In case you change your mind.”
He nodded and shoved the paper into his pocket.
“See ya around,” he said.
He headed outside and walked back to his house. Turner took a shower and threw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt before getting into his car and driving to the gun range. He pulled into the parking lot and got out of his car. NIA owned the range, but it was also open to anyone willing to pay the exorbitant membership fee. It meant that most of the time the agents had it to themselves and it was fully stocked with the same weapons they took when on missions. He headed inside and greeted the man behind the counter.
“Hey, Greg,” Turner said.
“James… how’s it going?”
“Can’t complain. You?”
“Not bad. What are you looking to shoot today?”
Turner looked at the wall of firearms. The majority of his missions ended up with close kills where he was in the same room as the target, so working on his rifle skills didn’t seem prudent. If his next mission was a long distance assassination, he could always swing by and brush up a little. When he was growing up, his dad used to take him deer hunting, so he was confident that his skills hadn’t deteriorated all that much since he last practiced.
“I’ll go with a Glock 9mm.”
“Always a good choice.”
Greg pulled it off the wall and handed him two boxes of ammo. It was his gun of choice for most of his missions. The size made it easy to conceal under his clothing, but it had enough rounds… and sufficient stopping power… that it was good enough for anything he usually needed to do.
“Thanks.”
“Have a good one.”
Turner grabbed a pair of earmuffs from the counter and put them on. His hearing had already been damaged enough over the years that he always wore ear protection when at the range. He picked the gun and ammo up from the counter and headed through the door that led to the indoor range.
There was only one other person shooting. Agent Phelps, who had started a little over a year earlier. Turner didn’t know him that well, so he didn’t want to stop and chat. He went to the end of the range, ejected the magazine, and loaded it with a practiced efficiency. Since he started at NIA, Turner figured he’d fired a few hundred thousand rounds at the range. He went on days when he was feeling good… and days when he was recovering from being wounded—his life often depended on his ability to hit his target before they could react, so he knew it was something he would practice as often as possible as long as he was an agent.
Turner raised the Glock, looked down the sight, and squeezed off a round. He frowned. It completely missed the paper target. He took another shot, which managed to graze the outline of the terrorist. He shook his head and took a deep breath.
His third shot went wide.
Turner set down the pistol and closed his eyes. It was unusual for him to hit anywhere other than the dead center of the target. The image of Ying just before he shot her flashed into his mind. He opened his eyes, picked up the Glock, and fired off the remaining thirteen rounds. Two hit the center of the target. He set the pistol back down and leaned against the wall. His heart was racing and his hands were shaking.
He wasn’t sure what was wrong with him, but he was clearly rattled by what had happened in New York City. Turner grabbed the boxes of ammo and the Glock before walking out of the range.
“That was fast,” Greg said.
“Yeah, just a quick day. I’ve got to get to work.”
“Well, good luck. Have a good one. See you next time.”
“Thanks.”
He walked out and got into his car.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he asked, talking to himself.
He wrapped his fingers around the steering wheel and grit his teeth. Howard was expecting him to go on a mission later that night, and he couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn. He needed to get his mind right on the drive over to the mine.
10
Turner pulled into the parking lot of the mine a full hour before Howard was expecting him. It had been hard for him to admit it, even to himself, but he realized that he needed help… and Rhonda was the only person he could talk to. With a little bit of luck, he hoped she could get him ready for the mission he was about to go on.
He headed inside and walked to her office. She opened the door a few seconds after he knocked.
“James… what are you doing? We aren’t scheduled to meet.”
“Sorry… do you have time for a conversation?”
“Of course. Come in.”
He walked over and sat down on the couch and looked down at his hands. They were shaking. He pushed them down on his thighs to make it less obvious.
“What’s going on?” she asked, as she retrieved her pad of paper and sat down across from him.
“I’m not sure. I… I went to the range earlier… to get some practice in. I couldn’t hit the target no matter how hard I tried.”
“And you’re sure there wasn’t something wrong with the gun?”
He nodded. Greg, or one of the other guys that worked at the range, checked each firearm in the morning before they opened.
“Yeah, it was me.”
“And what do you think that means?”
He sighed and looked down at the floor. His words had to be carefully chosen. Howard showing up at the bar the night before had made it quite clear to Turner that the upcoming mission was as serious as they come. He knew that if he misspoke or came across as mentally unstable, then Rhonda would make sure he was deemed unfit and he’d have to sit the mission out. Turner couldn’t do that to Howard, not after everything he’d done for him over the years.
“I don’t know.”
“Did you sleep last night?”
“I did.”
He decided not to tell her that it was only because he got so drunk that he passed out. That would definitely send the wrong kind of signal. It would be the truth, but he knew it was out of the question.
“Good, I was a little worried about you.”
He nodded.
“I think… I don’t know. I’ve been doing this job a long time, you know? It wears you down. When I first started, Howard and the other agents, they told me that the first time I killed someone it would be awful. They were right. I puked my guts out in a trash can a few minutes later and I felt dirty for a week. Then they told me it would get easier. I’m not so sure it has. I mean, that was the only time I threw up… but it’s still just as hard for me to pull the trigger. I know that the people I kill have done terrible things, otherwise we wouldn’t b
e going after them. I’ve killed terrorists, heads of drug cartels, oppressive dictators… and every kind of repulsive human being in between. I just… I can’t help feeling guilty. At the end of the day, I’m still taking a life.”
She scribbled something down on her pad and looked up at him.
“That’s a good thing, James.”
“Is it though? It makes my job a hell of a lot harder.”
Rhonda shrugged.
“It means you still have your humanity. I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve talked to an agent and they don’t show a single ounce of remorse for the things they’ve been asked to do.”
“Yeah, but I feel like the guilt is starting to weigh me down.”
He looked down at the floor and swallowed. Those were the words that had been running through his mind for weeks. He thought it would make him feel better to say them out loud, but he felt exactly the same.
“Look, I don’t know the details of your missions, only Mr. Castle does, but I do know that you’re his favorite agent… in addition to being his best. You’re good at what you do, James. There’s no shame in that. Yes, in a perfect world you wouldn’t have to kill people as your job. The problem, though, is that the world isn’t perfect. It’s full of terrible people who do awful things. You just punish them for their crimes. It’s not so different from being in law enforcement… except you don’t have to worry about all the red tape.”
He took a minute to process everything she said. Turner agreed with her, but it didn’t make him feel any better about it.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“So, the real question… is what do you want to do about it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want me to insist that you’re pulled off active duty? I can do that.”
He shook his head.
“No.”
“Well, we can talk about whatever it is that’s bothering you. It’s my job to support you in any way that I can.”
“I know. Thanks for listening to me.”
“Of course, James. You and the other agents… it’s not an easy life, so I want to do everything in my power to help you work through it.”