Children of Paranoia

by Trevor Shane

  “That doesn’t make any sense, Joe.” There were tears in your eyes.

  “You just don’t understand,” I replied. “Your family wasn’t killed. How could you understand?”

  You began to cry. “You can’t have a war for survival, Joe. It doesn’t make any sense. If you’re both just trying to survive, all you have to do is stop fighting.”

  “If only it were that easy, Maria.”

  “So when does it stop, then?” you asked. You knew the answer without me saying a word. You began to cry. The tears flowed freely down your cheeks. “Does it ever end?”

  I didn’t answer you. I was growing weary of answering questions that I didn’t know the answer to.

  “How many?” you asked, the flow of tears waning. You wanted to know how many people I had killed. I wasn’t going to answer that question either.

  “As many as I’ve had to,” I answered.

  “How many?” you asked with more force. I just shook my head. You saw that you weren’t going to get anything more from me.

  “What am I supposed to do?” You looked up at me, your blue eyes as large as moons.

  “Trust me,” I pleaded, kneeling down in front of you. “I’m a good person, Maria. Trust me.” Even as I said the words I knew that you had no reason to trust me. If it weren’t for your own secrets, I’m convinced that you would have run. I wouldn’t have blamed you for running.

  “And what about me?” you asked.

  “If you stay with me, you become part of this. There are certain rules that will protect you, at least in the beginning.”

  “Rules?” you asked.

  “Yeah,” I responded, realizing how ridiculous it sounded. “It’s like how I told you that they couldn’t kill me when they came for my sister because I wasn’t eighteen. That’s one of the rules.” As I spoke, I didn’t realize how important the rules would become. “Another rule is that they can’t kill innocent bystanders. So they can’t touch you, not unless we become a family. If that happens, I’ll protect you.” I should have told you to run. I should have begged you to stay as far away from me as possible. If I were brave, I would have left you. Instead, I muttered, “I can’t ask you to stay. All I can do is promise that I will do everything I can to protect you.”

  There was a long stretch of painful silence. My whole body ached. It was your turn to speak. You took my hands in yours. You turned my hands over so that you could look at my palms. “You kill people. You kill people with these hands.” It was my turn to cry. I buried my face into your shoulder and wept.

  You must have thought about leaving me. You would have been crazy not to. Still, I could tell that you weren’t trying to break me down with your questions. You were just trying to fully assess the situation. Do you stay with a man you now know to be a killer or do you run? Eventually my own crying stopped. “Do you trust me?” I asked with as much strength as I could muster.

  “I don’t think I have any choice,” you replied.

  Now it was my turn to be confused. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m pregnant.”

  In the end it is our secrets that bind us.

  “What?” I stood up again, in shock.

  “I’m pregnant, Joe.”

  “How?” I was fishing for words.

  “You know how, Joe.” Your reply was curt. I wasn’t reacting like you wanted me to. I just told you that I end lives. Now you were telling me that you were going to be the source of one and I was acting like a jackass.

  “What about birth control?”

  “What about it, Joe? This may be the wrong time to bring it up for the first time.” Your voice was becoming angry.

  “You’re in college. What type of college student isn’t on the pill?” It was a stupid comment, but without it, we wouldn’t have realized the mess that we were in.

  “Yes, I am in university, Joe. But I’m not on the pill.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m seventeen, Joe,” you replied.

  My thoughts raced. Seventeen? How could you be seventeen? I began to do the math in my head. Seventeen plus nine months. What was seventeen plus nine months?

  “But you said you were a sophomore.”

  “I told you that I was in second year at university. That’s all you ever asked me. You never asked me how old I was. I graduated from high school early. I was advanced.” You were shouting. “I was seventeen, in university and lonely, and then I met you. I’ve always been different, Joe. I was different from my classmates in high school. I was different from my classmates at university. Then I met you and you were different too. We were different together.” You were pleading with me now. All I could do was keep trying to do the math in my head. Seventeen plus nine months, what was seventeen plus nine months?

  “When’s your birthday?”

  “What difference does that make?” You had gone from being angry at my response to confused.

  I looked at you. My look must have frightened you, because you flinched. “When is your birthday?” I repeated.

  “I turned seventeen two months ago.” Two months ago. What did that mean? My mind was racing.

  “How far along are you?” I asked. It was a stupid question. My brain wasn’t functioning properly.

  “What do you think, Joe?” you answered.

  It was a month ago. I put it together. It was a month ago when we spent the weekend together. You were due in eight months. You’d be two months short of your eighteenth birthday. There was no getting around it. There was no way to stretch things out for an extra two months. I froze.

  “Joe?” you shouted, trying to get my attention as I stared off into nowhere. I looked at you. You looked as if you were about to cry again. “Are you happy?”

  I couldn’t answer your question yet. “Do you know what you’re going to do?”

  “What do you mean?”

  I should have been more tactful. I wasn’t. I didn’t think we had time. “Are you going to keep it?”

  You began to cry again. Your tears made it clear that I was going to be a father. I was going to be the father of a child born to a woman under the age of eighteen. My child was going to be my enemy. That’s what the rules said.

  I went over to try to hold you, to try to comfort you so that I could explain my reaction. I tried to hug you and you slapped me across my face. It stung. There simply wasn’t any time for pain. I reached out and grabbed you again, fighting through your flailing arms until your body was pressed against mine.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I chanted. I kept repeating the words. They were a mantra. I said them until you stopped struggling and your body went limp in my arms. The secret that I had just revealed to you was already beginning to fade into the background. I couldn’t let it fade away. I couldn’t let you forget about the War, about my part in the War. I couldn’t let you forget any of that because now there was more to tell. You asked me why I fought. I couldn’t answer you, not in a way that would make you understand. But now there was a new reason to fight. “Of course I’m happy,” I said to you, trying to sooth you, “but you’re a child. You’re only seventeen. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

  “A child, Joe? Fuck you. You haven’t treated me like a child up until now. You weren’t treating me like a child last night. Maybe now’s a bad time to start treating me like a fucking child.” Seventeen. Jesus Christ. I looked at you. You were right. If either of us was acting like a child it was me.

  “I’m sorry,” I begged again. “I’m sorry for calling you a child. I’m sorry for how I reacted. I’m sorry for everything. I was just surprised. You caught me off guard.” You sobbed into my shirt. It became damp and stuck to my skin. I decided to say whatever it was that I thought you’d want me to say. “I’ll be happy to have a child with you. I am happy.” I was still in too much shock to sound convincing. I knew it. You drank it in, though, wanting so badly to be convinced. “I want my child to be your child, but I have one more thing that I need to
tell you.” I held you away from me so that I could look into your eyes as I spoke. You were beginning to calm down, my words finally equaling what you had hoped to hear.

  “I don’t think I can take anything else,” you replied, more prescient than you could even know.

  “I’m sorry. But there is one more thing.” Seventeen? I was only sixteen when this War was dropped on top of me. It seemed so young and so long ago. I lived through it, though. You were stronger than me. I told you about the rules again, the rules that I had always viewed as a safe harbor against the madness of this War. Now those same rules seemed beyond cruel. Rule number one: No killing innocent bystanders. Rule number two: No killing anyone under the age of eighteen. All that was left was to explain to you the third rule. Children born to those under the age of eighteen had to be handed over to the other side. You gasped when I told you, quickly grasping the idea. “I would tell you to run but they’d find you,” I said. It was true. Running without me was no longer an option. “They’d find you and they’d take our child. If you’re with me I can protect you.”

  “There has to be another way.”

  “No. There’s not. If we are going to have this baby, these are the rules.” You shook your head in disbelief. I wish I had better answers. Better answers didn’t exist.

  “So what do we do? I’m not giving this baby up, Joe.” Your voice sounded stubborn and strong, stronger than I would have imagined possible at that moment.

  I wasn’t about to give our baby up, either, Maria. “We run,” I said to you. “We run.” Not yet, but soon.

  The rest of the day went by in a blur. Both of us were exhausted. We were emotionally spent. We passed the day trying to absorb the new twists in our lives. We both knew that nothing would ever be the same. Every so often you would ask me a question or I would ask you one, trying to clarify some details, trying to clear up uncertainties, just trying to get to know each other. It was hard to believe that we’d only actually spent five days together.

  “So, have you been to the doctor?” I remember asking.

  “Why? Are you doubting that I’m pregnant?” You smiled again. “Are you still trying to get out of this?”

  “No. No. No. Trust me. I just want to make sure you’re taking proper care of yourself. I just want to make sure that you’re taking proper care of my child.”

  “This is Canada,” you replied. “Of course I’ve been to the doctor.”

  “So when are you due?” I began counting on my fingers.

  “July,” you said before I had a chance to finish counting.

  “July,” I replied, and smiled.

  “What about my family?” you asked at one point. I barely ever heard you talk about your family. I mythologized them in my head. They were normal. They’d produced you.

  “If people think they know anything, their lives will be turned upside down. They’re innocent bystanders, so they can’t be physically hurt, but there are a lot of ways that people can mess with you without physically hurting you.”

  “So I can’t even reach out to them? I can’t tell them where I am?”

  “Well, there are ways. We’ll be able to let them know that we’re safe, maybe even send them pictures. But we won’t be able to see them.” You looked worried.

  “Ever?” There was strength in your voice again. I could tell that you were already willing to make any sacrifice to protect our child.

  “One day, after we get away, both sides will forget about us. They’ll write us off. Then we can visit your family.” Maybe, I thought. Maybe we’ll be able to escape. “I want to meet them.” I smiled, trying to cheer you up. “I’m sure they’ll want to meet their grandchild.”

  “They’re not going to understand,” you said. Your voice was sad. I wanted to say something wise to make you feel better. I didn’t say anything.

  “So what are you, some kind of genius?” I asked.

  “No,” you replied. “I was homeschooled. My parents always kept me ahead of the other kids. I sit in classes now and I’m amazed at how smart the other students are.”

  “But you’re two years younger than they are.”

  “So, what does age have to do with anything?”

  “Why don’t you just admit that you’re really fucking smart?” I asked.

  “Nice language, Joe.”

  “Maybe if I was homeschooled, too, I’d speak more better,” I teased.

  “Shut up,” you said. You picked up a pillow and threw it at my head.

  “I’m excited. My kid has like a fifty/fifty chance of being a genius,” I replied after dodging the pillow. For the first time all day, you smiled.

  “Does everyone have to kill people?” you asked. It was a fair question. You wanted to know if I’d volunteered for this job.

  “No. There are lots of different jobs.”

  “So how did you end up with the one you have?”

  “Aptitude testing,” I replied.

  “You’re shitting me.”

  “I wish I was, but I’m not. I could have been sent to Intelligence, genealogy, a bunch of other jobs. But they analyze how you react during your initial training. After analyzing my reaction, they gave me a test and the test said that I’d make a good assassin.” I looked at you. You didn’t like it when I used that word. “I’ll be honest, though. When I was seventeen, eighteen, I would have volunteered for this job. I was so angry with them.”

  “And now?” you asked.

  “Now I wish my hands were clean. But I’m still angry.”

  “At them?” you asked.

  “Yeah,” I replied, “at the people who murdered my family.”

  “Do you think I’m a bad person?” I asked after building up the courage.

  “No,” you replied. I breathed a sigh of relief. “But I don’t know you.” I looked at you. You did know me. You just didn’t know it. You already knew me better than anyone else in the world. I couldn’t explain that to you, though. I’d have to show it to you. It would take time. “I love you, but I don’t know you.” Love was good. It had gotten us this far. “And I think that what you’ve done is wrong, no matter how you try to justify it.” I accepted this. You hadn’t lived my life. “And I’m a little scared of you. And I want you to stop killing.”

  “Fair enough,” I replied. I couldn’t ask for much more than that. I’d lived with fear my whole life. It was only natural that you’d be afraid, too, after what I had told you. I wish you weren’t afraid of me, but time would take care of that. You didn’t think I was a bad person. That was enough for me for now.

  “So will you?”

  “Will I what?”

  “Stop killing.”

  “Yes, I will,” I replied, “if they’ll let me.”

  “Where are we going to go?” you asked. I hadn’t thought about it. We were going to try to find a place where they wouldn’t think to look for us.

  “I don’t know. South?”

  “Why south?”

  “I’ll take you someplace warm,” I replied.

  “If we go someplace warm, what will I need you for?” you replied. Our first night together already seemed like a long time ago. I stared off into the distance, remembering the look on your face when you asked me to get under the covers with you. “What are you thinking about, Joe?” you asked.

  “You,” I answered, and left it at that.

  Outside the window, day was slipping into evening. “So when do we leave?” you asked.

  “Soon,” I replied. “I have to take care of one thing. It will buy us some time. Then we can leave.” You didn’t ask any questions. I think you knew what I had to do. You had asked me to stop killing. I promised you that I would. I planned on keeping that promise but I couldn’t yet. I needed to do one more job to buy us enough time to escape. For that, I needed to do some planning.

  That evening, when we had run out of questions to ask each other, I checked into a hotel under the assumed name that Allen had given me. It was suddenly important that everything
look as normal as possible. I was sure that they’d be tracking me, checking to make sure that I was up to the task this time. I remembered what Jared had told me, that they had big plans for me, but I knew that I couldn’t be too careful. In my whole career, I had only blown one hit, but that one was enough. Plus, I was already a day behind. They had expected me to check into the hotel the night before. From here on out, my every move had to be by the book. Check into the hotel. Do the job. Then we would have a two-week head start. It would be two weeks before they expected me to call in again. We could get halfway around the world in two weeks. For all I knew, that’s what it was going to take to get away.

  I picked the hotel at random, eventually checking into a place in the old city that used to be a bank. As if to drive home the point that I was being monitored, I received a package in my hotel room only three hours after I’d checked in. They must have been monitoring the credit cards they’d given me because I was sure that I wasn’t being followed. The package contained an updated status report on my target. There wasn’t much in it that was new, two days a week teaching classes, one day at the strip club, lunch one day in Chinatown. The big Aussie had quit the job after getting out of the hospital. As far as they could tell, he’d fully recovered and gone back to Australia. My mark had hired a new bodyguard to replace him. This time the second bodyguard was one of them. Last time I had spent a week developing a plan that didn’t work. Now I had two days to put together a new plan and I had to factor in the probability that the mark and his employees would be on high alert. There had been a killer in his house, only feet from his bedroom door, and he knew it. There’s no way that didn’t stick with a guy. No matter how I sliced it, this job was going to be a bitch. But this was it—the last job that I’d ever do. Get in, get out, and run. Then I’d be free. Then we’d be free to be together.