Good Intentions - Adrian Hell #6 (Adrian Hell Series)

by James P. Sumner

  I figured I should do my part, which is why, when I spent almost three million dollars on this car, I went for the electric version.

  It’s the least I can do…

  Man, I love it here! I’ve bought a place on Al Reem Island, which is an up-and-coming part of the city near the coast. It’s just… beautiful. It took me a couple weeks to acclimatize—to the lifestyle, as well as the weather—but I’m actually happy. I’m actively trying to forget my old life. Adrian Hell is dead. His spirit very much lives on, don’t get me wrong—I’ve carried out two contracts for The Order since I moved here, both of which were straightforward and relatively easy for me—but the persona is dead.

  Thanks to The Order of Sabbah, I’m now legally known as Brad Foley.

  I know… weird, right?

  I struggled with it at first, too, but I finally got around to realizing a couple of things. First of all, my life has sucked, badly, for longer than I care to remember. I’ve fucking earned this shit! Even when I had billions of dollars of my own, I didn’t really enjoy it—not in the typical sense, anyway. Yes, I bought a bar and started over, but I used what I needed to so I could have a quiet life. This time, I’m using what I want to so I can actually enjoy myself.

  And that’s the second thing I’ve realized. I shouldn’t feel weird or guilty for doing this. I know Josh would be happy for me, and proud of me for finally living my life instead of simply existing solely to end other people’s. Believing that, helps me deal with the choices I made that ultimately got me here. A lot has happened in a short space of time, and I needed to slow things down, take stock, and relax.

  I even got a tattoo, to mark the beginning of this new life. I wanted a permanent reminder of where I am now, but also where I came from… what I’ve been through. A tribute to my former self, so to speak. I kept it simple. On the inside of my right forearm, in a nice, Latin-inspired font, are four letters: WWJD.

  What Would Josh Do?

  He might think I’m dead, but he’s still keeping me in line!

  I hit the Abu Dhabi city limits and drop to a more acceptable speed. The noise of civilization grows all around, and shadows begin to stretch across the streets as immense buildings dominate the skyline.

  There’s a healthy mixture of everyday life and extravagance here. It’s one of the places that didn’t become suddenly over-populated by refugees searching for a new life in this post-4/17 world, simply because no one was allowed to. But the government and the Sheikhs have contributed billions to foreign aid initiatives, so they’ve done more than their fair share to help out. What remains here is a thriving, largely unaffected population, concerned about the rest of the world, but living their own lives as normal, with as many luxuries as they can afford.

  I fit right in.

  I’m actually on my way to an appointment. It may or may not be a bad thing, depending on how you look at it, but there’s a lot of downtime when you’re in The Order. All the money and freedom in the world certainly helps, but personally, I found I get bored easily. I’ve enjoyed getting to know the city, but more often than not, I find myself sitting alone in a bar somewhere, drinking till dawn.

  It’s a lot of time to be left alone with only your thoughts for company.

  As great as this new life is, and as genuinely happy as I feel, I admit I’ve… struggled, I guess, with a sense of guilt that I know I should ignore, but I can’t. I’ve no one to talk to—no Josh to keep me sane. It’s just my own mind and a lot of beer, which isn’t a good combination.

  That’s why I’ve sought help.

  16:03 AST

  I’m sitting in a slightly reclined leather chair, staring out the window at the scorching metropolis sprawling below me. The single room is a converted apartment on the top floor of a four-story building, nestled in the center of a small office complex just a short walk from Mangrove National Park. It’s largely devoid of any decoration, which is probably a strategic decision more than anything else. The carpet is new and still soft underfoot, the walls are plain and painted in a warm, neutral color, and the air conditioning is blasting out, keeping the modest space nicely chilled.

  Sitting across from me, in a less comfortable looking chair, is a woman. She has dark brown hair tied up in a ponytail, and thin, pointed glasses resting low on her nose. Her high cheekbones are pronounced on her thin face, and her smile is friendly and welcoming, and accompanies a manner that is never anything but professional.

  Her name is Kaitlyn Moss. She’s a highly-qualified and very expensive psychotherapist. I found her purely by chance. She’s American, but moved out here a few years ago once she’d qualified. I’ve been spending an hour with her four times a week since I moved to Abu Dhabi. I know… weird, right? But I need to talk to someone, and due to lack of options, I figured this was probably the best way to go. I can speak with confidence and without fear of judgment. It may only be a small amount of time, but I’ve been finding it a big help.

  Of course, I have to gloss over some of the specifics when addressing certain topics. While it’s confidential, as a therapist, she’s still obligated to report me if she believes I could cause harm to myself or others, or if I intend breaking the law.

  Yeah… there’s been a lot of glossing over!

  Kaitlyn is sitting with her legs crossed and her hands clasped on her lap with a notepad beneath them. She’s just asked me about Lily—how I feel about her, and how that makes me feel, and I’m thinking about my answer. She’s watching me, observing.

  I take a deep breath and look into her eyes. “I like her. I admire and respect her. I consider her a friend. Or, the closest thing I’ll ever have to one.”

  Kaitlyn nods slowly, not taking her eyes off me. “Okay, allow me to digress for just a moment there, Brad. You say she’s the closest thing you’ll ever have to a friend. That’s an interesting choice of words… What made you phrase it in that way?”

  I shrug. “I dunno. I didn’t think about it, really. I just… said it.”

  She looks at me as if she’s sympathetic toward the fact I don’t understand something. “Your mind works on two levels—conscious… and subconscious. More often than we tend to realize, your subconscious makes choices for us based on instinct and, for want of a better phrase, what comes from the heart. You didn’t think about how you phrased it because you didn’t need to. In your mind, whether you’re fully aware of it or not, you know exactly why you phrased it that way. Just take a moment to think about it.”

  I raise an eyebrow and laugh. Not in disbelief, but at my own phenomenal lack of comprehension of what she just said. “That’s some deep and meaningful shit…” I take a deep, slow breath. “I guess… I guess I just don’t envisage having much opportunity to make new friends. My job has never really afforded me personal relationships, and…”

  “And…?”

  I sigh. She picks up on every tiny little thing I say and do. “And… I lost the only friend I ever had, which was completely my fault. I don’t want to replace… I don’t want another one.”

  She smiles as if she’s trying to offer me some comfort. “Making new friends doesn’t mean you’re replacing your old ones. It just means you’re moving on with your life. Your past, if nothing else, serves as a reminder of who you are… what you’ve accomplished, what you’ve endured to be where you are, and who you are today. There’s nothing wrong with embracing that.”

  I nod. “I know… but I don’t feel ready to embrace it. I’m not sure I deserve to.”

  She nods back and makes a quick note on her pad. “Okay, we’ll come back to that. I don’t want to lose our original thread. You say you like Lily, and you mention a level of admiration and respect. Is that all you feel?”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Are you asking me if I’m attracted to her?”

  Kaitlyn says nothing, she just makes a small gesture with her hands for me to speak, as if it’s up to me how I interpret her question.

  I roll my eyes. “I dunno… I mean, it’s not like she’s
unattractive. Any man would find her easy on the eye, y’know? But I don’t think I have any feelings toward her in that way.”

  “You’ve mentioned in previous sessions about recently losing a loved one.” She pauses to look at her notes. “Tori?”

  I nod, but say nothing.

  That conversation took place in my second… no, third session. Pretty hard to explain the story, so I succinctly explained she had been killed in the 4/17 attacks. Easier that way.

  “Have you considered the possibility that maybe you’re conflicted inside? That part of you actually wants to move on, whether that’s with Lily, or someone else, but a part of you is trapped in this… cycle of guilt and blame over the loss of Tori.”

  I massage my forehead as I feel myself getting defensive. “But I am to blame for Tori’s death! I should’ve been there to protect her. I should’ve…”

  Kaitlyn leans forward slightly. “Brad… everyone deals with things differently. Some people feel their lives will never be the same after suffering a loss and it can take years for them to feel normal again. Some people never do. Others, for a whole host of different reasons, find being able to close an entire chapter of their lives much easier. It can be an unhealthy thing, like a very strong denial, where they consciously or subconsciously choose to avoid the problem, or it can be a positive thing—they can be naturally strong enough to see that their own life doesn’t have to stop because someone else’s did.”

  I frown. “Don’t you think that’s a little callous? Just cutting someone off and forgetting about them like that?”

  She shakes her head. “Like I say, some people will do it out of denial, but others can do it without guilt. People of faith, who believe the person they lost is at peace, use the comfort that belief gives them to continue with their own lives.”

  “Yeah, but what about me? I’m to blame for losing Tori. I should’ve been there to protect her. I don’t deserve to enjoy life knowing she can’t because of me.”

  Kaitlyn sits back in her chair and adjusts herself. “Brad, let me share something with you. Ever since 4/17, people all over the world, from every walk of life you can think of, have struggled in some way. It was the same with 9/11. It’s not survivor’s guilt, as such. It’s more a sense of… helplessness. Of loss. Of fear. The fact that something so terrible could actually happen, the awareness of the impact it had on all our lives forever… the go-to response is to take it personally. The scope of it is too big to comprehend, so we subconsciously personalize it, make it about ourselves, and by doing so we put that tragedy in terms our minds can understand. But the downside to that is, you’re essentially making it about you. So you feel as if you’re the only one to suffer a loss. You feel afraid. You feel as if you can’t do anything to protect the people you care about. And you feel guilty for ever moving on.”

  I’m staring at the floor. I’m listening to every word she’s saying, and it makes a lot of sense. She’s clearly very good at what she does, and that’s why I’m finding it so hard to let her continue. What she’s saying probably applies to ninety-nine percent of people who have sought therapy in the last three months. But I was there. I was there when the button was pushed to kick-start 4/17. I was there when it was pushed to blow up my girlfriend. I was there, and both times I should have done more to stop it happening. But I can’t say that…

  I just nod absently. “That makes sense, I guess. But I know that Tori’s dead because of something… because of something I didn’t do and should have. It doesn’t matter what killed her. She could’ve been crossing the street and been hit by a car. The fact is, she was in the position where she was vulnerable and alone because of me, and she died as a result. So I blame myself.”

  Kaitlyn goes to respond, but seems to stop herself. I’m smart enough to know that she’s smart enough to know there’s probably more to this than I’m saying, but I think she realizes I’ve said all I’m going to about it for now.

  She sits back in her seat. “Okay, Brad. Let’s look at something else. I think maybe the key to helping you deal with your guilt isn’t to address the root cause of it directly.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Okay…”

  “We’ve spoken about Tori in some detail. Not only the circumstances surrounding her death, but also the impact she had on your life. You mentioned previously that you retired a few years ago from a job you’d held for… well, most of your life. It was during this retirement that you met Tori, and she became the face of your new life—she symbolized everything your new life was about. A change of scene, a change of pace… your happiness.”

  I shrug and nod. That sounds about right.

  She crosses her legs the opposite way and shifts in her seat. “Tell me, what made you retire from your job?”

  I stroke the coarse stubble on my chin. “I’d… I’d done my job very well for a long time. I served when I was eighteen, and when I left the Army, I stepped straight into the job and did it, in some capacity, for over twenty years. I felt it was time to stop. To move away from the only thing I knew how to do… from the only thing I was ever any good at… and try to start over.”

  She nods. “I see. You’ve never mentioned your time in the military before. Where were you stationed?”

  “I was part of Desert Shield, stationed over in Saudi. My unit was ambushed by some local forces a couple of months in. I was shot, and most of them were killed.”

  Her eyes go wide with genuine disbelief. “My God… and you were eighteen?”

  I nod.

  “You say most of your unit lost their lives… What happened to the others? How did they survive?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. Our squad was split in two. The other half, as far as I know, did survive, but I left the Army soon after I was discharged from hospital, and lost touch.”

  Kaitlyn glances at her watch. “It’s almost time to wrap this up for today, but I want to leave you with this thought, Brad. From everything you’ve told me, and simply from how you carry yourself, it’s pretty clear, even to someone without three degrees in psychology, that you feel it’s your… responsibility to protect people. I think you view yourself as everyone’s big brother, and you take it very personally if someone you feel is your responsibility is hurt in any way. As honorable as that is, it’s an incredible burden for anyone to bear. I think you bear it gladly, but you have to understand the downside to that is you end up blaming yourself for things that aren’t your fault. It can also be a way of avoiding having to address your own problems… In terms of the guilt you say you feel, I think we’re very much at a crossroads now. I think you’re intelligent enough to realize what I’m saying makes sense, but I think you’re… frankly, stubborn enough to allow yourself to stay trapped in that cycle of guilt we mentioned earlier. You need to understand that any guilt you’re feeling is a choice and you’ll continue to feel it for as long as you allow yourself to.”

  I nod slowly as I stare blankly at the floor again, absorbing everything she’s saying, and trying my best to process what it means. I’ve never looked at myself that way. No one’s ever said to me I’m a natural protector. I wonder if she’d think that if she knew what I really did for a living? I guess she has a point, but that still doesn’t change the fact my actions were directly responsible for a lot of people I cared about dying, including the woman I loved. What right do I have to move on from that? I should suffer the guilt I’m feeling.

  I glance out the window before looking at her. “Okay. Thank you, Kaitlyn. As always, I appreciate your time and insight, and it does help me. Really.”

  She smiles professionally. “You’re an intriguing man, Mr. Foley, and while I think there’s still a way to go, I’m glad you’re feeling the benefit from our sessions.”

  I stand and straighten my T-shirt. “I am, definitely. Are you free tomorrow?”

  She flicks through her notepad. “Yes… how does three o’clock sound?”

  I nod. “Perfect.”

  We both stand, shake hands, and I
leave her office. I walk down the three flights of stairs, press a button to release the magnetic lock on the main entrance, and get into my car, parked in the lot outside. I start the engine, put on a pair of sunglasses, and stare ahead for a moment, lost in idle thought. I always feel drained after my sessions with Kaitlyn. It’s difficult having to think about all that shit for a solid hour.

  I need a drink.

  9

  16:37 AST

  I’m traveling along the E10, heading toward the coast. I exit right and merge onto the road that takes me over the marina to Al Reem Island. The traffic isn’t as heavy as in the main city. There are a handful of districts, each with their own micro-communities and points of interest. Lots of money was invested in developing this place over the last couple of years, and so far it’s been thriving quite nicely. Some of the houses over here dwarf mine. That’s not to say my place is small or anything, but there are definitely degrees of wealth, shall we say. Plus, I’m trying to stay reasonably discreet.

  Because of the climate, natural vegetation and greenery is practically nonexistent, but lots of artificial trees, grass, and shrubbery have been planted all around here. As a result, the place looks a little like Las Vegas, but it’s nice.

  I drive down the main street for a half-mile or so, and take a left. The road takes me away from the center and out into one of the residential areas. After another quarter-mile, I turn left again and stop in front of the gates leading into the exclusive community I now call home. There’s no security as such, except for a network of camera feeds that link directly to the local police department. Plus, the wide, wrought-iron gate that blocks the street can only be opened remotely... and only the residents have a remote. I aim mine at the sensor, which is a small black box fixed to the left pillar next to the gate. The fob in my hand beeps, and there’s a whirring as the mechanisms kick in and the gate begins to slide open.