by N. A. Alcorn
You’re my everything.
I love you so much that my chest can’t stop aching from your absence.
Please, Nix.
Missing You Desperately,
Sloan
P.S. I’ve added ALL of my contact information. Phone numbers where you can reach me in Japan. Even my email address. I hope you’ll respond soon.
June 1st, 2000
Nix,
I just don’t understand. My chest feels hollow, and I ache for you in every single cell inside of my body. I wish I knew your reasoning for no longer responding to my letters. I’ve tried to call you so many times, but the phone just rings and rings and rings and rings...
I feel like I’ve lost all possibilities in reaching you. Hell, I even resorted to trying to get in touch with anyone from the base in Honolulu to see if they knew anything, but it’s like you’ve completely disappeared.
What happened Nix?
Have you moved on?
Did it just get too hard?
A part of me wants to be angry with you, but I can’t seem to find the strength to do anything but love you. I’ve tried like hell to hold on to hope that you’ll come around, but after six months of being in perpetual limbo, I can’t seem to find the strength to write you anymore.
This has all felt like a terrible dream. I keep hoping that I’ll wake up from it, that I’ll open my eyes and there will be a letter from you in the mailbox waiting for me.
But I can’t seem to wake up. This nightmare is my reality.
Sometimes I try to convince myself that I wasn’t in love with you. That maybe my heart never really skipped a beat when you flashed that gorgeous smile at me. That maybe the twinkle I thought I saw in your blue eyes was really just the sun reflecting weird. And maybe the feeling in my stomach, the butterflies that fluttered inside my belly whenever you were near, was just some weird fluke.
But then I remember. I remember you. I remember us together.
And I can’t deny the fact that our love was real. It had seeped into my veins and flowed inside my blood, breathing so much life into my heart. Love. We had so much love, Nix. And the seconds after I come out of my daydreams, fantasizing about being together again, reliving the moments we shared…I can physically feel my heart breaking all over again.
You know what the worst part of all of this is?
It’s how much I miss you. Not in some cheesy-romantic-movie, happily-ever-after, prince-on-the-white-horse kind of way. I just miss you. I miss you in my life. I miss my best friend.
But it’s gotten to the point where I can’t even remember what it’s like to not feel broken. I’m just walking aimlessly through the foreign streets of Honshu, Japan (which I hate, by the way), barely breathing. My thoughts are lost…so far away. My mind is always racing, my heart is always aching, and sleep just doesn’t come easy. But God, do I wish I could sleep. Because at least when I’m sleeping, I’m not remembering.
I know that we’re young, and I’m sure the fact that my father was transferred again on such short notice didn’t make things any easier, but I stayed optimistic that things would not end like this.
It just hurts.
Why does it hurt so fucking bad?
This pain is nearly unbearable, and I keep hoping that time will make this easier. I keep praying that soon this jagged scar within my heart will heal.
Maybe one day I will feel whole again.
I know down to my very soul that what we had was real, and the pain I feel from your absence only solidifies that fact. Every ache, every burn, and every terrible sensation that terrorizes my heart gives me an odd sense of relief. In a sick and twisted way, this heartache is worth it to me. It proves that we tried for something, and even after all of the pain, I still wouldn’t take any of it back. Despite this unbearable agony, I’d still do it all over again.
Loving you will never be a mistake for me.
You’ve changed me, and I can never regret that fact. I’ll never forget the times we shared—the smiles, the laughter, every perfect moment—that brought so much meaning into my life. You are my first love and you will forever hold a precious place in my heart—a place that I’m not sure anyone will ever be able to touch.
I truly hope that you’re happy. That you’re living. That you’re still being the fun-loving, spontaneous Nix I’ve come to love so much.
This is the last letter I will send you. I guess this is goodbye…
Love,
Sloan
June 1st, 2000
Meli,
It’s been two years since I first laid eyes on your gorgeous face. And it’s been six months since I last spoke to you, received a letter from you…
I honestly don’t know which is worse…the nightmares I have while I’m asleep or the thoughts of you that bombard me while I’m awake. Ripping my heart out of my chest would be less painful than this. I’ve come to the pathetic realization that having a broken heart is like having broken ribs. On the outside, everyone thinks I’m fine, but on the inside, every fucking breath hurts.
I know the distance that separates us is tough. The infrequent phone calls and letters make it hard to stay together, but I just wish I knew what the final breaking point was for you.
I think that’s what makes this so fucking hard. The unknown. The uncertainty that comes along with never hearing what made you stop calling and writing. I respect your reasons and I’m sure my family’s last-minute move to L.A. didn’t help matters, but I just wish I could have heard your voice one more time. I wish that I could have actually said goodbye.
Sometimes I find myself feeling like you gave up on me…on us.
But then I remind myself that sometimes giving up doesn’t always mean you’re weak. Maybe it means that you were strong enough to let go. And I could never deny the strength you possess inside you.
Fuck, I just wish I knew when this pain would end.
When will you no longer be a recurrent thought for me?
I feel like you’re still ingrained in every goddamn cell in my body.
I even looked up how long it takes for the body to replace every single cell of the human body with new ones. Seven years was the answer I got. Seven fucking years. Apparently, that’s how long it will take for my heart to be brand new. Seven fucking years and maybe I’ll be over this hurt. Seven fucking years and maybe the unwavering ache that eats at me every single day will be gone.
Seven years…
It only took a second for you to yell out to me that day at Diamond Head Beach, and in an instant, you changed my life. But now I’m faced with…seven years. I try to tell myself that this time frame will work, that in seven years I won’t feel like this, but I know it’s not true.
I know that the only time I’ll get over you is when forever comes.
It will literally take me forever to say goodbye to you.
Even six months later, I still find myself thinking about you, about us, about all of the moments we spent together. I look back on those times and it makes it impossible for me to hate you. I’m incapable of feeling anything but love for you. I guess you really know how much you love someone when you can’t even bring yourself to hate them for breaking your heart.
Honestly, I think hating you would be easier…but I just can’t do it.
I only want you to be happy, to have a good life, to continue to be the girl I adore more than anyone else in this world. Keep your sass and feistiness. Keep marching to your own tune and being the girl who made me understand what it means to truly live.
Just find your happiness, Meli.
My heart is still yours.
Nix
P.S. This still isn’t goodbye for me. I know it should be, but I just can’t say it.
I’m still going to end with…see you soon.
LIFE IS JUST ONE, ENDLESS sweeping curve with an infinite amount of turning points.
The life-altering turns, the unexpected points—they are not what define a person; they simply assist in final decisio
ns and the shaping of the future.
Sloan Walker knows better than anyone else that life can throw some hellish curveballs.
There are two poignant moments in her life where unforeseen events have quite literally knocked her on her ass. She has experienced unimaginable loss three times. The first time was when she lost her first love. The second and third time occurred at the very same moment, and they were the most tragic, devastating losses of her life. Not many people can say that they experienced love, heartache, and unthinkable loss all before the age of twenty.
No longer a youthful, free-spirited girl, she is a woman—a thirty-two-year-old woman who has changed with time. A woman who has learned a lifetime’s worth of wisdom through the life circumstances that have shaped her. She is older, wiser, and undeniably stronger than the young, naïve girl she once was. Some may even consider her harder, less optimistic, less carefree. But who could blame her for changing into someone who no longer allows her mind to be filled with daydreams and thoughts of happily ever after?
She was faced with adversity and made a decision to live a life most people couldn’t even fathom. Her future, her priorities—her entire focus—revolve around her career. She’s given up normalcy. She’s given up her true identity. Her reality—her career—is filled with secrets, covert missions, and a life that isn’t really hers.
Her current life isn’t easy by any stretch of the imagination. She’s given up on the idea of living in any type of ‘normal’ capacity. White picket fences and lovely dreams of blue-eyed babies are not an option. She probably won’t walk down the aisle in a white dress and long, lace veil to marry the man of her dreams.
But she will do everything in her power to protect her country.
The late Katherine Graham once said, “We live in a dirty and dangerous world. There are some things the general public does not need to know and shouldn't.”
Katherine Graham was a very wise woman.
There are things that normal Americans do not need to know—truths that are better left unsaid and secrets that should never be revealed. It is better to be ignorant to the everyday perils that threaten the well-being of their nation than to actually know the truth.
And in Sloan’s opinion, the truth is fucking scary. The world we live in today is not safe. We are faced with some of the most despicable, underhanded, evil human beings that have ever lived. Our continuous, never-ending war on terror is evidence of this. Our nation is being threatened daily, and the American people are not as safe as they think they are.
She knows all of these unfortunate truths because she’s seen the terrorizations with her own eyes. She’s uncovered the secrets. She’s witnessed the dirty, wicked things international criminals are capable of. The terrorists, the drug lords, the fanatically misled groups of people that continue to threaten the welfare and security of the red-white-and-blue. She does this job because of them. She will strive to discover deadly information that will provide her nation with the means of keeping Americans out of harm’s way. That is her goal. Her priority. And for the past ten years, it has been her reason for living.
She is well aware of the risks and rewards.
Her life is the risk. Keeping her country safe is the reward.
Only a select few are aware of the true nature of her job. Her personal identity is nonexistent. Since she’s been working under the agent name L-55, her cover has never been revealed, and her focus, tenacity, intelligence, and unwavering strength are four of the biggest reasons why this has never occurred.
Sloan understands that she is a loner—a mere outsider to the real world that bustles and thrives around her—and for the past decade, she has been at peace with that.
But what happens if life steps in again and throws another hellish curveball her way?
And what if serendipity lends a hand to shake up the present?
SLOAN IS HIGHLY INTELLIGENT AND undoubtedly determined when any obstacles or challenges are set in her way. This is what makes her great at what she really does. Her actual strengths—her strong points—are from a purely mathematical, linguistic, and computer analytic standpoint. She’s assisted in developing some of the most high-tech computer software that has dramatically aided the United States.
Her real job—her ultimate priority over anything and everything—is her association with the CIA. L-55 is her agent name. This CIA appointed name has meaning. L stands for Lady and 55 is in relation to her ongoing assignment on Project 55. She signed on with the US Central Intelligence Agency at the age of twenty-one after completing a two-year internship with them as an undergraduate student at Georgetown University.
Her internship had nothing to do with Clandestine Affairs. Its primary focus was developing computer software that would keep surveillance networks highly secure. The CIA was immediately impressed with her. Her knowledge and capability of being able to develop software as well as hack into just about any computer system in the world sold them. The fact that she’s fluent in both English and Spanish, and inherited her mother’s Spanish genetics, was icing on the CIA-approved cake. Dark hair, dark eyes, olive skin tone, and bilingual abilities have permitted her to fly under the radar when working in Spanish-speaking countries to uncover top-secret intelligence information.
Sloan’s undergraduate college major was engineering with a dual degree in computer analytics. She achieved this goal, but after graduation, she began a life she never even knew existed. She went from being a young girl with aspirations of becoming an engineer to a woman who had stepped into a role to protect her country in a top-secret capacity. The ultimate plan was established the moment she put the pen to the paper and signed her life away. It was decided that she would continue on to med school to provide the perfect cover, the perfect identity. And that’s exactly what she did.
Under the name of Dr. Felicia Santora, she graduated from Harvard Medical School four years after being employed by the CIA and completed a plastic surgery residency in record time. Most surgical residencies specializing in plastics take between five and six years—she finished hers in three. Yes, she is skilled, but her connections are what essentially helped speed the process along. Despite the accelerated pace she completed her residency, she is still highly capable and irrefutably competent in her surgical skills. Everyone around her believes that Dr. Felicia Santora is her real name and that her life’s primary focus is medicine, but surgery isn’t her passion; it merely provides a means to an end—the perfect cover. And only a select few know the truth.
To the outside world, the name Sloan Walker has been long forgotten.
But deep down, she will always be Sloan, the girl who knows without a doubt that two of the most incredible people had brought her into this world. Her mother, Maria Milochana Sanchez Walker was originally from Spain. She met Sloan’s father while he was stationed overseas. United States Navy Vice Admiral John Walker met his Spanish wife in a small village just outside of Alicante, a historic Mediterranean port on the Costa Blanca. They were married within six months, granting Sloan’s mother American citizenship.
Her parents eventually moved to the States, where they had Sloan and her father continued his prestigious naval career. John Walker was a highly decorated officer. Throughout his military career, he received two Silver Stars and ten personal combat decorations. He was the strongest, most courageous man she ever knew. For nineteen years, she was blessed with two of the most amazing people a girl could ask for.
And then calamity struck.
Her parents died tragically in a car accident while she was away at college.
She found it sadly ironic that her father—who had been faced with some of the most dangerous, combative situations throughout his Navy career—was ultimately killed by a drunk driver speeding through a red light into incoming traffic.
They were killed instantly.
This was one of the most difficult times in her life. In a matter of seconds, she went from having two loving parents to being alone. Because of her father’
s career, which required constant transfers across the globe, she had very little family and friends to speak of. This is probably why Sloan felt compelled to take the CIA up on their offer of recruitment. It gave her a fresh start, the possibility of a new life.
In her mind, she had no reason to maintain her true identity.
She’s been working with the CIA for ten years. Even throughout med school, she was involved in covert, top-secret operations. She spent her summers during graduate school traveling to third-world countries under the pretense of providing humanitarian efforts to underdeveloped nations lacking medical care, but in reality, she was gaining intel on some of the world’s most dangerous criminals.
Once she got a taste of being L-55, she never wanted to look back.
This job is in her blood now. It’s her passion—her sole reason for waking up every day.
L-55’s primary focus is international drug cartel. She’s strategically placed in areas suspicious for high drug activity and trafficking to the United States under the pretense of providing charitable surgeries for Project Smiles.
By day, she’s the picture-perfect surgeon.
By night, she’s L-55.
Being an only child and having very little extended family allowed Sloan to leave her old life behind without difficulty. Her mother’s relatives still reside in Spain, and most of her father’s family members are either dead, unknown, or living thousands of miles away. And the friends she gained during med school only know her as Dr. Felicia Santora. They believe the lie—that her life’s purpose is to continue international humanitarian efforts with Project Smiles.
She tries to tell herself that her decision to work for the CIA had everything to do with how she was raised. Her father showed her the pride, honor, and dignity that comes with serving your country. Although she’s not directly serving the United States of America from a military standpoint—or any capability that normal people would realize—she’s still striving to protect her nation. She lives a life of concealed operations, top-secret assignments, and constantly putting herself in dangerous situations to ensure that her fellow Americans are safe. Safe from terrorists, drug lords, international criminals, and any other threat to her country’s homeland.