by Gray Gardner
“Do either of those involve me?” he softly said, reaching the nape of her neck and grinning to himself as he felt her stiffen.
“Oh my God,” she huffed, forgetting the question. All she could think about was what would happen in the next few minutes.
“Answer the question, Private Burton,” he demanded, running his hands all of the way down her bare back and the back of her dress.
“I’m not US military anymore,” she choked, grabbing the sleeves of his suit jacket and inclining her head. “So I don’t have to answer to you anymore, captain.”
“But I really like it when you call me captain,” he said in a low voice that vibrated in her ear.
“Okay…Captain,” she replied, trying to wipe her sweaty palms off on the jacket in case he tried to hold her hand. “Can we please go home now?”
He finally stopped teasing her and kissed her as the music from the party floated around them. She pulled back and tried to catch her breath. This was not the place for what she wanted to do to him.
“Home,” she huffed, taking his hand and pulling him across the street. “Home now.”
He made her undress slowly as he sat in a pink ruffled chair in her bedroom. He made her keep the heels and pearls on and nothing else. He told her to come across his lap and she did. He spanked her and scolded her for running away from him. Those Prada heels kicking made him wrap up the punishment pretty quickly, though. He had her on the bed and moaning in pleasure in no time, and as she straddled him and rode him into an orgasm he cursed himself again for wasting precious time with her.
“I don’t want to talk about this now,” Burton grinned, sitting up on her elbow as they lay on the couch in the media room downstairs.
“I just don’t want you to be surprised tomorrow,” he said, rubbing her leg. “We have no idea what they’re going to do, how they’re going to train you, and when you’re going undercover.”
“And I’ll find out when they tell me,” she said, turning and looking at him over her shoulder, suddenly a little more confident. “Besides, you’re going to be there…”
“But not the whole time,” he said, scratching his head. “I just…want you to be prepared.”
“Prepared or not, I have to show up at Langley tomorrow morning,” she replied, swallowing and turning back towards the television. “Anyway, I think it might be good.”
He raised his brow as he looked down at the back of her dark auburn hair.
“I know you’re giving me the surprised look,” she sang, changing the channel. “And don’t be. This is my chance to use what I’ve got to help people, so I have all of these gifts. I should help people.”
“Coming back home really did help you move forward,” he grinned. He’d like to give himself some credit, but he knew it was mostly her friend, Russell. She just had to see someone from her past letting themselves succeed. She had to see them deserve it. Then she would see that she did, too.
“Zip it.”
“Yes ma’am,” he replied, clearing his throat and still grinning.
“And wipe that shit eating grin off of your face!” she demanded, changing the channel. She didn’t even have to look back. She knew it was there. He always acted like he knew something she didn’t. And she hated to admit it, and never would, but it was kind of a turn on.
Gwinn showed up later that evening, infuriated, of course.
“I’ve been suspended,” he ticked off his fingers as he paced in front of her in the front parlor. She tried to stand up but he pushed her back down. “I don’t know how you hot-wired my boat and I don’t care, but it does feel kind of personal, you know?”
“Sorry,” Baylor replied, looking down at her folded hands in her lap and then over to her left at Connor. He was leaning against the door frame, the large foyer behind him, probably watching out for Rosa and Winnie because they all knew what was coming next.
Connor was trying not to lose his shit laughing at his friend, who’d been bested by a tiny girl and was in trouble at work. He trusted Gwinn, though. Fully. He knew he’d never really hurt her.
“You never. Never. Steal a man’s boat,” Gwinn was scolding, holding her tightly around the waist at his left side and spanking her with each word over her leggings.
“I’m sorry!” she whined, though she really wasn’t. She’d needed the boat and Gwinn’s spanking was really more like one of those sending-a-message chastisements. It was still embarrassing, though.
“And don’t you think for one second that I’m telling the fellas back at the Coast Guard that I turned you in once I caught you, you little thief! I’m telling them that I paddled your little ass and made you stand in the corner until you were really sorry!”
Connor watched her feet kicking around and was reminded of the Prada shoes. He’d have to make her wear those and the pearls one last time before the morning and their new reality came. He smiled as Gwinn winked over at him and pushed the small girl over into a corner.
“Never steal a man’s boat,” he reiterated, folding his arms and frowning as Connor laughed at him.
Langley
She’d been tested for so many days that she’d lost count.
The second she and Connor had arrived at Langley she was ushered away to the basement and isolated in a cold gray room with a single bunk. She’d been drilled physically and psychologically, probably, she guessed, in ways to see if she’d go crazy and give up the CIA to any captors.
The CIA. She hated the idea of working for them. She hated them. They had all of the control and she wanted it back. These tests and trials were not preparing her for whatever stupid assignment they had planned. They were just pissing her off. Though she guessed that was probably part of their plan, too.
She’d been isolated, sleep deprived, drilled by some man in a suit who spoke very poor Russian, and now she’d been placed in a small white room for fucking ever. The white was driving her nuts. Where the hell was Connor?
Suddenly the overhead lamp turned off and the room went completely black. She backed up against a wall and crouched down, waiting in silence for someone to come in or for the light to come back on. What was going on?
“How do you feel now?” another voice asked, in Russian.
She pressed her lips together and suppressed the long string of obscenities that were on the tip of her tongue. They wanted her to be irate. She didn’t want them to have anything they wanted.
“You know, it’s just funny now.”
“Practice your Russian, please,” the voice scolded in Russian.
She decided to make a small exception and comply.
“Blow me, please,” she replied in Russian. Well, she’d give them Russian if she could insult them.
The door suddenly zipped open and Agent Eubanks walked in, arms crossed over his chest.
“Your impertinence will only get you a beating,” he said, staring down his nose at her in the glowing light from the hall.
“I’ll take that over whatever this god damn shit is,” she said in Russian, standing and folding her arms.
She knew he didn’t speak Russian very well, so she grinned as he reached down and lifted her over his shoulder. He had no idea what she was saying.
“Next exercise,” he grunted, carrying her out of the room and across the hall. He set her down in some kind of office and quickly left.
“Wait,” she said, as the door zipped shut in her face. “Can’t I take a break?”
“Would you like some tea?”
She spun around and leaned back against the white door. A large leather chair behind a big oak desk spun around, and a balding man in glasses smiled as he folded his hands in front of him. The room was lit with soft lamp lighting and had the old English pub feel to it. This place got weirder and weirder.
She pressed her lips together as she slowly stepped forward and sat in the comfortable wing back chair in front of the desk. She’d been tense for so long, it was good to relax her muscles.
“Sorry about him
,” he sighed, as someone brought in a tray and quickly left. The man poured her a cup and then himself. “Sugar?”
“No thanks,” she said, holding up her hand and sipping the hot tea. Ugh. Earl Grey. “So what are we going to discuss today, Doctor?”
“Just call me Doc. Everyone else around here does.
“Fair enough,” she sighed. “So, Doc, I trouble everyone else here. How can I annoy you today?”
He set his cup down and leaned back in his chair, plopping his big brown shoes on the desk top as he stretched and grunted, “We’re here to talk about your last journal entry, Baylor.”
She looked down into her lap and leaned back in her own chair. She didn’t really want to talk about that. She thought she was going to get a chance to discuss her feelings. And she really wanted to be able to talk to someone about Connor. He was the best thing that had ever happened to her and she wanted to see him. She needed to see him. She sighed and glanced up. The last journal entry, huh?
“I know what happened that day, and I know what I wrote,” she said, scratching where her tag was in her white shirt. “I may have been a little harsh and a little blunt, but I was only seventeen.”
“Let’s start at the beginning,” he suggested, taking a cracker and shoving it into his mouth.
He was awfully unorthodox for a shrink. She sighed and sank further into the chair, about to spill when he suddenly tossed her the journal. She caught it and frowned, wondering how he’d gotten it, but finally succumbed to the idea that nothing was private about her private life anymore, so she opened it up and began reading out loud.
November 7
In England, this day will now live in infamy as the Day of Terror. The largest terrorist attack against Great Britain happened this morning, and I was there.
Aunt Nina thought it would be fun to take me to France for a mini-holiday. I agreed, citing the fact that I lived in fear every day at my new school, which only made her laugh. She totally doesn’t get me, but it doesn’t matter anymore. She’s dead now.
We boarded the ferry in Dover and immediately left our private cabin for the fresh sea air of the English Channel. She got cold and she went back inside and I went to the front of the boat, watching England grow smaller and waiting to see France.
It was cold but my scarf was itchy. I took it off, and as I was putting it away I heard a funny noise that sounded like a rock slide, and felt the ferry shake. As I looked up, I noticed the back of the boat was on fire. The first thing I did was look around for a fire alarm, but then a second explosion happened, closer this time, making the boat jerk to a much slower speed. I flew forward and fell against the railing, which if I wasn’t holding onto, I would have been blasted into the water like everyone else on the third and final explosion.
A wave of heat soared over my body, and as I held onto the railing with everything I had, I suddenly felt myself lift upward. The ferry was sinking and I couldn’t open my eyes. I was scared. My hands slipped with my mittens, so I had to open my eyes to take them off with my teeth and get a better grip.
I saw bodies. Hundreds of bodies floating underneath me as I slowly sank towards them. Body parts turned parts of the water this dark red, and I sank into it as I gripped the railing. The water was so cold that I couldn’t feel my body anymore once I went under.
I closed my eyes again. I felt like I was ready to die.
Then I changed my mind. I pushed against the railing and kicked desperately for the surface. When I hit the air, after catching my breath, I shivered uncontrollably as I looked for any sort of salvation. My wool coat weighed me down, so I lost it as I made myself swim towards a floating piece of debris. It felt like pins and needles were pressing against me and restricting my movement. I grabbed the large floating piece of timber and surveyed the area around me. Total devastation. I climbed on.
Then I heard a cry. Turning and wiping the salty water out of my eyes, I tried to look among the fires and dead to find the crying. Then I saw a hand waving underneath a wet red sleeve. Holding onto my piece of wood tightly, I kicked over as best as I could. I was losing feeling in my legs as my teeth chattered uncontrollably. I kicked harder.
Are you there? I had to call out, becoming disoriented in the waves and oil fires on top of the water.
A voice cried out again and I kicked and paddled towards it, much closer this time. The little red sleeve still waved but the rest of the body was underwater. I reached down and pulled up. It was just a little girl, no older than 5 or 6, covered in somebody else’s blood.
I heaved her over the board and coughed up more salt water. Another cry came. The girl and I kicked over and found a boy, probably around 12 or so, struggling to stay afloat. We pulled him onto the large piece of splintered wood and heard another voice. This went on until there were five of us, bobbing up and down among the wreckage and fires. We were all blue by now.
Then our rescuers appeared. Fleets of speedboats and naval ships came with full force. Assessing the damage and seeming just as surprised as we were to find survivors. They pulled us aboard, wrapped us in heavy blankets, and put us in the warmest cabin as they searched for more survivors.
I seemed to be the oldest in the room, so I tried to make the others feel a little better, even though I was worried about Aunt Nina’s whereabouts.
Our rescuers kept mentioning terrorist attacks. It had to be terrorism.
I can’t help but wonder why we were chosen. Not just our ferry out of the hundreds on the water. Why were we, five kids, special enough to survive this terrorist attack? We were all just ordinary kids. When we docked there was a media circus waiting for us with the same questions. The policemen covered our heads with blankets until we got into a big van and were quickly ushered to the police headquarters. Or Scotland Yard, I think they call it over here.
And so, here I am. I’ve been sitting in this debriefing room alone for hours now. They let me have paper to try and write down what I remember, so I’ll glue these into my journal later, as I am making hand written copies.
I tried asking about other survivors an hour ago. They said that we were the only five. But why us? And who in the world would blow up a ferry? All of those people, all of their families, so many lives are ruined now, including mine. What am I supposed to do without Aunt Nina? She was all I had left.
They just came in and told me that no one had claimed responsibility for the attack. I am beginning to wonder if it had anything to do with my parents’ murder. I mean, what are the chances of this happening twice in one year to someone?
My dad, Aunt Nina. What are the chances?
If this is about me, I’m going to hunt down whoever did it. I don’t want to just kill them.
I want to torture them.
I want them to be swallowed up by red, bloodied water. They should choke on it.
I want them to feel the loss.
I want to make them suffer. I want their families to suffer. And then I want them to die.
I believe that before I depart this life, I’ll be able to find who did this and make them pay. I truly believe this. I feel it’s my purpose now.
I’ll kill them all.
Burton pressed her lips together as she stared at the last line. She hadn’t seen or read this journal entry since they’d taken it. She recalled the anger she’d felt as she’d written. She stared at the last line again. Yep, that sounded pretty bad.
They couldn’t take it seriously, though. She was just a kid.
“Pretty strong words for a seventeen-year-old,” Doc said, putting his glasses back on and studying Burton.
She closed the book and set it on the desk top, sipping her now cold tea. “I was traumatized.”
“They never found out who was responsible for the attacks on November 7,” he said, cleaning the lenses of his glasses with his shirt tail. “Does that disappoint you?”
She shook her head and leaned forward in her chair.
“You know who did it,” she said through her teeth. Then she
stood up and looked around the room, suspecting cameras at every angle. “You all know who did it! And did you do anything to bring the guilty party to justice? You know who destroyed all of those lives and you won’t do anything!”
“Baylor,” Doc began, leaning forward on his desk. “There was some justice.”
“Justice includes bringing the culprit to trial in the public eye! It’s getting peace of mind! The British live in fear over there every day because they have no idea if they’re going to make it to work, or if they’ll see their children at the end of each day!”
“Okay.”
“Seven hundred thirty-one people perished on that ferry!” she shouted, holding her head. “Factor in a significant other and two parents and two children, and that’s two thousand nine hundred and twenty-four people whose lives will never be right again! Now tell me how it is justifiable for an intelligence agency to not use what it knows to bring down a terrorist group!”
“Just sit down, Baylor,” Doc said, giving her a serious look.
She sighed and rubbed her eyes as she faced the door. She didn’t want to talk anymore, and she certainly didn’t want to deal with these liars anymore. The feeling of loss flooded over her again. A lot of feelings were coming back again.
“Fuck this,” she muttered, heading for the door and banging on it. “You win! I’m crazy! Now let me out!”
“Baylor,” Doc loudly said, standing up behind his desk.
“Let me out!” she shouted, banging furiously on the door. “Open this door!”
“You need to stop that right now,” he firmly said, walking up behind her. It was all part of her training, and it all had to be condensed in such a short amount of time. He approached steadfastly.
She pushed her shoulder into the door a couple of times before he grabbed her and yanked her over to his desk.
“I warned you, Baylor,” he said, throwing her against the desk and rolling up his sleeves.
She fell to the floor in a white heap of scrubs and pale skin as she watched him approach. Was he going to hit her? Her breathing suddenly became short and the white heat of fear seared over her skin before she broke into a cold sweat. She couldn’t handle this.