Heading For A New Life

by Margaret Smith

  Dragging the body under the stairs, Chris quickly got up and froze in front of the door. The male voices behind her sounded muffled, but no matter how much he listened, he could not distinguish Laura's voice among them. In any case, there was very little time left - before they noticed the loss and went out to check. Opening the door a little, Chris slowly counted to five and leaned forward sharply, holding the pistol outstretched. The corridor turned out to be dark and empty: all the doors leading to the offices were closed, and only a narrow rectangle of light fell from the far one to the floor. The heart poured out a new dose of adrenaline into the blood, making the movements clear and rapid. Step, another, to the door, behind which she waits and hopes for help. Chris was almost to the end of the corridor when the last door on the left swung open noiselessly, and a powerful blow to his cheekbone threw him against the wall. His head rattled, his mouth filled with blood. Chris shook his head and immediately flowed to the side, avoiding another blow. The pistol in his hand was now only a hindrance: neither to throw away nor to put away. The enemy knocked him down, leaned on with all his weight, pressing his hand with a pistol with his knee, reached for his neck. Chris threw his free hand up to his face, feverishly poking his palm until he found the eye socket, digging into it with all the strength he could. The air in his lungs ended rapidly, now his legs were scraping on the floor in a vain attempt to find support, push off, throw off him. Chris tried to gasp for air, failed and jerked limp. The pressure on the wrist holding the pistol eased, the man squeezed his hands around his neck one last time, let go and the next second collapsed onto his back - the shot blew out his brains. The pistol in his hand was now only a hindrance: neither to throw away nor to put away. The enemy knocked him down, leaned on with all his weight, pressing his hand with a pistol with his knee, reached for his neck. Chris threw his free hand up to his face, feverishly poking his palm until he found the eye socket, digging into it with all the strength he could. The air in his lungs ended rapidly, now his legs were scraping on the floor in a vain attempt to find support, push off, throw off himself. Chris tried to gasp for air, failed and jerked limp. The pressure on the wrist holding the pistol eased, the man squeezed his hands around his neck one last time, let go and the next second collapsed onto his back - the shot blew out his brains. The pistol in his hand now only interfered: neither to throw away, nor to put away. The enemy knocked him down, leaned on with all his weight, pressing his hand with a pistol with his knee, reached for his neck. Chris threw his free hand up to his face, feverishly poking his palm until he found the eye socket, digging into it with all the strength he could. The air in his lungs ended rapidly, now his legs were scraping on the floor in a vain attempt to find support, push off, throw off himself. Chris tried to gasp for air, failed and jerked limp. The pressure on the wrist holding the pistol eased, the man squeezed his hands around his neck one last time, let go and the next second collapsed onto his back - the shot blew out his brains. feverishly groping his palm until he found an eye socket, digging into it with all the strength he could. The air in his lungs ended rapidly, now his legs were scraping on the floor in a vain attempt to find support, push off, throw off himself. Chris tried to gasp for air, failed and jerked limp. The pressure on the wrist holding the pistol eased, the man squeezed his hands around his neck one last time, let go and the next second collapsed onto his back - the shot blew out his brains. feverishly groping his palm until he found an eye socket, digging into it with all the strength he could. The air in his lungs ended rapidly, now his legs were scraping on the floor in a vain attempt to find support, push off, throw off himself. Chris tried to gasp for air, failed and jerked limp. The pressure on the wrist holding the pistol eased, the man squeezed his hands around his neck one last time, let go and the next second collapsed onto his back - the shot blew out his brains.

  Chris rolled onto his stomach, gasping for air. Everything floated before my eyes, a disgusting weakness spread over my body, and I did not manage to get up the first time - I had to lean on the wall. “Well done, I made my way unnoticed. They said - sit still! " - flashed through my head. Who knows how many more there are? What was the plan at all - to come and shoot everyone like Rimbaud? Exhaling shortly and angrily, Chris straightened up and looked at the door, which he had not reached a few steps.

  — Well, why are you frozen there, come in! A familiar voice rang out. It was his owner who called him.

  Already imagining what he would find, Chris pushed open the door and involuntarily squinted at the light, after the twilight of the corridor seemed dazzlingly bright. The first thing he saw when he got used to it was Laura's eyes. Wide open, frozen, they looked directly at him, standing out on a bloodless, gray face. There was an abrasion on the cheekbone, the arms sagged limply along the body, the bandage was soaked in blood.

  — Have you admired? - drawled mockingly Mike, standing behind her. One of his hands rested on Laura's shoulder, the other held a pistol. - You see: the situation is stalemate. I kill the girl, you kill me. And they all lost. Not our alignment, right?

  His gaze slid over Chris, lingering on the tattoo in the rip of his torn T-shirt. For a brief moment, surprise was reflected in his eyes, and the hand holding the pistol trembled.

  — Did you see a beautiful drawing in the salon and decided to decorate yourself?

  — Decorated, ”Chris replied coldly. - For services.

  — You are driving.

  — Why? Do you want to see the signature of the Architect?

  Chris understood that he was going for broke: there were legends about the code in the gang of the famous maniac. Brother will gnaw his throat for brother. But that was in prison, and was hardly observed in freedom. Moreover, under such circumstances. However, Mike suddenly dropped his hand with the pistol and

  slowly pulled up the sleeve of his T-shirt, revealing a similar tattoo. There was a silence. Chris waited to see what would happen next, looking from Laura to the kidnapper and back. Judging by the face of the second, there was some kind of serious struggle inside between the desire of the customer and loyalty to Kelly and the memory of the Architect and the methods with which he drove complete and unconditional obedience and loyalty. The brother will not raise his hand against the brother, but Laberte will shoot. For a woman. It will be wrong, but it will shoot because it has a reason. And he? What is the reason for him?

  — Go away, ”Mike replied dully, pushing Laura. She gasped and fell forward, instinctively holding out her hands. The wounded shoulder immediately flared with pain, Laura collapsed on her side, losing consciousness. Chris, still not believing in luck, stood still, waiting for a catch.

  — Why did you get up? I say: grab a woman and get out! Mike roared, taking aim at him. - I won't wait long. Come on!

  There was no need to ask twice: Chris knelt down next to Laura, carefully slipping his hands under his shoulders and knees, and the next second the world was torn apart by sounds. The door slammed against the wall, a lot of voices filled the empty office, someone pulled her away from Laura, threw her on the floor, bringing her hands behind her back. The entire left side of his face exploded with belated pain from the impact, Chris barely opened his eyes as he watched Laura being carefully laid onto the stretcher.

  David was not in sight, and the feds and police officers who filled the office were not going to stand on ceremony with him - now he was a criminal, and the one who had just released them and pardoned was his accomplice. And if David cannot do anything, then he will spend the next ten years in prison again.

  A bright light shone through tightly closed eyelids. Lightness enveloped the body, a pleasant emptiness in the head, and only on the verge of consciousness did something persistently beat, ring, forcing to remember. Laura winced - the slightest tension gave off a headache. I didn't want to think. I just wanted to lie on a soft pillow, feeling a measured beep, beating the rhythm of someone else's pulse. If she wakes up, she will have to get up, go around, plunge into the daily routine. And since no one
has called, it means that nothing serious has happened, and you can steal a few more minutes of sleep in someone else's ward.

  The ringing in my ears became more persistent, giving in to my temples. Sighing in resignation, Laura realized that the dream had passed completely, and it was better to make coffee and leave than to continue lying. She tried to open her eyelids, but they seemed to be glued together with super glue. The very first attempt to raise his hand and rub his eyes responded with a pulling pain from the shoulder to the neck, back and back of the head, forcing him to groan softly through his teeth. The voice was also difficult to listen to, too weak, trembling, it was more like a squeak. Laura with an effort opened her eyes and narrowed her eyes - the cold light of the hospital lamps burned, causing tears. The squeak of the heart rate monitor became stronger, black dots danced before her eyes, turning into a thick, impenetrable fog, and Laura passed out.

  The next time she regained consciousness, the daylight was replaced by the soft, dim light of the two lamps above her head. A crazy trip through the country, injury, abduction, fear - she remembered everything at once. Her heart pounded faster, notifying the hostess and all the doctors nearby, and when the glass door to the ward swung open, letting in the middle-aged gray-bearded doctor with glasses, Laura croaked softly:

  — What's with Chris?

  — Mrs. Reeds, I'm Dr. McKnahey. How are you feeling?

  — Where is Chris? Laura repeated, shaking her head stubbornly. The routine set of questions and phrases annoyed in advance - she knew that now no one would say a word about what had happened to Chris.

  — Everything is all right with him, ”the doctor assured gently and, scanning the monitor with indicators with his eyes, bent over his bandaged hand. - You are lucky - another day, and the condition would become critical. You started having sepsis, but I think you already knew it.

  Laura nodded silently and licked her lips — her mouth felt as dry as if she hadn't drunk in days.

  — Now everything is all right. A course of antibiotics, and you will get out of here like new. And yet, - he smiled, and crafty sparks lit up in his light blue eyes, - we sewed you up so that only a tiny scar-star remains. You can close it with a tattoo and safely walk along the beach.

  Laura frowned as if she cared about scars. Especially now, when it is not known whether Chris is alive and what happened to the flash drive. Maybe this good-natured doctor will give her an injection that very night, after which she will not wake up. Although this, of course, is nonsense - they would like to kill, they would not save.

  — You shouldn't be like that, ”Dr. McKnahey shook his head reproachfully. - When you see the work of our surgeons, say thank you. There was more dead tissue around the wound,

  than we thought you might have a hole the size of the Mariana Trench.

  — Thank you, ”Laura whispered, absentmindedly thinking that doctors in Washington are either extremely proud and adore being praised, or they consider a simple operation to be the height of surgical art. In any case, she just couldn't think about the little things right now.

  — Tell me, who can I talk to about how I got here?

  — Agent Sullivan will come to see you tomorrow, as far as I know he was the one who delivered you. You can ask all your questions. But only tomorrow. McKenahie jokingly shook his finger. - Now you need to rest.

  As soon as the door closed behind him, Laura snorted in annoyance - he treated her like a frightened girl. With a stupid scared girl. But the reason in his words was definitely - to get out of bed and run to help Chris, Laura could not, no matter how she wanted. All that was left was to wait and wonder who Agent Sullivan was, and most importantly, whose side he was on.

  The tired body did not allow long to indulge in reflections: soon after the doctor left, Laura fell asleep, and woke up only in the morning. A roundabout, a cheerful report from an intern about her condition - Laura mechanically listened to him and mentally agreed with the prescribed treatment: she would have done the same - and then again loneliness and silence. The cardiac monitor was turned off, there was no need to monitor her condition so closely. If it weren't for her weakness, Laura would have gotten up long ago and went looking for the reception desk to try and call ... Who? She didn't know Chris's number by heart. It remained only to wait for the arrival of the mysterious agent Sullivan and hope that they did succeed, and the flash drive found its addressee.

  — Mrs. Reeds?

  Laura managed to doze off when a tall brunette in a black suit with the most friendly smile on her face appeared in the room.

  — I'm Agent David Sullivan. He nodded, noticing how Laura's eyes flashed at the sound of his name. - Yes, Chris was with me yesterday morning. How are you feeling?

  — I will live. - Laura slightly pulled herself up on her good arm, settling down on the pillow. - How is Chris?

  David sighed heavily and looked out the window, as if gathering his strength before a tough conversation. In those two seconds of silence, Laura forgot how to breathe, biting her lip and trying to read her sentence on his face. If something happened to Chris, how can she live with it?

  — He's fine, ”David hastened to assure him, noticing how gray Laura's face was. - Alive and healthy, and not even in prison.

  — Dramatic pauses are not your strong point, ”Laura muttered without holding back a sigh of relief.

  — The fact is that officially we had to kill Christopher Labert.

  — What? - Laura even got up, but did not calculate the strength - dizzy, and had to hastily lie back.

  — You see, - David hesitated and looked at his hands in his lap, - the story of your alleged abduction caused a huge resonance. And if we declared that it turned out to be fiction, it would have too serious consequences. First, it would be necessary to explain exactly how the information about the abduction was leaked to the media, not

  confirmed by no facts. Secondly, for what reason did someone even decide to arrange this persecution. You understand, Mrs. Reeds, that in light of the information that you and Chris have provided, we simply have no right to disclose to the public ahead of time everything that we know.

  — And you decided to blame Chris, ”Laura finished quietly for him.

  — Yes. David nodded. - Believe me, this whole story is extremely unpleasant for me, but it will be better for everyone.

  — For Bradford, Kelly and those who killed my father, too?

  — Not. The data we've received is invaluable. But only in films, villains are imprisoned after one photo or an anonymous call. You understand that we are talking about people running the country. Before they can be imprisoned, they must be deprived of their immunity, and for this, a line of accusation must be drawn up that no lawyer will undermine. And this, alas, will take more than one month. And maybe not even a year. Because you need to hit everyone at the same time so that no one can get out.

  Laura closed her eyes, listening to him. Bile rose up from the inside, bitter in the mouth, making me want to spit. She grew up amid these: dirty political games, giveaway games, deceitful smiles and hidden hatred. I did not want to delve into what I ran away from home from. Especially now.

  — What about me? Laura opened her eyes and stared at David. The latter, however, was not embarrassed. He shrugged his shoulders and answered cheerfully:

  — We will do our best to assure those who hunted you that you knew nothing. Forgive me, but I will have to present you as a girl distraught with love, who went after her lover, getting involved in an adventure. You will remain a victim to the press, don't worry, ”he hastily assured.

  — You have everything thought out, - Laura said bitterly, switching to a whisper: - Everything to hide behind Chris.

  —He understands everything, I assure you. David was looking at her seriously now. - For him, this is also a great chance to start all over again. No criminal record. The FBI is using a witness protection program, now a new identity is being created for him: insurance, education, accounts, history. He can start living
anew.

  "And what about me?" - hammered in Laura's head. He will begin to live again, but what should she do?

  As if reading her mind, David quietly added:

  — I hope you understand that you will not have the opportunity to see each other in the near future. You will now be closely watched. We will, of course, assign agents to you, they will monitor your safety without attracting attention. But the people involved in the assassination of Senator Smith and the attempted assassination of you will also be nearby.

  — How… ”Laura coughed, her throat suddenly dry. - How long will this last?

  — I don't know, ”David answered honestly and sighed softly. - A few months. Can,

  year.

  Year. Everything inside went cold, broke off, and it seemed to Laura that she was falling madly

  speed into a bottomless abyss. A year in which she will not be able to not only see, just call Chris. Hear his voice. Everything swam before my eyes, trembled, and Laura turned away, biting her cheek so painfully, but tears still flowed from her eyes and dripped onto the pillow. Noticing this, David coughed delicately and stood up.

  — I'll visit you again. Later. I will tell you exactly what to say during interrogation and what

  a statement to the press. And also, - he hesitated at the door, - I will pass a letter from Chris.

  "If he wants to write it." David did not say this, but the phrase hung in the air, filling his heart with deafening pain. Laura stared at the wall in front of her as she not has ceased blur front eyes. Sensation irreparable casualties hit So swiftly and pressed down So strong, what not left forces even move. Mind she perfectly understood what in established Under the circumstances, really the best way out for Chris is to die for everyone. But my heart refused to listen from every blow spreading burning pain in the veins. The feeling of deafening loneliness swallowed up, pulling into a black hole, from which you have to get out, gradually collecting yourself into fragments. Without knowing it, Chris became everything to her: air, life, necessity, without which it is impossible to exist. And now it was taken away from her, without even giving the opportunity to say goodbye. Not fair. And scary.