DAMAGED
*Abigail*
“As a little boy, I played war.
As a young man, I joined the army.
Now as a man, I kill in the name of the future,
forgetting that those I kill are the future.”
Melody Manful
“Well done, Abigail. Come, sit with me,” Andrei said.
We were inside a huge, empty hall. The only things in the room aside from us were two stone thrones at the far end.
I walked over to him. “Congratulations.” He hugged and kissed me on both cheeks.
“What did I do?” I asked.
“You succeeded. You killed them all,” he said, and then suddenly Felix was standing in front of me, blood running down his chest. I started shaking.
Looking around me now, the hall was covered with blood and dead bodies. The thrones in front of me were shattered. I glanced down and screamed. My hands were covered in blood.
“I didn’t…”
“Of course you did!” Andrei said, grabbing me by the shoulders. “You’re a killer, Abigail. You and I are the same.”
“No…” I looked down, avoiding Andrei’s eyes. “No, no I’m not.”
“Yes, you are!” he shouted.
“No!” I pulled away from him and backed away. “No I’m not!” I took another step back, and then I tripped on a body and fell.
Blood pooled around me, and I screamed at the lifeless bodies around me. I made an attempt to stand, but Andrei stopped me, pinning me down.
“You are a killer, Abigail. Just like me. You can’t run away from it,” he whispered, his face almost touching mine.
I struggled to free myself. “Get away from me!” I cried at the top of my lungs.
“Abigail!” Suddenly Andrei’s voice turned into Gideon’s, but his cold face remained the same. “Abigail, wake up.” His voice still sounded like Gideon’s.
“Let go!”
“No!” Andrei’s normal voice returned. “You’re a killer, just like me,” he said sourly.
“I’m nothing like you!” I shouted, and then I shoved him down onto his back. I grabbed his throat with my right hand.
“Abby…Abigail, you—” Gideon’s voice reappeared, and he sounded like he was choking.
One second I was choking Andrei, and the next thing I knew, I was on top of Gideon with my hands wrapped around his neck.
I immediately released my grasp and pushed myself away in shock. “I’m so sorry,” I gasped. I was still shaking. I looked hastily around me, but there was no blood. It was only a dream.
“Abigail.” Gideon reached for me. “You’re all right. It was just a bad dream,” he said, pulling me closer into a hug and letting me rest my head on his chest.
Tears covered my cheeks. “I—there was blood and…I killed them.”
“You’re going to be all right,” Gideon whispered again, and then he quieted and allowed me to cry.
The horror of my nightmare refused to fade. Every few minutes, Gideon told me I was going to be all right. I curled in closer to him with my head still tight against his chest, and he slowly ran his fingers through my hair as I continued to cry.
My father used to say: no one can force you to become a monster–you hurt someone and you create your own demons. I didn’t understand him then, but now I did.
It took awhile before I stopped shaking, but my tears wouldn’t stop falling. I felt safe in Gideon’s arms, which was really ironic, because—when I met him, I thought he was going to kill me, and I had subsequently tried to avoid him. Now I was the one doing the killing, and he was the one comforting me.
I was no longer in any physical pain, thanks to Gideon healing me, but my heart ached horribly. Felix was gone because of me. My father said those people I killed were rapists and murderers. He said they were part of Andrei’s mafia, and they had done everything from arms dealing to human trafficking.
The CIA had arrived shortly after the incident and cleaned the house, leaving only two dead bodies and Felix’s. The story we were told to follow was that two armed men broke in, and Felix and Ben tried to fight them off, so after one of them shot Felix, Ben killed them in self-defense.
I couldn’t bear looking at my father. Whenever I thought about him, I felt unprecedented anger. I felt as if the whole thing was his fault. Why did he have a job that involved taking human lives? I never thought I’d feel so haunted. I hadn’t truly believed there would be people like Andrei who would try to kill us.
“Abby,” Gideon whispered my name hours later, and I nodded to let him know I could hear him. “The sun is up, and your parents will be checking on you soon,” he said. “And don’t worry. Your parents won’t notice that you’re healed. When they look at you, they will see the wounds, but you won’t.”
I decided I wouldn’t freak out. I lifted my head and looked out through the windows. Outside, I saw daylight. “Do you have to go?” I asked, sitting up on my bed.
“Yes,” he answered and then got up from my bed. “But I’ll come back.”
That made me a little happier.
“Your parents are coming,” he said, and then he walked toward my balcony.
“Wait.” I rushed over to him and wrapped my arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. “Thanks for staying,” I whispered in his ear.
“I’ll be back,” Gideon whispered in return, and he let go of me.
I turned to my door upon hearing my parents’ voices, and when I turned back to the balcony, Gideon was gone.
“Abigail!” my mother shouted when she entered. “What are you doing out of bed? You need to lie down.” It was when my mother rushed over and gingerly took my hands that I realized my body was still covered in bandages.
I felt no pain. I knew my wounds were gone, and the bandages were just there for the illusion.
I played along, though, and let my mother help me back into my bed. My father stood across the room, staring at me. My mother looked from me to him.
“I’ll come back and help you pack,” she said and stood up.
“Pack?” I asked.
My mother had tears in her eyes when she answered. “The CIA has secured quarters in Santa Rosa, and they think it would be safest for us to move there for a couple of days so they can stake this place out.”
“Leave?” I asked. “What about Felix?”
“The police are doing some investigating, and they won’t release his body to his family for a couple more days,” my father answered. “We need to go to a safe place.”
“But…”
“Honey, everything will be fine. We will be safe there. We’ll leave this afternoon, and as soon as the CIA says we can come back, we will,” my mother said. She sounded scared, and at the sound of her voice, I knew there was more that they weren’t telling me.
“There are more of them, aren’t there?”
My parents didn’t answer, but their silence was enough of an answer.
“I’ll go get you some food.” My mother left the room.
I turned my gaze away from my father. I had a lot of questions for him. I also had a lot of answers for him.
“When I was a young boy, I hated my father for not being there for me and my mother. He was always traveling for work,” my father said, and I stared blankly at him. “I swore to myself I’d never go near any job with law enforcement,” he laughed, “and now look at me. I turned out just like him.”
“I think I understand that little boy,” I whispered, and he walked over to me. “I’m sure all he wanted was his father.”
“Abigail, I am so sorry.” My father gently took my hand, and I saw tears slip out of his eyes. “I never wanted to put you through this.”
I snatched my hands away from his and said, “Mom cries herself to sleep at night. Sometimes she never takes her sunglasses off because behind them, she hides her red eyes.” I felt teardrops on my cheeks. “Sometimes she works nonstop. She does that to forget about her pain and worries.”
“Honey, I never meant—”
I cut him off. “But you did, Dad! You did!” I shouted. “I wanted a father—and Mom, she wanted a husband. The night I learned you were alive, I was so happy. I pictured all the things we could do together.” I felt myself grimace at that thought of a little girl so happy to have a dad. “I pictured us playing hide and seek. In my imagination, you bought me a puppy. We went to the beach. You were at all the PTA meetings, and you never missed my birthday.” Suddenly my happy thoughts disappeared. “But, I never did get those dreams, and instead you handed me a gun and a burden. Your burden.”
“Honey, I know how you might have felt and—”
“You don’t know how I feel!” I shouted angrily as tears rushed faster down my cheeks. “You don’t know how it felt! You have no idea what it’s like to be a little girl and having your father trust you with the burden of protecting your mother and yourself. You have no idea how hard it was for me growing up and trying to be everything you wanted me to be.” I saw tears fall from his eyes, but I didn’t stop. He had to hear my thoughts. I continued, “Sometimes I feel so angry, and other times so sad and lonely, but I could never let those feelings out because I had to be strong. I never complained about the life you gave me because I knew it wouldn’t make a difference. That little girl you gave a gun to—all she wanted was a Barbie doll and a princess dress.” I shook my head and cleared my tear-filled eyes.
“This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen,” I continued. “I was supposed to make mistakes of my own, and you were supposed to be there to fix them. It shouldn’t have been my job to fix your mistakes and your choices. Now, I killed—” I felt my throat dry up all of a sudden. “I killed those people, Dad, and now I can’t close my eyes for a second without seeing their faces and their blood. Everywhere I look, all I see is blood.”
“Honey…I am so sorry.” My father took my hands once more. “I know sorry won’t fix this, and it won’t give you back your childhood or your innocence. I never meant to hurt you or your mother. I wanted a family, and I was lucky to have both of you. I know I can never take back everything I put you through, but everything I did was because I wanted to protect you both.”
As tears ran down his cheeks, I knew he was telling the truth, and I understood him. “I know you wanted to protect us, but I—”
“I’d do this all over again if I could,” he whispered. “I’d do everything differently.”
“The thing with do-overs it’s that they don’t exist. Second chances are just another chance to mess up,” I whispered, and he looked up at me with an even sadder face.
I knew he understood what I was talking about. He’d said those exact words to me when he first saw me in training, and I had messed up and asked for another chance.
“I know you wanted to protect us. I understand,” I said when I knew he wasn’t going to comment on my quoting him. “Can I get some rest before we leave?”
My father nodded and headed for the door. He stopped before stepping outside and said, “Please, forgive me.” Then he walked out.
I wanted to call him back and tell him that I forgave him and that if he hadn’t asked me to train, I wouldn’t have been able to save Mom and Ben, but I didn’t. Because he also once said: Forgiveness should be earned, not asked for.