by Hawk, Nate
“I’ll think about it,” he said in summary.
Brooke thought about pushing it further but she was confident that Kelly would come around. Anything less was suicide and Brooke knew that Kelly was a survivor. Perhaps he had some innate ability to subconsciously keep himself far enough away from mortal danger, that he remained alive. She wasn’t sure how he’d survived in the past, but to accomplish his goals and stay alive, she knew he would need her. She just wasn’t entirely convinced that he was focused on remaining alive.
But Kelly’s mind wasn’t on topics of survival. He needed something to take his attention off of the depression that every memory seemed destined to usher in. He needed something that left a fiery aftertaste and took the edge off.
“Where is your mind, Kelly?”
He looked her way. He’d been off somewhere else for a moment and she had caught him. He wouldn’t be divulging any secrets that day. Not even in his weakened state.
“Do you know how dangerous it is to ask a man about his feelings?” he asked with a stoic look. “You might get an answer you don’t like.”
He looked at her eyes and saw again the deepness that she had once shared with him. She didn’t wear her soul on her sleeve though. Initially, it had taken her some time to open up in an emotional capacity to Kelly. In that moment, he saw in a brief glance how much she still cared for him.
“I’d like to take the edge off, honestly. I just want to till my mind under,” he admitted. “I want to go some place dark and lose all trace of what I feel and what I’ve become.”
Brooke glanced back and forth from the road to Kelly, as her stomach began to physically hurt for him.
“I don’t want to sound like your mother…”
She saw Kelly stiffen at the memory of his mother.
“Sorry,” she said, suddenly remembering his mother was gone and remembering how it had happened.
He seemed to shrug off the comment. She hadn’t upset him anymore than he had been. He spoke up to take her mind off of bringing up his dead mother. He didn’t want her to feel bad.
“The best way not to sound like her is not to say whatever you’re thinking.”
“Just be careful with that shit, Kelly. It has ruined a lot of lives, you know. I’ve seen it. You’ve seen it.”
There was a brief lull in the conversation as Kelly thought about her assessment on drinking and drugs.
“Yeah, well,” he said. “Maybe they were ruined before they began the drinking.”
They pulled up in front of Kelly’s apartment. Nothing seemed to have changed while he had been gone. He would have hugged her but the angles and the restrictions inside of the truck didn’t allow it. He reached over and gave her shoulder a squeeze. Then he walked towards his building without looking back.
***
Chapter 32
The booze had taken first chair in Kelly’s orchestra of pain. It had been a type of Black Swan that had swooped in, realigning his priorities. He was fatigued, breathing heavily as his heart pounded harder and harder. The last song that he had been listening to during the race filled his ears. The volume continued increasing as his heart rate did, as well. Then the sweat had begun its beady appearance. It had arrived slowly at first, across his forehead and in the center of his chest. The moisture steadily increased. Its increasing surge paralleled that of a silent floodwater rising in the night. Finally, his body and sheets were engulfed with a hard sweat. His mind was racing and he knew that he did not have enough time to save them. Still he ran faster. Still he fought harder.
“NO!” he yelled, as he tried to warn them before it was too late.
The space around him flashed a painful orange and red and he was thrust to the ground. He rolled in perpetuity, as if it would never end. Then a young boy appeared above him. It was Brady and he was holding a severed leg as the stub poured an endless amount of blood into Kelly’s eyes. As Kelly continued to twist on the ground, tears of pain and disappointment rolled down the boy’s face. The femur bone that he held stuck out two or three inches further, from the meat of the leg. The bone was hollow and the jagged edge was the origin of the red fluid. It resembled a faucet, but there was no ‘off’ valve. The flow continued endlessly, pouring an unbroken stream of blood into his face as the music seemed to continue endlessly.
The pain that he felt wasn’t physical but rather the deepest type of emotional pain imaginable. Kelly couldn’t escape from it. The pain chased him and continued its tireless pursuit into the dark areas where Kelly’s existence had found habitation. The hardest part for Kelly was the expression of helplessness on Brady’s face. It was the boy’s eyes that completed the story of Kelly’s eternal shortcoming. A failed tale of expectation from him that Kelly would keep him safe. Then suddenly, a black force, a demon with a misty and undefined form, swept down and grabbed the small figure. Just as quick as the beast had arrived, it had disappeared and taken Brady with it.
Kelly Maclean threw off the sheets as he sat up and rubbed his eyes. He tried to release himself from the nightmare. He exhaled hard, trying again to push the pain into some area of his mind where he could contain it. The problem was that those areas were already at full capacity. He had suffered this nightmare several times so he knew the subsequent sensations well. It was not fear.
This was something different; it was horrific guilt. The type that only a survivor could feel. He knew that the hallucination would disappear from his memory quickly. At least that is what he told himself. The problem was that it would be replaced with the understanding that he was alone. Kelly fetched the bottle from his nightstand.
“Damn it!” he yelled into the darkness.
Tears welled in his eyes and his fury built uncontrollably. He didn’t use a glass or a measuring instrument. Nor was he counting fingers. He took a long pull on the bottle and set it back down.
The last few nights had ushered in the same terrible dream and so he had begun to dread falling asleep. It was too dark of a place for his soul to inhabit. He figured that his loneliness was what triggered the nightmares of failing to protect his family. What kind of a man couldn’t even protect his loved ones? Kelly desperately longed for them. He understood that they were gone and any effort that he may have taken to protect them had failed miserably.
Worse yet, he wasn’t seeing clearly. His ambition to pursue Niko had been subdued by his desire to disappear through the gateway that the alcohol was providing. He eyed the bottle, contemplating another campaign with the fiery liquor that could pacify some of his feelings of worthlessness. He knew that it would ease the pain but he also knew that it wouldn’t last long. The following night’s hallucinations would require more alcohol for the same level of relief. And on and on it would go. He knew there was no way that he could sustain that lifestyle forever. But perhaps… perhaps, just one more night?
Suddenly a voice assailed him from the distance. Kelly felt completely exposed; as if standing naked on the edge of a deep chasm. The voice seized all of his attention and left him nowhere to seek cover. But where had the voice come from? Not from outside in the darkness of the night. Not from anywhere inside of his building, either. It was far away, but then unexplainably closer at the same time. It sounded like his father but he really couldn’t be sure the origin of the voice. Maybe it just felt like his father. In fact, maybe it wasn’t a voice at all but rather some type of ancestral expectation rooted deep within his DNA. Perhaps it was those that had gone before him, sitting around the Great Campfire in the Sky, who had garnered his attention. He wasn’t sure. Whoever it was, the terms that were delivered to Kelly were quite clear. Pull yourself together. There is work yet to be done.
As much as he wanted to drink the booze to ease the pain, something inside would not allow him to leave the past unfinished. He decided there would be no more dulling the desolation with booze or the bullshit of some other sorrowful intoxication. He knew that once he was no longer sidetracked, he had a chance at eliminating Niko and any other terrori
sts that he could hunt down. If he did so, was he capable of surviving? He wasn’t sure; nor was he sure if he cared.
What Kelly did know was that he hated the bottle for what it was quickly becoming: his crutch. The last few nights since he had been discharged from the hospital as an outpatient had been the hardest nights for him. Probably the hardest ever but certainly the hardest in at least a decade. Closing a large hand around the refined edges of the glass container, he launched it across the room. It didn’t break as it hit the sheetrock but it bounced and spilled its contents, leaving a mark on the carpet like an untamed dog. He staggered out of bed and walked to the window as he thought of Jen. He was always thinking of Jen. Her memory never left the forefront of his mind.
His soul was as empty as the bottle across the room but it would have to stay that way, for now. The doctors had told him that he would feel this way. They had given him literature on depression with a helpline promising to be there for him day or night. Kelly was too proud to call a stranger. Nor was he going to call anyone that he knew in the middle of the night with his sorry-assed sob story. No, he’d suck it up and keep moving forward on his own. His foray into drunkenness seemingly halted, his determination would have to push the need for nocturnal intoxication from his conscious.
Kelly forced his mind to work through its temporary inebriation. He couldn’t allow himself to fall asleep again so he put on a pot of coffee with the goal of sobering up quicker. Come morning it would be time to call Brooke Moore. He had been putting off things and he knew that he needed to finish planning the Intel reconnaissance mission. It was time to move away from the ambushes that the self-pity kept in store inside of his subconscious. Kelly would not allow the pity to rape his mind any longer.
***
Chapter 33
The flight across the Atlantic had been relatively uneventful. Niko had upgraded to business class for two reasons. The most obvious was for the additional space. He pictured himself sleeping most of the way so he could wake up refreshed and ready to get down to business upon his arrival. The second was that if he were to sleep on the jet, he had to avoid any first time travelers to Europe who might be on the flight. He knew these types of conversational gasbags who seemed to always fly coach. If he flew coach, he was sure he’d have a talker on both sides, impairing his ability to think, much less sleep.
The flight was quiet and the seat back reclined a little further than coach so he exploited every inch. Most of all, he was satisfied with the double screwdriver that he had guzzled down right before he had closed his eyes. Niko rationalized that Allah wouldn’t mind the consumption of alcohol if used as a sleeping aid. The drink had quickly succeeded in completing its mission. It took the edge off of the uncomfortable sleeping accommodations and allowed him to drift off to sleep for the duration of the flight.
Upon landing in Hamburg, Germany, Niko was the first person out of the plane. He was sure glad to be on the ground and out of that claustrophobic tube. He climbed the jet way and arrived inside the oldest airport in the world that was still being used. With his American passport, customs and immigration were no issue. He knew the agents weren’t machines. They looked at so many faces each day that there was no logical way to match every passport to the person standing before them. Even better, he knew he could influence his chances of an untroubled entry to the European Union. He could choose which line he stood in for immigration, so he had options. There were four, in fact.
He knew exactly what he was looking for. Option one was an older man who looked to be a supervisor of sorts. He had big eyes that seemed to be taking everything in. No, not him, he’s too curious. Option two was a well-dressed, medium sized woman. She had glasses and, he could see, a strong personality. She was, at that moment, beginning to talk loudly with the immigrant on the other side of her glass cubical. Not her, too authoritative, he thought. She was the workaholic type. She was too motivated to progress her career at the expense of people like himself.
Niko never assessed the fourth officer. Niko found exactly what he wanted in the third agent. The man had a big soft drink on his desk that he was watering his monstrous gut with. He looked like a lifer; no future but that enclosed desk. Niko knew that this man was the one. He was only there for a J-O-B and a paycheck. John Lambert’s passport was stamped and Niko slithered on through the turnstiles without so much as a double glance from the officer.
Niko quickly grabbed an over-priced coffee from a chain café. All he had was carry-on luggage so with the coffee in one hand and his small rolling bag in the other, he set out on his journey. He moved down the concourse with the purpose and look of a businessman. The most important part of the image was the serious expression adorning his face. He preferred that facial expression because he appeared less approachable. He glanced over his shoulders, searching for anyone who may have taken a special interest in him, for any reason. Failing to notice anything suspicious, he detoured to the men’s room and splashed cold water on his face. He dried off and checked himself in a full-length mirror on the way out. Emerging from the men’s room, Niko continued walking toward the entrance to the airport, where he quickly spotted an office in which he could conduct his next errand. He entered the bar-adorned room of floor to ceiling windows and secured his place in the short line. There were a few people in front of him so it took a few moments to reach the counter. He slowly approached the Weschelbuero sign, one person and two mini-steps at a time. Eventually, Niko exchanged an envelope full of dollars for Euros.
Niko stuffed the handful of various denominated bills into his chinos as he felt an odd combination of emotions running through him. His plan to get rid of Jen and Bekhan and out from under Abbas’ direction seemed to have worked. He was in Europe and he had gotten a fresh start. An overwhelming sense of relief and satisfaction hit him.
Still, there was something sinister inside of Niko too. It was an animalistic urge that he knew well. He realized that it would take more than a fresh start to satisfy his needs. Niko longed to mark his territory. A primitive instinct was pulling on his conscious, searching the satisfaction of release. It was an itch that he needed to scratch. And it was coming on fast. He knew he must fight the impulse to avoid complications. He needed to remain focused on meeting up with his new European network.
Niko knew where he could satisfy his vice. He located the tracks that would take him to the area of Hamburg that he wanted to go. A train hissed and squealed as it jolted slightly and finally came to a stop. The seals on the silver doors gasped for air as they parted ways and slid aside. After the exiting passengers cleared, Niko climbed aboard and found a seat for the duration of the short trip. As he sat down, so did a woman across the aisle from him. She batted her eyelashes at him with an inquisitive smile. Niko thought she looked coarse and burned out, as if she’d had an addiction. She glanced Niko’s way as if to say to herself, now why can’t I come home to a nice man like that?
***
Chapter 34
Kelly hadn’t come from old money, exactly. His father had relocated to New York with very few possessions and even less savings. The man had worked hard and done well for himself, eventually establishing a comfortable income for himself and his family.
Ultimately, it hadn’t been the cash flow that had been so impressive, it was the way that his father had multiplied his wealth through savvy investments. By the time Kelly had become the sole heir, his father’s life work had turned into a small fortune. This inheritance had acted as a cushion to allow Kelly to do what he wanted professionally, while not having to stress about finances.
The piece of inheritance that Kelly most valued wasn’t nearly as tangible as his financial assets. It was something that his father had passed on to him. Bit by bit, during his first twenty-five years or so. It was the ability to analyze and problem solve. At some point, Kelly had developed highly advanced analytical capabilities. Kelly found them especially helpful while viewing potential investments.
As fate would have it, d
uring a police run in February of 2011, Kelly had zigged when he should have zagged. The result was an extremely tender and swollen ankle that inhibited further physical escapades until it healed. After a heated debate with Sergeant Gibbs, Kelly had reluctantly taken five days off to allow for the sprain to heal. It turned out those five days would help partially form his perspective on money.
He had been online, scrolling through his favorite news outlet’s website when he noticed an article on Bitcoin. At first, it sounded too good to be true. So, the first day he had quickly written off Bitcoin as a Ponzi scheme. Mostly in part because he didn’t yet understand the value behind the technology. The news cycles must have been slow that week, he had thought at the time. On his second day in recovery, there was another article on the same topic. What is the fascination of this internet money? he had wondered. The article highlighted the potential for this new currency to become the premier choice for online transactions due to its unbreakable encryption. After pondering the news reports he’d seen about the millions of victims of credit card data breaches, Kelly began to see the value. Then he dug a little deeper.
Each bit of information that he found seemingly led him to a deeper level of the technology that he hadn’t yet considered. As his ankle continued to heal, he threw himself into yet more research. Bitcoin had become an obsession, a short-lived love affair, as he yearned to know more about the newfound technology. He fully embraced the idea of a currency that had a limited supply. Nobody had the power to create more Bitcoin than the predetermined amount. In theory, the relative value would rise over time as more users adopted it. A limited supply and rising value beat the constantly falling value of his dollars. On top of that, he didn’t need a bank. He could secure his money on his own computer with a backup code, just in case. Nobody nosing in his business and no fiduciary that could steal his money!
