Gone Without You

Chapter 18

She held her baby close, giving the photo a quick kiss and she moved the baby's hand so it was like he waved at it.

"I hope you know how much I love you, Grove," she said as she looked down at the drowsy baby.

"And I hope you know he would have loved you too,"

...

Oh, how cruel existence can play horrible tricks on those within it, that a man can be on the other side of the country, labeled dead and completely unaware his son had been born three months prior.

The flame haired man woke up, feeling horrible inside a gas station bathroom.

It hadn't been his most ideal place to sleep but he was doing his best to stay below the radar and that meant not checking into any kind of hotel.

But it was getting pretty ridiculous, in the past few months, he had slept in bathrooms, random cars, ditches and under bridges.

He groaned in disgust as his hand brushed against a a strange, green puddle and he kicked the stall door open.

Walking out he scrutinised his messy reflection in the dirty, mould covered mirror.

He was a wreck, his hair spiked up awkwardly, his clothes were covered in unknown stains and had a hole in one jacket sleeve, there were bruises on his face and his eyes looked dull and tired, the cigarette he lit was really just the cherry on top.

He didn't know who he was staring at in the mirror, surely that wasn't him.

He was cold, hungry and fed up, he wanted to go home.

Could he ever go home? Would he be able to face his wife again?

He left the bathroom thinking about the last twelve months of his life, figuring out if he could ever return to any kind of "normal" life.

As he walked down the vast, empty road he looked at his hands, holding them out and examining them.

These hands had killed someone less than forty-eight hours ago.

There was one less person in the world, because of him.

Someone would cry, because of him.

What shocked him the most wasn't the fact he had killed someone, everyone could be driven to kill if they were pushed enough, he thought.

What scared him was how little guilt he felt.

He had assumed it would eat at him until he broke but it didn't, he felt totally normal.

Well, as normal as someone in his situation could be...

He had simply killed the man because he had been told to, he had been told he was in the way of the missions progress and he choked him until the life drained from his eyes.

He was a drug rat for cartel they were taking down and he had given away their coordinates so he had to die.

Something had been triggered in Firey's brain when the idiot ended the phone call he had overheard him make.

From the ear piece Firey had, The Director told him that phone call would set them back about three months and Firey just felt everything around him go blurry.

The Director told him if he wanted to get home sooner rather than later, he needed to get rid of the rat.

Terrifyingly void of emotion, he rushed the guy, pinning him down and looking him dead in the eyes as he tightened his grip around his throat, his pleading to be let go becoming more gargled and incoherent as Firey applied more pressure.