Andrew Beckett entered a motel room with the man that had threatened him. That man was not normal. He was experienced with hand-to-hand combat and weapon control and was trained tactical assaults and for obvious reasons Beckett was not happy. He was pissed off that he was outsmarted and opposed so easily. Andrew was not going to forgive himself for that.
The motel room wasn't big. There were three things that caught his eye. Three important things. His bag. His sniper. His weapons. Andrew looked at the man, then back at the three things that lay on the bed.
"Who the hell are you?" Andrew asked.
"I should be the one asking the question.s" The man raised the gun at his face.
Andrew walked closer to the man. One step at a time. He looked the man straight in the eyes and held the nuzzle of the gun with his hand. Andrew slowly pulled the gun on the ground, now the barrel of the gun facing the dirty carpeted floor.
"Now, ask me." Andrew ordered. The man hadn't flinched nor reacted when he had touched the gun.
"Well, if a dead person is telling me this. I should be obliged to do it." The man said nonchalantly.
Andrew became troubled hearing this. He knew he had to do something, but how does this man know this. No one should know this. How does this man know who he is?
Andrew quickly reached for the man's gun, knocking it out of his grip. It fell on to the ground and landed under the bed. They both looked at each other for a second. The man, lunged forward tumbling Andrew on to the floor. The man punched Andrew in the gut and Andrew groaned but kept his composure. Andrew grabbed the man by the collar of his shirt and pushed him off. With the limited time frame, Andrew got back on his feet and knee kicked the man on the chin from the side. The man fell on to his side, he spit blood on to the ground. Andrew quickly got near the bed and took his secondary weapon, the smith and Wesson and checked its round. He cocked it and aimed the gun towards the man.
The man got up slowly from where he was standing, but then suddenly dashed a step forward, catching Andrew by surprise. The gun was still in his hand. Andrew got back into focus. As Andrew started to aim the gun, the man kicked his wrist, resulting in shot fired on to the ground and the gun flying out of his hands.
Andrew ran head on towards the man, and pinned him against the door. He got in a few punched on his face, splitting his lip and giving him a bruised eye. The man put his forearm on Beckett's neck and pushed him backward. Andrew came back forward in a punching motion, but the man dodged it and pushed him on to the ground. Andrew fell on to the ground and the man kicked his wounded leg, hurting it more. The man turned and slowly walked near the bed and held the knife firmly in his hands. Andrew saw the man walking towards him. The man knelt down on one knee.
Andrew looked at him.
"How do you know me?" Andrew said in a hoarse voice.
The man reached back and pulled something out of his pants which looked like an article of some sort.
"Tell me your name." Andrew said.
"Atticus Berk." The man answered. Andrew was surprised because he didn't expect him to answer it at all.
"Andrew Beckett." Andrew told his name even though he wasn't asked.
Andrew got up; the man moved out of his way. Andrew now knew that they were a match with each other on combat skills, but he still felt that the man named Atticus Berk was still better than him.
Andrew walked towards the bed and lifted up his bag and searched everything inside briefly.
"So, who are you?" Berk asked.
"I can't tell you that." Andrew replied. He saw that Atticus wasn't surprised but was not satisfied with the answer either.
"Andrew Beckett. That's your name." Berk asked for confirmation.
"Yes, that's my name and that will be the one of the only things I will say to you," Andrew reached for his sniper rifle and checked the ammo. It was empty. He saw the ammunition box in the bag. He opened and inspected it, then kept it back in the bag. "But what I can say is that I'm not the guy you're looking for. We are looking for the same person."
The article landed on the bed. Andrew inspected it, it had blood splattered on the sheet. He picked it up for a closer inspection. His eyes grew wide as he read the article. This wasn't true. How could it be. His eyes softened and let emotions take control of him for the first time in a long while.
Andrew read the page, one more time and threw it on the bad angrily. He muttered a string of curses and looked at Atticus Berk for a long time. He went closer and looked at him with eyes that are intent for killing.
"Where did you get this?" Andrew said each word clearly, not wanting to repeat himself.
"A man was framed for the murder of a Hollywood director. William Finch, if I remember correctly. That man and an FBI agent was killed right before I found you on top of the roof." Atticus spoke and as he was about to continue, Andrew cut him off. A rage of hostility and loathing welling up inside of him.
"I know dammit. I know," Andrew went back and cried out. "And I know who killed them, who killed the fucking director and my...." He trailed off.
"Who is it?" Berk asked.
Andrew knew it, he had to say it to this man. He knew he couldn't kill Atticus Berk easily. Taking time means wasting time in situations like this. He walked over to the bed and picked up the article he threw on to the bed. He walked back to the man and shoved it towards him.
"This man." That was all Andrew said.
"Who is he if this man isn't you?" Berk asked.
Beckett swiveled and paced around the room, scratching his head and messing it up. He had completely lost his composure; he hasn't been like this in a long time.
"That's my brother." Andrew finally got himself to say it. He breathed hard, he didn't know if it was because of relief or distress.
"How is he alive." Berk asked.
"That is because he never died." Andrew knelt down under the bed and took the gun out from under and checked the magazine. He then proceeded to sit on the bed and looked at Berk for a long time. He switched his gaze back to the gun and continued, "I was the one who died and he was the one who killed me. That paper doesn't make sense. What the hell is going on?"
"What do you mean?" Berk asked.
"I'm not telling you anything more. I can't." Andrew replied. "You just have to trust me."
"I'm not trusting you." Berk paused. "But I believe what you said."
Andrew Beckett walked over to the T.V and picked up the remote. H surfed through the channels available and decided on a local 24-hour news channel. What the reporter said intrigued him. It was a report of multiple murders in Santa Monica, not far from where they live. He bent forward to hear and read the details more clearly, and he could see Atticus Berk moving closer to the T.V.
"Multiple Murders have been reported in the last few days in Santa Monica. All of them have been write after the murder of Hollywood director and producer, William Finch. According the reports from the police, the two detectives who was in charge of the Finch homicide case was murdered at the house of one of the detectives, Valarie Miller. They were shot with a gun and the police are still doing ballistics on the case. Dr. Matt Drewy was also murdered at a small bar, near the bus stop. The autopsies have been done and it was said that the cause of death was intaking cyanide. The bar owner and people present at the time of death have been taken in by the police for questioning. The most recent murder was a young man named Joseph O'day. He was shot multiple times and the ballistics are still not out yet." The women on T.V was about to speak again, but pressed her earphone. She then continued, "Wait a minute folks, we have more news from an on-site reporter, that there were two more murders. We are still waiting for the confirmation at the moment."
The sounds of the T.V faded in to the background while Andrew Beckett got up and packed everything in his bag. He went in to a closet and found a black long cloth and covered the sniper up and tied it with the loose ends. He went to the bathroom, washed his face and blood off with water. He put on his cap and exited. He picked the bag with his right hand and lifted it on to a bedside table. He removed his jacket, not caring if Atticus Berk was there and holstered his primary and secondary guns along with the army knife. He put two extra magazines in his back pocket for the Cobra and put his jacket back on. He lifted the bag up, and held the rifle close to his body. He looked at the T.V once more and walked to the door opening the door.
He felt a grip on his shoulder and he looked back to see Atticus Berk holding him back.
"Where the hell do you think you are going?" Atticus Berk asked.
"To kill him." That was Andrew Beckett said and pushed the man's hand off him and walked out of the door.
Beckett walked quickly through the hallway, searching for cameras. There was one. He pulled his cap down and looked at the ground and walked down the stairs two storey's. He went in to the parking lot and saw five people standing around his car. One of them was big and the rest were average looking thugs. He stayed in one spot and looked at them. 3 of them were looking inside the car and the rest were looking out. The big looking guy made eye contact with him, but didn't do anything. That meant they weren't here for him but for someone else and right now, the only person other than him would be Atticus Berk. He looked at the window at which he guessed would be the room he was in right now. He shook his head and walked closer to the car. He slowly placed the sniper, on to a pole near the car and put the bag down next to it. He walked up to the big man and looked at him. The man stared back at him with confusion.
"What are you doing in front of my car?" Andrew asked.
"This is not your car." The man had a foreign accent. "Now fuck off."
Andrew sighed and said, "Well, it is my car and it seems you got a problem with it. I suggest, you take your leave before I knock all of your asses down."
The man laughed along with the rest of his thug friends like Andrew had told a joke. The big man stepped closer, and pointed one finger at him and pressed it on Andrew's chest and pushed him back. Andrew went back, not wanting to piss him off more. Yet.
"A boy like you can't do shit to us. No, to me." The big man corrected as if he was being too generous.
Andrew shook his head and sighed. Andrew moved with exceptional speed, grabbed the man's hand and pinned it to his back. The assassin kicked the big man behind the knee allowing the man to fall on to the ground on his knees. He then, kicked the man behind the head and propelled his head all the way on to the tarred road. The man lay on his stomach on the road, groaning and wincing in pain from each small movement. The man seconds later, rolled on to the side, his face was soaked with saliva and blood. Andrew smiled with satisfaction and looked at the other men standing there with shocked and petrified faces. Andrew looked back at the man. He bent down and lifted him by the collar and stared at him.
"Who are you?" Andrew asked.
The man shook his head.
Andrew Punched him in the face.
"Who are you?" Andrew asked word by word.
No answer.
Another punch on the face
"Who sent you?" Andrew asked a different question.
Andrew punched him two more times. The man's face was distorted completely now. His nose was bloody and crooked. His eyelids were covered in blood and lips split with particles of rock and sand mixed with the blood.
"Enough, please." The man begged with a nasal and breathless voice. "I will tell you."
Andrew looked at the man waiting for his explanation.
"You are not the man we were asked to find." The man coughed, landing the blood and saliva on Beckett's hands. Andrew looked at his hands for a moment then diverted back to the man. "The man was much older and bigger than you. We were told to find this car and bring him. Trust us, we didn't know this was your car."
"Who sent you?" Beckett asked.
"I don't know. We were indirectly given orders by our boss, but I know it is not the bosses request."
"Where is your boss?" Andrew asked.
"I can't tell you that." The man said, coughing more.
Andrew raised his fist, but kept it there seeing as the man closed his eyes instinctively and covered his face with his hands.
"Please." The man begged. "No more."
Andrew lowered his hands and saw the man visibly relax. He punched the man and he fell on the ground from Andrew's own grip. The thug screamed in pain clutching his nose.
"Who is he? Where can I find him?" Andrew asked getting up.
"The alley behind the restaurant. The third house there. There will be personnel only door. Go in and you can..." The man coughed, hurting his face more.
Andrew walked up to the pole that had his sniper and bag. He picked it up and threw the bag in the back seat and went back to the trunk and opened it. He placed the sniper that was covered with black cloth in it.
He got in the car and began driving with one thought.
Jack Miller will die soon.