New York, NY - 15 Years Ago
It was beautiful. The sunlight pushed its way between buildings, giving the streets of Manhattan a strange early morning glow. My parents sat in the front of the car, my father driving and looking smart in a navy blue business suit as always. My mother smiling back from the passenger seat and tickling my toes.
My pop grew up in America, never living in one place at a time when he was a kid. My mom however, was British, living there her whole life. They loved me, I loved them... The first 6 months of my life were some of the happiest I guess.
Primatech Paper Co. – Odessa, TX
Thompson sat at his desk, looking over scattered pieces of paper piled one on top of the other. A young man in his early 20's sat across from him, his eyes shifting left to right, the lower part of his face covered in stubble. On the other side of the room the door clicked open, making the young man jump almost out of his seat. The door swayed wide open by itself revealing nothing but the boring cemented hallways.
"No need to scare the poor rookie, Claude" The figure of a tall man in a dark blue trench coat faded into view out of nothing. A long smirk spread across his face, "You're such a party pooper, Thompson."
The young man leaped out of his seat, his face bearing a startled look like the ghost of Elvis had just thrust in his face or something. He was surprisingly short.
"Don't be afraid, Mr. Sykes. As you can see, he's one of them," Thompson stated as the young man took a seat. "Claude, this is Arnold Sykes. Arnold, this is Claude...our invisible man."
"Pleased to meet you Arnie-boy," Claude leaned in to shake his hand, after an awkward moment of silence, Arnold reluctantly accepted. "So, I take it you'll be partnering us up?" he asked Thompson.
Thompson smiled, "You guessed correct" he leaned back in his chair, "Sykes here is new to the Company, so I want you to show him the ropes. We've got a bag and tag up in New York we need you to do, it should be easy enough. And this one's coming right from the top, just need you to keep track of somebody."
New York
Manhattan streets were always filled up in the mornings, today was quite an exception. The streets were surprisingly spacious; it was nice. My dad was always dressed to the nines, no matter the occasion, even a trip out to Jersey to visit friends for brunch involved a suit. As we pulled a left heading to the George Washington Bridge our car was bumped from the side. A black sedan, spy movie cliché if anything, was pushing us into an alleyway. My dad's expression took a spin, his face contorted in anger and my mom's eyes wide in shock. The other end of the alleyway was blocked off by another sedan; we were trapped.
My mom screamed as my dad stopped the car. One man came out of each car, the driver of the one behind us was tall, brown hair neatly combed. The other seemed panicked; he was short with a 5 o'clock shadow spread over his jaw, his eyes seemed to widen at my parents as he walked towards the car.
"Don't worry," the tall man sighed, his accent was strong, British maybe, like my mother's, "We're not going to hurt you if we don't have to."
"What do you want?" my dad's voice was shaky, his body tensed, ready for anything.
"Alright, you can come with us and do it the easy way," he pulled a bulky, dark blue gun out from his coat, "Or the sleepy way."
The short guy quickly reached his hand inside his jacket and retrieved a long-barrelled silver pistol, "Don't you guys move!"
"Whoa! Whoa, Arnie-boy! No bloody live ammo, mate. We're not here to kill the lucky couple!" He pointed to me. "Just to keep tabs."
"Yeah" he began to sweat, "Yeah, I'm just a little jumpy. Not used to actually being out here around these freaks."
The tall guy turned looked across at the short dude with an odd expression kind of like annoyance and constipation. "May I remind you i'm one of those 'freaks'."
My dad leaped out of his seat and tried to tackle the short guy while he was distracted. Should've known that wouldn't work.
BANG! BANG!
The gunshots echoed off of the walls as my dad's body fell forward. I started to cry, I didn't know what was going on but I didn't like it. My mother screamed as blood sprayed over the front of the car.
BANG!
My mother stopped screaming. He trained his gun on me.
"What the f*** is wrong with you!?" the tall guy yelled.
BANG!
He fell back in pain as the bullet ripped through his arm. The young one had a horrified look on his face, sweat dripping from his nose.
"Oh... oh sh-." I cried louder and louder, the noises were too much for my ears. He aimed his gun in my face again, "Stop crying!"
BANG! BANG, BANG!
The tall guy began to stand, nursing where the bullet had cut through the side of his shoulder. The short guy fell, two bullet holes in his torso and one clean through the head.
"Oh bloody hell, Sykes. What the hell did you just get me into?" He opened the back door, watching me cry.
As he picked me up, he whispered quietly, "Hey, tyke. I'm Claude." At that I began to stop crying, "Fantastic... Don't worry, I'll look after you." He began to cradle me.
"So what can you do?"