- Takaya Sakaki (Persona 3)
Previously: Hallowed Light - Unravelling // Awakened
Christine doesn't even need to take my order the moment I reached the counter. She just hands me a cup and doesn't take my money even.
"It's on the house."
"Are you still trying to--"
She smiles and shakes her head. "I saw you last night getting out of that uber when I was going home from my work. Your friend dropped by earlier and got himself a cup."
That word again. Friend. I didn't like that word and I didn't have any real friends at all.
But apparently Henry is my friend. I don't really comprehend. I know he's the closest thing to a friend but... Not outright one I would say is such.
"Must have been a hell of a night if you decided to get drunk last night."
I don't respond and look at my coffee.
"I guess you're wilder than I thought." She grins. "Next!"
I move away for the next customer and walk back to my apartment.
Friend... That word rattles me again and I find myself unable to shake why I'm not correcting anyone about it.
I can't have friends. Every paycheck I get is from killing people. Any means of weakness such as hesitation will make my job extremely difficult and trust in me would plummet. The moment Henry so much as pisses someone powerful off, he'll be a client's target. Considering how he operates, I wouldn't be surprised if that happens. And unlike a huge conglomerate like the Eden Foundation, assassins have no real excuse to say no to a job like taking on a single person. Even if I say no, someone else will be asked to kill him. And even if I do grow a conscience, taking on others just to protect him is not something I can accomplish forever. I am highly skilled assassin but there will always be someone better than me. And if others hear about such treachery, a target will be painted on my back as well.
My math sums up, right?
So why am I opening my computer and stalking Henry on Facebook? Why am I so curious about why his friendship suddenly matters to me?
I was shown small gestures of kindness and was called a friend and suddenly it matters to me?
No no no. That's not how it works. All we've done together was drink, do each other favors, and the occasional small talk. Why is the word friend suddenly ingrained as important?
I drink my coffee too quick and burn my tongue a little. That thought process didn't take nearly enough time as I thought to cool the coffee down.
I'm going to have to take a few days off.
After that encounter with James Osmond and my sudden memory flashes, I think all I need right now is a break.
"I guess you're wilder than I thought." She grins. "Next!"
I move away for the next customer and walk back to my apartment.
Friend... That word rattles me again and I find myself unable to shake why I'm not correcting anyone about it.
I can't have friends. Every paycheck I get is from killing people. Any means of weakness such as hesitation will make my job extremely difficult and trust in me would plummet. The moment Henry so much as pisses someone powerful off, he'll be a client's target. Considering how he operates, I wouldn't be surprised if that happens. And unlike a huge conglomerate like the Eden Foundation, assassins have no real excuse to say no to a job like taking on a single person. Even if I say no, someone else will be asked to kill him. And even if I do grow a conscience, taking on others just to protect him is not something I can accomplish forever. I am highly skilled assassin but there will always be someone better than me. And if others hear about such treachery, a target will be painted on my back as well.
My math sums up, right?
So why am I opening my computer and stalking Henry on Facebook? Why am I so curious about why his friendship suddenly matters to me?
I was shown small gestures of kindness and was called a friend and suddenly it matters to me?
No no no. That's not how it works. All we've done together was drink, do each other favors, and the occasional small talk. Why is the word friend suddenly ingrained as important?
I drink my coffee too quick and burn my tongue a little. That thought process didn't take nearly enough time as I thought to cool the coffee down.
I'm going to have to take a few days off.
After that encounter with James Osmond and my sudden memory flashes, I think all I need right now is a break.
//
At around 6:30, a call from Henry rouses me from my stupor.
I had been drawing my memories from what I can recall and pieces that don't make sense without my entirety of my memories keep appearing.
The man, assumed to be my father, baking pie. Judging from the small detail I could see from my memories, it was a pecan pie.
James Osmond wrapping me in his arms from my perspective as a woman I assumed to be my mother hitting him with a chair.
Crayons strewn across the floor and that memory of James putting me in a room.
"Hello?"
Henry was out of breath as if he was running. "Hey! I got the file!"
"Why are you panting? Is someone chasing you?"
"No... I..." He pants again... "I stepped on a dog's tail and... it chased me for a while... I... I don't... want to stop to look... and see if it's still chasing me..."
"...Did you even bother to check if there was barking behind you to see if the dog was still there."
He stops and gasp for more air. I can hear his shoes turn around to check and finally a sigh of relief.
"Okay... I'm here."
I had been drawing my memories from what I can recall and pieces that don't make sense without my entirety of my memories keep appearing.
The man, assumed to be my father, baking pie. Judging from the small detail I could see from my memories, it was a pecan pie.
James Osmond wrapping me in his arms from my perspective as a woman I assumed to be my mother hitting him with a chair.
Crayons strewn across the floor and that memory of James putting me in a room.
"Hello?"
Henry was out of breath as if he was running. "Hey! I got the file!"
"Why are you panting? Is someone chasing you?"
"No... I..." He pants again... "I stepped on a dog's tail and... it chased me for a while... I... I don't... want to stop to look... and see if it's still chasing me..."
"...Did you even bother to check if there was barking behind you to see if the dog was still there."
He stops and gasp for more air. I can hear his shoes turn around to check and finally a sigh of relief.
"Okay... I'm here."
"Why didn't you just drive here?"
"It's leg day." He says, still out of breath. "Do you want me to come up or--"
"I'll come down. I need to go buy some food anyway. No, I'm not buying you dinner."
"Lame." I hang up and grab a jacket from my coat rack.
The old lady from across the hall greets me as I walk toward the elevator.
A sudden flash occurs as the elevator goes down.
The image of James Osmond protecting me. It was more vivid now.
Why can't you just eat the fucking vegetable! The woman shouts.
Mom! No! My eyes catch site of James' embrace and the chair hitting him in the back. Blood gushes out of James' head but the embrace continues to protect the memory of me.
The elevator dings and my flash ends. I turn the corner and find Henry there, still wearing my clothes. He raises the file as I approach and smiles.
"I'll tell you, this thing wasn't easy to get. I had to call in a favor from the Utah Police Department down in Terra just to get a hold of this but-"
It was too fast.
I was falling, the file shoved right into my chest. The normally talkative Henry had suddenly gone quiet. His usual, friendly expression was replaced with dead seriousness.
From across the hall, I caught a glimpse of what Henry saw before he pushed me. A figure clad in a black coat and covered with a mask and hat. He was pointing a gun at me.
And Henry realized it too. I didn't have time to react so he did.
He had reached quickly into his holster and fired. I could only see a glimpse of who he had fired at,
Henry's shot forces the man to stumble back and I make brief eye contact with him before he fires back. Everyone in the lobby scrambled as the gunshots echoed across the room.
In the chaos, the man disappeared and I'm left on the ground with Henry standing over me.
"You... okay?" He says.
"Yeah. I'm--" I felt a drop of something wet fall on my face. It smelled metallic and it poured out some more on me. Years in my job has desensitized me and it's unmistakably blood.
"Oh." Henry touched his abdomen where the bullets had hit him. My vest had a growing blotch of blood and more dripped on me and the floor.
He falls to his knees and keels over next to me.
I sit up and move us further to the reception desk to hide. The doorman was quick to call 911.
Henry's breathing slowed and attempts at speaking makes it more painful for him.
"Why?" I say
He closes his eyes and mouths something.
Friend.
//
The police arrived at around 6:43, around 8 minutes after the shooting happened.
Henry Santiago was pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital.
His mother and little brother arrived 20 minutes later to see him.
A detective approached me to gather a statement.
"Don't worry." He says to me. "You were Henry's friend, right? The guy told me about your situation so I'll make sure the police don't harass you."
Friend... The last thing he said... or mouthed... was that damn word.
"Guy was like family, you know? He's sleazy but he'd look out for you. Considering what happened, it looks like you've got someone after you. Better lay low for a while."
I thank the detective for the advice and go see Henry's body after his family had left.
Henry looked so weird being still and quiet.
"Why me?" I ask his corpse. "Why am I your friend? I'm just a psychotic killer, remember?"
I have to get used to the concept of real tears. They just keep falling off of my face.
This is what I meant about friends being a weakness. They go and get themselves killed. Maybe I didn't do it, but someone wanted him dead. Everyone dies.
But despite all this, I have to make sure Henry's service to me isn't in vain.
I need to compartmentalize my goals and deal with each one at a time.
I am a professional. I must be able to organize and move without fail.
The detective dropped me off at my apartment building. The lobby was sealed off by police tape and lingering cops searched the area.
I walked through the crime scene, avoiding the splotches of Henry's blood on the floor and made my way to the elevator.
There were no flashes, something I was hoping would keep my mind off things.
When that fails, I look over at the file and take in what was compiled for me.
Henry was organized in his own way, highlighting sections of what I would have found useful. James Osmond, 32. A professor and researcher at Terra University. Lives in Terra, Utah with his son, Nick Osmond. Contact details listed below.
Utah is a six hour drive from here. I have to prepare my clothes and rest.
I'll hit the road first thing in the morning.
"It's leg day." He says, still out of breath. "Do you want me to come up or--"
"I'll come down. I need to go buy some food anyway. No, I'm not buying you dinner."
"Lame." I hang up and grab a jacket from my coat rack.
The old lady from across the hall greets me as I walk toward the elevator.
A sudden flash occurs as the elevator goes down.
The image of James Osmond protecting me. It was more vivid now.
Why can't you just eat the fucking vegetable! The woman shouts.
Mom! No! My eyes catch site of James' embrace and the chair hitting him in the back. Blood gushes out of James' head but the embrace continues to protect the memory of me.
The elevator dings and my flash ends. I turn the corner and find Henry there, still wearing my clothes. He raises the file as I approach and smiles.
"I'll tell you, this thing wasn't easy to get. I had to call in a favor from the Utah Police Department down in Terra just to get a hold of this but-"
It was too fast.
I was falling, the file shoved right into my chest. The normally talkative Henry had suddenly gone quiet. His usual, friendly expression was replaced with dead seriousness.
From across the hall, I caught a glimpse of what Henry saw before he pushed me. A figure clad in a black coat and covered with a mask and hat. He was pointing a gun at me.
And Henry realized it too. I didn't have time to react so he did.
He had reached quickly into his holster and fired. I could only see a glimpse of who he had fired at,
Henry's shot forces the man to stumble back and I make brief eye contact with him before he fires back. Everyone in the lobby scrambled as the gunshots echoed across the room.
In the chaos, the man disappeared and I'm left on the ground with Henry standing over me.
"You... okay?" He says.
"Yeah. I'm--" I felt a drop of something wet fall on my face. It smelled metallic and it poured out some more on me. Years in my job has desensitized me and it's unmistakably blood.
"Oh." Henry touched his abdomen where the bullets had hit him. My vest had a growing blotch of blood and more dripped on me and the floor.
He falls to his knees and keels over next to me.
I sit up and move us further to the reception desk to hide. The doorman was quick to call 911.
Henry's breathing slowed and attempts at speaking makes it more painful for him.
"Why?" I say
He closes his eyes and mouths something.
Friend.
//
The police arrived at around 6:43, around 8 minutes after the shooting happened.
Henry Santiago was pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital.
His mother and little brother arrived 20 minutes later to see him.
A detective approached me to gather a statement.
"Don't worry." He says to me. "You were Henry's friend, right? The guy told me about your situation so I'll make sure the police don't harass you."
Friend... The last thing he said... or mouthed... was that damn word.
"Guy was like family, you know? He's sleazy but he'd look out for you. Considering what happened, it looks like you've got someone after you. Better lay low for a while."
I thank the detective for the advice and go see Henry's body after his family had left.
Henry looked so weird being still and quiet.
"Why me?" I ask his corpse. "Why am I your friend? I'm just a psychotic killer, remember?"
I have to get used to the concept of real tears. They just keep falling off of my face.
This is what I meant about friends being a weakness. They go and get themselves killed. Maybe I didn't do it, but someone wanted him dead. Everyone dies.
But despite all this, I have to make sure Henry's service to me isn't in vain.
I need to compartmentalize my goals and deal with each one at a time.
I am a professional. I must be able to organize and move without fail.
The detective dropped me off at my apartment building. The lobby was sealed off by police tape and lingering cops searched the area.
I walked through the crime scene, avoiding the splotches of Henry's blood on the floor and made my way to the elevator.
There were no flashes, something I was hoping would keep my mind off things.
When that fails, I look over at the file and take in what was compiled for me.
Henry was organized in his own way, highlighting sections of what I would have found useful. James Osmond, 32. A professor and researcher at Terra University. Lives in Terra, Utah with his son, Nick Osmond. Contact details listed below.
Utah is a six hour drive from here. I have to prepare my clothes and rest.
I'll hit the road first thing in the morning.
//
I take a glance at Cloudy Day and contemplate a cup. But considering what happened to Henry, I'd be putting Christine in danger considering the association. If Henry was a friend, someone who was seen flirting with me would be in just as much danger. I can grab a cup later.
The drive was surprisingly met with no surprise attacks on the way.
I've only made a total of 3 stops since I left. One at a Starbucks, One at a diner, and One at a gas station.
Once I got to Terra City, I quickly checked myself in at a motel. The plan was to give James a call and see where it went from there.
"Hello?" It was his voice. The man at the party. It was definitely him.
"Hi. I'm..." I stammer, unsure what to actually say now. Do I say I'm his brother? Do I say that I have something of his? Do I blackmail him?
"I'm sorry, if this is a telemarketing call, I'm afraid I'll have to--"
"You met me at that party." I suddenly say.
There's silence and I can hear Spongebob Squarepants played in the background.
"Taylor?"
I don't respond to the name. I don't acknowledge it. Even if Taylor exists... I'm still Patrick Walsh.
"I'd like to meet you tomorrow. If that's alright."
I could hear the man stutter a little. "S-Sure! I'll give you my address."
"There's no need." I hang up and throw away the burner phone I used to place the call.
//
I didn't know what to expect when I pulled up to James Osmond's house.
It was a modest home. A two-story home with white picket fence and a small porch. Toys were strewn across the lawn. Probably had a bed made of white roses. The American dream.
It must have been at least 20 minutes before I finally got out and walked up to the door.
I knock a couple of times and I hear footsteps approaching the door.
A little boy with black hair and green eyes peeks from behind the door's window curtain.
"Daddy! There's a stranger at the door!"
There's a hushed conversation and finally, the man I saw at the party comes to the door. He doesn't open it quickly, glancing at me from the window for a second.
When he opens the door, his watery eyes gazes right at me. It looked like he had a lot to say but couldn't, as if the air in his body had been sucked out.
Instead, he lets out a coarse, whimper and pulls me in to a full embrace and he begins to sob.
"Taylor. I missed you so... so much, Buddy."
I stand still, a little overwhelmed about what's happening.
He pulls back for a second and looks at me. "Look at you! So big! So handsome!"
I didn't know what to expect when I pulled up to James Osmond's house.
It was a modest home. A two-story home with white picket fence and a small porch. Toys were strewn across the lawn. Probably had a bed made of white roses. The American dream.
It must have been at least 20 minutes before I finally got out and walked up to the door.
I knock a couple of times and I hear footsteps approaching the door.
A little boy with black hair and green eyes peeks from behind the door's window curtain.
"Daddy! There's a stranger at the door!"
There's a hushed conversation and finally, the man I saw at the party comes to the door. He doesn't open it quickly, glancing at me from the window for a second.
When he opens the door, his watery eyes gazes right at me. It looked like he had a lot to say but couldn't, as if the air in his body had been sucked out.
Instead, he lets out a coarse, whimper and pulls me in to a full embrace and he begins to sob.
"Taylor. I missed you so... so much, Buddy."
I stand still, a little overwhelmed about what's happening.
He pulls back for a second and looks at me. "Look at you! So big! So handsome!"
I'm pulled back into an embrace and I awkwardly return it.
The little boy from earlier approaches us and looks at me with cautious eyes. "Daddy, who is he?"
"He's your Uncle Taylor. Taylor, this is Nick. Go on, say Hi."
The little boy... Nick, suddenly hugs me as well. What is with this family and hugs? Ever heard of personal space?
"I'm sure you have a lot of questions." James says. "I'll field them one at a time. Just let me give Nick his lunch."
//The little boy from earlier approaches us and looks at me with cautious eyes. "Daddy, who is he?"
"He's your Uncle Taylor. Taylor, this is Nick. Go on, say Hi."
The little boy... Nick, suddenly hugs me as well. What is with this family and hugs? Ever heard of personal space?
"I'm sure you have a lot of questions." James says. "I'll field them one at a time. Just let me give Nick his lunch."
Nick was eating a plate of chicken and mashed potatoes. The boy seemed a little too happy munching on the side vegetables.
James returns with a large box in his hands.
"Just a question first." I say. "What were you doing in Northbrick that night?"
"I was visiting a friend." He says, dropping the box on the coffee table. "Sadly, she passed away."
Serena.
"I was visiting a friend." He says, dropping the box on the coffee table. "Sadly, she passed away."
Serena.
James opened the box, revealing bunch of assorted memorabilia that trigger a bunch of flashes in my head.
"You are starting to recall your memories, am I correct?”
James’ amicable tone had become emotionless. “Flashes of images that make no sense right now... Unfamiliar emotions flooding in... Have you been experiencing those?”
My eyes widen and suddenly I’m on guard. I have many hidden blades in my body and a loaded gun holstered at my back. If this was a trick, I am prepared to make this a personal job.
He waves his arms, as if reading my mind, to try and calm me.
“This... it’s the Myst Protocool wearing off. It’s giving you your memories back.”
“Myst... Protocool?” Myst... that’s the association that took me in and trained me when I was young.
James takes out a family photo. A man who looks astonishingly just like me stood next to a woman and had his hand on two boys shoulders. A pre-adolescent me that I can recall from my old pictures in Myst’s files and James, looking as he did in my memories.
“As you may or may not have gathered, we lived a rather miserable life with our mother abusing us. Our father, the one parent that loved us, could not touch her and we had very few options to escape. That is, until I met and befriended the founder of Myst.”
He hands me another picture. This time of him and my mentor, Gantz. The man who had himself erased from society’s memory.
“I became close to them and I was set to enter their science scholarship. And he told me that if I ever needed anything, all I needed was to call. Can you guess what happened next?”
I looked at the picture and flashes in my head intensified.
//
She... she killed Dad.
What? Mom killed... Dad?
Shrill Screaming echoed in my memory.
James took my hand and ran towards a room, all while calling a number.
“Help! Our mother is trying to kill us! He killed our father!”
The memory of James hiding me in a closet became so much clearer. Our mother had approached us with a knife and he had blocked her way. She was going to murder us.
And from here, those men in black arrived, quickly dispatching my mother.
Gantz had arrived and James approached him.
“Please make him forget this... all of this.... our life. He doesn’t deserve this pain.”
“But you realize....” my mentor says. “...everyone that enters the Myst Protocool is to be enhanced and trained as merciless assassins, correct?”
James turned his head to me. “It’s better this way.”
My mentor nods and I see James move away for the men in black to take me away.
//
“You stole my life.” I say, controlling my voice to not alarm James’ son.
James lowers his head. “Yes.”
“You let them turn me into a killer.” I reach for my neck, something seemed stuck on my throat. “You abandoned me.”
“I didnt. I would never.” He said sharply. “I couldnt let you see me until the Myst Protocool had set in. It would compromise your programming. But when I came back during the safe period, you volunteered to transfer. I looked for you. I looked everywhere for you.”
I stand up and open my mouth to argue. For years of my life, I had been empty. Longing for something to mean something to me. My memories were sealed away and family would undo what would become Patrick Walsh. Whoever Taylor Osmond was got locked away.
"I did it to protect you." He says. "You didn't deserve the trauma. You were just a kid."
"It wasn't your decision." I say behind my grit teeth. "Didn't it ever cross your mind that weaponizing your younger brother is far worse than letting him live his life knowing his family's dark history? I may not have all memories back yet, but you took away my humanity."
"I did it to protect you." He says. "You didn't deserve the trauma. You were just a kid."
"It wasn't your decision." I say behind my grit teeth. "Didn't it ever cross your mind that weaponizing your younger brother is far worse than letting him live his life knowing his family's dark history? I may not have all memories back yet, but you took away my humanity."
I finally let myself cry willingly. My emotions, my memories, my true self. All were supressed and now that I finally start get them back, I thought I’d be happier. Instead, I feel betrayed. I feel lost. Conflicted.
“I’m gonna go out for a while. I need some time to think. ” I tell him. He doesn’t try to stop me as I walk out and get on my car to drive back to the motel.
//
I've been contemplating how I was going to continue with this revelation. Do I go home? Try to live normally? Stay, deal with my resurfacing humanity? Erase my existence?
When I got back to my room, I found the CEO of the Eden Foundation, Richie Walter, sitting at my room’s couch and held a Manila envelope.
“What do you want?” I say, coming off a little hostile. “Are you here to kill me for stopping your deal with Serena?”
The man tosses the envelope into the coffee table and images scatter out.
“No. A job is a job. We don’t hold grudges.” He beckons me over to come look at the images.
These were shots of my apartment building at the time Henry was killed. Pictures of Henry's death and pictures of the hooded figure escaping.
“However, we also do not tolerate our own from deviating.” He hands me one picture and I almost drop it when I see who it was.
Christine. She was at our apartment’s stairwell, taking off the mask and clutching her shoulder from where Henry shot her.
“But this doesn’t make any sense!”
“But this doesn’t make any sense!”
“Christine Mackenzie was our scout, keeping us informed of any anomalies and informing us of movement we can use to further our cause." Walter lights a cigarette, puffing smoke into my room. "She volunteered for our company’s call for trained assassins and trained herself to rise up. It wasn’t until after she killed your friend that we realize what she’s after.”
“And pray tell, what does she want?”
He hands me another image. It was of me killing a corrupt prosecutor in his home. One of the easiest jobs given to me to cripple an unjust case.
She was there. She was his daughter.
She was there. She was his daughter.
From what the CEO tells me, prior to joining them, she had bounced between foster homes and fended for herself in the system. She had lost everything. Just like me...
“Revenge...” I suddenly say. It's ironic, really. She, herself a kid in the system that got abused, ended up working for a company that misuses foster children for their own gain. All just for a chance to kill me. “She’s here isn’t she?”
Walter nods and checks his watch. “If I were you, you ought to run home to your family.”
My memories haven't completely resurfaced yet but what little I have knows that I can't lose them. What little I found... What family I have left.
//
It was just as I thought. Christine was here.
Her pink Mercedes was parked outside my brother's house.
I quickly barged in and found Christine sitting in our couch.
Her pink Mercedes was parked outside my brother's house.
I quickly barged in and found Christine sitting in our couch.
“Christine...!”
"Oh, hey!" She smiles at me, the same flirty smile whenever I came to the cafe. "You sure took your time."
James came in holding a tray of tea and Nick accompanied him with a plate of biscuits. "Taylor. I didn't think you'd be back so soon."
I felt sweat trickle down my temple and I give James a nervous look.
To his credit, he recognized it extremely quickly and put Nick behind him.
"I know why you're here." I say, already positioning myself to fight. I take a quick glance around the room. Christine was seated across the coffee table. If she gets up, I can force her down with that and restrain her.
"What are you talking about?" She stands, feigning confusion. "I came here because I got a--"
"Drop the act Christine Hope, daughter of Prosecutor Reynold Hope!"
"Oh, hey!" She smiles at me, the same flirty smile whenever I came to the cafe. "You sure took your time."
James came in holding a tray of tea and Nick accompanied him with a plate of biscuits. "Taylor. I didn't think you'd be back so soon."
I felt sweat trickle down my temple and I give James a nervous look.
To his credit, he recognized it extremely quickly and put Nick behind him.
"I know why you're here." I say, already positioning myself to fight. I take a quick glance around the room. Christine was seated across the coffee table. If she gets up, I can force her down with that and restrain her.
"What are you talking about?" She stands, feigning confusion. "I came here because I got a--"
"Drop the act Christine Hope, daughter of Prosecutor Reynold Hope!"
She stares at me, seemingly dumbfounded at first, before finally dropping her kind attitude. She lets out a loud and creepy laugh and takes out a gun and pointed it at me.
From behind her, James drops the tray and the cups he had shattered and spilled all the tea he had prepared.
"What do you live for?" Christine asked me, her cold voice echoed in my brother's living room. "Give me the pleasure of taking it away,"
I looked back at my nephew hiding scared behind my brother.
For the first time in my life since I can remember, I was actually scared. Scared about what she'll do. Scared about dying. Scared of losing what I realize finally have.
Because after years of living for nothing, I finally had an answer to that question.
"To be someone."
She chuckles, raising a brow in confusion.
"Someone who mattered." and I wasn't going to let go of what I found. What I finally got back. Not without a fight.
I kick the coffee table forward, toppling her off balance. The pistol bounces off the floor and accidentally fires at a fruit bowl, eliciting a scream out of Nick and prompting my brother to pick him up and run.
I take no time waiting for the girl to catch her second wind and kick her again, knocking her down on the floor before stomping on her stomach.
She coughs and staggers but does not let me make a second attack. She slams a chair at my leg and gets up to counter attack. But I'm faster.
She's flying the moment my fist connects with her face.
From my back, I grabbed my revolver and aim at her.
She got back up, having recovered her own gun and aimed back.
There were no words. No time wasted. Just two successive pulls.
It felt like the seconds were getting slower when we both fired. The bullet inched ever so slowly into my chest and for that brief moment in time, I remembered everything without the static.
The coloring books Dad used to buy. James' band practicing in the basement. The pecan pie that my Dad baked with me. And the day James hid me in the panic room and blocking the way.
I remember loving how I helped James and Dad tended to the garden. I remember being so picky about my food. That I hated vegetables enough for my Mother to grow violent about it. I remembered being sad about seeing my hamster dying. I remember how much my brother would sing me to sleep.
For this briefest moment in time, I remembered the feeling of being.
Taylor was a person that Patrick Walsh had to protect in the world where killing was the way to live.
No phases, No static. No black and whites and echoed voices.
I was here. Patrick Walsh opened the door. Taylor Osmond was finally free.
My hearing pounded with ringing and I could barely hear her crashing into my brother's door. Funny, it was much louder than when I hit the ground.
"Uncle Taylor!"
My chest was warm. Not just from the pouring blood. But from the hands that caressed my wound.
"Call 911!" Nick's hurried steps were muffled.
"No no no no no no...." James muttered, like he always did whenever he was getting into deep trouble.
My mouth felt warm and sticky. I can't breathe. I can't speak.
I reach my hand out to his face. "I..."
I wasn't empty inside anymore.
-Author Notes
It's up to you to decide if Taylor dies or not.
After working on this for a while, I'm happy I actually finally finished this. Even if it seems kinda cliche and long at the end.
Thank you for reading.
-ThanosVenge
From behind her, James drops the tray and the cups he had shattered and spilled all the tea he had prepared.
"What do you live for?" Christine asked me, her cold voice echoed in my brother's living room. "Give me the pleasure of taking it away,"
I looked back at my nephew hiding scared behind my brother.
For the first time in my life since I can remember, I was actually scared. Scared about what she'll do. Scared about dying. Scared of losing what I realize finally have.
Because after years of living for nothing, I finally had an answer to that question.
"To be someone."
She chuckles, raising a brow in confusion.
"Someone who mattered." and I wasn't going to let go of what I found. What I finally got back. Not without a fight.
I kick the coffee table forward, toppling her off balance. The pistol bounces off the floor and accidentally fires at a fruit bowl, eliciting a scream out of Nick and prompting my brother to pick him up and run.
I take no time waiting for the girl to catch her second wind and kick her again, knocking her down on the floor before stomping on her stomach.
She coughs and staggers but does not let me make a second attack. She slams a chair at my leg and gets up to counter attack. But I'm faster.
She's flying the moment my fist connects with her face.
From my back, I grabbed my revolver and aim at her.
She got back up, having recovered her own gun and aimed back.
There were no words. No time wasted. Just two successive pulls.
It felt like the seconds were getting slower when we both fired. The bullet inched ever so slowly into my chest and for that brief moment in time, I remembered everything without the static.
The coloring books Dad used to buy. James' band practicing in the basement. The pecan pie that my Dad baked with me. And the day James hid me in the panic room and blocking the way.
I remember loving how I helped James and Dad tended to the garden. I remember being so picky about my food. That I hated vegetables enough for my Mother to grow violent about it. I remembered being sad about seeing my hamster dying. I remember how much my brother would sing me to sleep.
For this briefest moment in time, I remembered the feeling of being.
Taylor was a person that Patrick Walsh had to protect in the world where killing was the way to live.
No phases, No static. No black and whites and echoed voices.
I was here. Patrick Walsh opened the door. Taylor Osmond was finally free.
My hearing pounded with ringing and I could barely hear her crashing into my brother's door. Funny, it was much louder than when I hit the ground.
"Uncle Taylor!"
My chest was warm. Not just from the pouring blood. But from the hands that caressed my wound.
"Call 911!" Nick's hurried steps were muffled.
"No no no no no no...." James muttered, like he always did whenever he was getting into deep trouble.
My mouth felt warm and sticky. I can't breathe. I can't speak.
I reach my hand out to his face. "I..."
I wasn't empty inside anymore.
-Author Notes
It's up to you to decide if Taylor dies or not.
After working on this for a while, I'm happy I actually finally finished this. Even if it seems kinda cliche and long at the end.
Thank you for reading.
-ThanosVenge
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