Let me tell you a story (6)

Let me tell you a story

‘What do you mean: ‘We messed up’?’ I asked. Before one of them could answer, two policemen came in the car and brought us to their headquarters. They separated us. I was left to wait in a room with only two chairs separated by a table. A large mirror was placed on the wall facing me. Minutes later, a man and a woman in black suits came in. The woman sat down in front of me. I could see from his reflection, the man holding the wall behind me, arms crossed. She took a deep breathe. I stared at her: she was blond with blue eyes. A walking stereotype. I felt a heavy pressure behind my back. My heart beat faster. Stress was rushing through my body. ‘I am Agent Carter and this is my partner, Agent Simmons. We are the FBI.’ She paused. ‘Do you know how serious the troubles you are into?’ I shook my head really slow. My eyes were still fixed on hers. She glanced at her partner. ‘James Sawyer, 26, born in Chicago.’ She read the file she had in her hands. ‘You were in medical school but missed few classes for the past eight months. You moved from city to city, leaving behind you a stack of bodies. We found your fingerprints on a lot of crime scenes.’ I replied instantly: ‘I killed no one.’ She looked beyond me again. ‘We know that.’ The man said. ‘We also know that one of the other two is responsible for all of this.’ He walked around the table like a shark then stopped next to his partner. ‘We want you to tell us which one.’ I stayed in silent. They took it for fear. ‘We can protect you.’ I let go of a laugh. They took it for arrogance. I took a deep breathe as to gather some courage. I was ready to be my version of disrecpectful: ‘I’m leaving if you don’t charge for any crime.’ I stood up and looked at them alternatively. They glanced at each other one more time, but remained silent. I nodded as to say I thought so, but restrained myself. They held me back: ‘We can charge you for obstruction of justice, if you don’t tell us what you know.’ My hands were shaking. I felt sweat drawing my face’s outlines. ‘You seem to be in a tricky situation. We can help you to what you have to do.’ Agent Carter said. After a pause, Agent Simmons completed her thoughts: ‘But you’ll have to give us something in exchange.’ As I heard those words, I whispered: ‘Equivalent Exchange.’ I turned my head to the mirror and saw them looking at each other, skeptical. ‘It looks like you need me more than I need you… I sound like a criminal…’ Their silence said it all. They had nothing. They knew nothing. I opened the door and walked away.

As I got in the elevator, I imagined a scenario where other agents waited for me downstairs to bring me in a cell, somewhere away from the sunlight. When the doors opened, nothing happened. I laughed at myself. I went back to the first building we entered, but just when it appeared in my sight, someone grabbed my arm and dragged me in a dark alley. ‘What are you doing?’ I yelled. Eden put his hand on my mouth as to shut me up and scanned the main street for minutes. ‘Come with me.’ He went further in the alley and disappeared in the darkness. I obeyed like a desperate puppy.

When we arrived in one of his hiding place, he took a deep breathe and froze. ‘How did you get out?’ I asked. ‘They let me go… They still have Sanaa.’ I heard insecurity in his voice. ‘What are you going to do?’ He didn’t hear me. He was lost in his thoughts. I looked around. Like the other place, there was the strict minimum: a bed on the floor, a large table in a corner with bunch of papers on it, one chair and that was it. The floor was filthy, dirt was floating in the air and walls were yellowish. There was only one big window to lighten to room. I walked towards it. But he stopped me when I walked by him. ‘Don’t.’ I didn’t understand: ‘Why?’ He released my arm and took a look at the pile of papers. I looked over his shoulder: there were plans with towns circled in red and reports with years as titles. I grabbed one and read it.


Age: 15

Name: Christopher

Location: middle of a field in state of Kansas.

Event: the idea is growing in my mind.

Objectif: Eliminate Jonathan Pierce [COMPLETE]

I checked on Joshua. He was safe. After coming back to the present, my parents were still dead. Killed in a car accident. The situation hasn’t change from when I left.


As I read the report, many questions were raised in my head. Too many that it left me voiceless. He yanked the report off of my hands. ‘What was that?’ I asked as I stared at him, my eyes wide open. He stayed in silence as usual. But this time I didn’t stop there. I started to think out loud. ‘It says ‘TRIAL Num.3”. How many times did you travel through time? Who is Christopher? And Jonathan Pierce? And why did you have to kill him? And is the Joshua mentioned Joshua Aikon?’ On that last question, he looked at me. I froze as if I said something wrong. ‘How do you know that name?’ he asked. I stepped back. He stood up. ‘I met him.’ My voice was lower, trembling. ‘When? Where?’ It was my turn to remain silence. ‘ANSWER ME!’ I was scared. My heartbeat went fast, my hands were shaking. I couldn’t blink, my eyes were locked on his. I thought to myself that if I looked away for even half a second, he would kill me instantly. He stepped forward. I could see in his eyes something that I didn’t think he could feel: fear. ‘At his house. About three weeks ago.’ He waited for me to keep on going but nothing came out of my mouth. Spams on his face showed me his frustration and anger. ‘What happened?’ His voice was calmer and deeper. He was concerned. ‘We barely talked and…’ He cut me off: ‘What did he say?” I scanned him. His body language told me that that scene wasn’t a part of his plan nor his predictions. ‘He said he remembered everything: the reason you came back, the reason of your actions and who you were.’ Tears sparkled in his eyes, his chest was moving fast and his hands relaxed: he cooled down. When he turned his back to return to his desk, I looked down at me feet. I felt obliged to tell him: ‘He’s dead.’ Instantly, he stopped moving. A heavy silent imposed its presence. I tried to catch any reaction, but he let nothing show. ‘He shot himself. He had a gun with him…. I don’t know why.’ Still nothing.

To be continued


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