𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲 (on hold)

| 𝟎𝟒 |

I had almost thrown up three times since I had gotten home. I was knelt on the floor by my toilet, retching up nothing. The boy I used to see everyday, a murderer.

I couldn't quite tell whether it was because of the letter, or the news story. He knew where I lived. And, apparently, he was a murderer. He knew my name, and my birthday, and everything about me. And he was a murderer.

If I went by the information on that card he sent me, then the news was lying. It couldn't be lying though, as there was a full list of his victims that I had read through multiple times now.

And 'ex-government'? There was so much about him that I simply didn't know, and would probably never know. A far cry from how we used to be.

I picked up a newspaper off the floor next to me. Within an hour of the original news story, his face was printed on the front page of every newspaper around. The article underneath was small, and I'd read it through multiple times already.

Matthias Bardot, an ex-government agent gone rogue, is loose in London. Two years ago, a failed mission (no details currently available), caused Bardot to go on a self-described 'killing spree'.

An approximation of the number of Bardot's victims comes to about 200 people of all ages and genders. It is impossible to tell where he will strike next.

He is currently wanted by the government by the government for crimes including:
- murder & manslaughter
- assault
- armed robbery
- kidnapping

The Government advices anyone that has information on this individual to come forwards immediately.

IMPORTANT NOTICE:
Bardot is considered ARMED and DANGEROUS. Do NOT approach him, and if you must, approach with caution.

I retched into the toilet again.

I'd been staring at the contact number for the government sector dedicated to Matthias' case, but I couldn't bring myself to dial it. What would I tell them anyways? Just like Niamh said, all I did was treat him.

I had no real reason to call them. At least, that's what I told myself. They were probably more focused on getting someone in that actually thought they knew him. Like, a girlfriend or something.

If he even had a girlfriend. He must have a girlfriend. There was no way he wouldn't. He was twenty-six for God's sake— and he wasn't exactly bad looking.

I caught myself before my thoughts drifted further, and managed to pull myself away from the toilet, leaning against the wall.

I wrapped my arms around my legs and let my head drop. I had no clue what I was feeling. I wasn't upset, so to say. I was scared, maybe? Possibly angry?

I really couldn't tell. I took a deep breath before reaching up and sliding the card off of the shelf above me. I gently ran my fingers over the photo, looking into my eyes.

I remember being so excited. All I had tried to do my whole life was become a doctor, and all of that had paid off. I graduated years earlier than I was expected to. My 100% paid scholarship helped, too— even if I did have to work my absolute ass off to get it.

That whole day was so amazing. I achieved my dreams and didn't once think of the thing that pushed me to start in medicine in the first place.

I remember I was so proud, standing in front of those people, who had so adamantly told me that medicine was too difficult and that I should give up. They had no clue that I started it because it was difficult.

It was impossible to have time by yourself to cry with such strict deadlines.

Those photos encompassed everything that I had achieved off the back of my grief. But those photos were kept private, too.