Die for You

Chapter 73

Z-Hour – 3 Days

I sat there staring at the tiny screen as I had those few days ago in the boardroom at Secure365; the image of Becky's screaming face burnt into my brain, a need to commit violence against someone or something burning through my veins.

"Easy there, Blondie," James said quietly his hand gripping my forearm tightly. "Nothing you can do right now but stay with me; don't go punching things again and doing yourself an injury, you don't want to risk the mission by being stupid."

"Take your hand off me, boss," I said casually, trying to push down the boiling rage that was close to consuming me.

"Not a chance, Snowy," he whispered, "not until you get a grip on yourself. Think about Becky; think about Jenna over there, we need to be strong for the both of them."

I closed my eyes for a second, trying to compose myself; taking deep breaths and reaching out for that safe place that Joanna had taught me to find, enveloping myself in my imaginary pool. It was pretty much a fruitless task; every time I tried to dive into that imaginary pool, envelop myself in its calming embrace; I was thwarted by the face of my girl. Not the slightly drunken, slightly smiling face that had preceded our kiss in that summer house, not the face that sucked me into that glowing happy place that Joanna had helped me find, the one where I felt completely loved. No, it was the beaten, sobbing face that intruded on my memories, the one that made my heart shatter into a million pieces.

Giving up on my 'safe place' as a bad idea, I opened my eyes to see that Mel had closed the video, the Secure365 logo on the desktop replacing the sight of the severed head. I felt a hand drop onto my shoulder and turned to see Jenna's stricken face. We didn't say anything, we didn't have to; I could see the pain and relief in her eyes. Her hand squeezed my shoulder tightly and she pulled me into a tight hug, my shoulder dampening under the steady stream of tears.

"You shouldn't have seen that, Jenna," I murmured softly, awkwardly patting her on the back, "you really shouldn't."

"I wish I hadn't now," she sniffed, "but I had to. I had to see it all with my own eyes.... oh, Freen, how can they do such a thing? How on earth can they believe that murdering someone like that will help their cause?"

"The world's full of fuckers like them," I said, remembering something Whitey had said to me once before, "there's always someone to blow smoke up their assholes and tell them how wonderful they are."

"Freen's right, Mrs A," James said from the other side of me. "You've got to remember that these guys live in an isolated environment of extremism; it wouldn't matter to them if every single person in the outside world rose up as one and told them they were wrong. As long as their little crowd of friends sit back and applaud them, the bastards feel justified in what they do."

"But that sounds like every single political and religious group in the world, James," she replied letting go of me and wiping away her tears. "But not all of them murder innocent people with a sword because they disagree with what they do for a living, or how they think, or what they believe."

There wasn't a reply to that, not from me anyway; I'd faced various levels of bigotry and hatred in my time, mostly from the people that supported the bastards with the sword. It was one thing to be jeered at or sneered at by kids at school, called a freak, and a weirdo and a queer, it was quite another to be spat at or stoned by people you don't know just because of the uniform you wore; especially when you thought you were there to help, it was something I don't think I'd ever understand.

"None of this makes any sense," Andy suddenly said from the far side of the room causing everyone to look up at him. "Sorry," he apologized when he realized we were all staring at him, "thinking out loud."