Just Him&I: In a Universe of Cruelty

Part 18

We are what we think — we build our world with thoughts.

There are too many corridors. Many floors and rooms. It all reminded me of an anthill with hardworking ants running around. At the entrance, we were met by two guards. Very tall and burly.
Fury nodded to them, and one of them approached me, quickly checking my clothes for any prohibited items. Specifically, for any weapon. Although I had already signed the contract, people still kept their distance from me. It seemed my father had done much more harm than I had seen and known. Even Nick himself behaved strangely, whether he was worried, or if that's just how he always was.
We went inside, followed by a few guys with rifles. I was on par with Fury, and it felt like I had returned to the days when I worked for Pierce and his dreadful team. I still shivered at those memories, and my hair stood on end.
We reached, what I assumed to be, his office quite quickly, faster than I expected. We entered, just the two of us. There was another girl in the room. Very slim and tall, she stood with her back to me, in uniform. I couldn't make out her face. Dark short hair was pulled into a low ponytail.

— This is Maria Hill — Nick gestured toward the girl, and she turned at his words to face me. Her face showed no emotion, she was very focused on her work. The girl nodded to me in greeting, and I replied with a similar gesture.

— She'll bring you up to speed — we left the room. I followed her.

— As you've probably realized, my name is Maria Hill — she pressed the button to call the elevator. I listened to her with half an ear, letting the uninteresting information slide through.

— We get up at 7 a.m. At 8:00, you should be in the main hall to receive assignments. Your uniform and necessary clothes are in your closet. I'll tell you everything else tomorrow.
She left me alone in the corridor, in front of the door to my room. I don't know how, but somehow, I found a key in my hand. Carefully, I inserted it into the lock and turned it. The door opened with an unpleasant sound, and I stepped inside.
It was cool and fresh in there. Someone cleaned and aired the room frequently. Everything was done in strict, gray tones. A large panoramic window. A small bed in the middle. A small desk with a chair holding a laptop. A bathroom to the side. I glanced around the room, feeling slightly uneasy about the whole situation. But it was better than rotting in prison on some deserted island.
I opened the closet, which contained a few pairs of jeans, two tight-fitting T-shirts, a couple of sweaters, and an agent uniform.
I hurriedly took off my backpack and went into the bathroom. I washed my face with cool water and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked exhausted, dark circles under my eyes, pale thin skin on my face. It seemed that even my eyes had lost their life and color. While I was examining myself, Pierce appeared behind me; at first, I didn't notice him. Then I saw him out of the corner of my eye and realized who it was. I froze in fear and just continued to stare at him. I knew he was dead. Yet he didn't seem to want to leave me alone. I was paralyzed, unable to say anything. He was in an expensive suit.

— You're nobody! And your mother is a slut. A naive fool, that's who she is... — In a rage, I punched the mirror. It cracked instantly, and he disappeared. I hope for good. I was breathing heavily, my body trembling from his words. Tears rolled down my cheeks, and my hand hurt, bleeding with thick, crimson blood.
I heard a knock on the door and snapped back, quickly washing the blood off my hand. I wiped away my tears and hurried to open the door, where James stood on the threshold. He stood before me, alive and well, without any wounds or cuts. His hair was tied in a bun. Those colognes, the ones I remembered so well, etched into my memory.
I froze, stunned by what I had just seen. His eyes shone, as if they had absorbed all the life from mine. As if I had given him my life to restore him.
Gently, I touched his face, feeling the rough stubble under my fingers. He said nothing, just looked at me. I couldn't understand what he felt or wanted to say. Only his eyelashes trembled slightly from the draft.

— James... — I whispered, inhaling his scent and closing my eyes. I pulled him closer; he was too tall. I felt he could destroy me with just one look. I stood on tiptoe and reached out to him, to his lips. I kissed him and tasted earth. The real taste of clay, sand, black soil, for that matter.
I stepped back from him, and he didn't react to anything. Only then did I realize something was wrong with him, something was very wrong.

— James... — I repeated more insistently. He seemed to look not at me, but through me. Only now did I notice it. His eyes shone, they were bright blue, but they were empty, dead.

— I left you. Even your mother abandoned you. You're nobody's concern! — I stepped back from him, his voice too rough, not alive — for sure. The room fell dead silent, and I could only feel the blood dripping from my hand onto the floor. Drop by drop.

— What...? — I stepped back a bit more
— You're nobody's concern! — he growled.

I woke up in my bed, where I must have fallen asleep. I hadn't even taken off my backpack, just lay down like that. Maybe I was so exhausted that I didn't even realize it. The words he had said still echoed in my mind,
"— Even your mother abandoned you..."
The picture didn't fit the puzzle, but rather tangled up even tighter than I could imagine.

— She couldn't have abandoned me; she's dead... — My gaze fell on the laptop on the desk. I knew nothing about her. Where she worked, what she did, what she loved. What are the odds that I could find information about her? Less than a percent, but at least it would calm my soul.

— Could it be?! — I smiled to myself at my own words. Quickly, I entered the password written on the sheet of paper on my desk and went to the search. Tension inside me grew with each press of my fingers on the keyboard, the sound echoing throughout the room.

"Kristina Berest — a famous Ukrainian journalist....

I scrolled further down the article until her photo appeared on the screen. A photo of her. A photo — of my mother. I gaped in shock and continued reading.

... born near Poltava, in the village of Vyazivka, Kremenchuk district. On August 19, 1976. She became more widely known after publishing a new article about the illegal arms trade. William Connor, who illegally smuggled and sold weapons. Later, other criminal offenses were revealed. Dozens of murders, rapes, and robberies. This wasn't even part of what he had done. After which, he was imprisoned and sentenced to life in prison.

She was also rumored to have had an affair with a well-known official. But the rumors were not confirmed. In 1990, she married Alexander Pierce and moved to the United States. After that, she stopped writing articles, and little was known about her since then."