My Double Life

Parents

I was getting ready to go to school. I was so excited. It was year nine, or 8th grade in America. I was finally moving up in the world and nothing could stop me. I just got this new kick ass job. Even if I could tell people, they wouldn’t believe me. My parents were completely awesome and understanding about it too. I guess most parents would automatically freak out when you tell them you’re about to put yourself in danger like I was, but they understood how important it was for me. To finally feel like I had a place of belonging. To feel like my life had meaning. Which was a big deal for a fourteen year old.

I had been working with MI6 for about six months when the worst day of my life struck. I was on my way down the stairs to grab something to eat when I heard the front door being kicked in. My training automatically kicked in and I ran back upstairs to grab a pocketknife I secretly kept in my bedside table (my parents didn’t allow me to have weapons in the house even though I could use them better than almost anybody).

I cautiously made my way downstairs as the noise of breaking glass filled the house. The sound of a gunshot made my heart skip a beat and I decided that being cautious wasn’t important any more. I rushed into the living room to see a man dressed all in black standing over my mum. My mum. Lying on the ground. Surrounded in blood. Her blood.

I lunged for the man with the gun, diving in between his legs to avoid his gunshots. I quickly slice his ankle with my knife and jam it into his neck as he falls to the ground. The last thing he said before the life drained out of him was “this is all your fault”. I couldn’t understand what he meant but I didn’t have time to process what had just happened, what I had just witnessed, before I was running out the door trying to find where my father went.

I made it around the corner of the block just in time to see his body being thrown out of a van. A blue van. The type of van that one would expect to see in the suburbs. By the time I made it to him he was already dead. He was shot multiple times in the chest. They had to have used a silencer. A professional hit.

It was then that I realized what my mother’s killer meant. This WAS my fault. My parents were dead because I wanted to be an agent, to be a spy. They were never going to breathe another day because I put them in danger. It was then that I decided close relationships were too dangerous.

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“Kingsley. Come with me now.”

Shit, McClare seems to be in a pretty upset mood. I’d think if anything I would be the one in an upset mood. Which I am. I follow anyway.

“Look sir, I don’t know what’s going on but it’s not very funny.”

“Sit down.”

“Okay… but why are we in the interrogation room?”

“When was the last time you interacted with your parents?”

“The day they died. Why won’t you tell me what’s going on.”

“Agent Kingsley, you’re here because of your possible involvement in your parents’ disappearance… and reappearance.”

“Disappearance? They died! ”

“Have you been in contact with Martin and Donna Kingsley?”

“What the hell! I can’t believe you’re even asking me that right now? Why would I have lied about my parents dying? There were nobodies! They owned a grocery store for fucks sake!”

“We have reason to believe your parents are working with a Soviet organization under a man named Boris Golov. They have popped up on CIA radars in association with a virus. Released, it could kill millions.”