If I'm Gone In the Morning

Chapter 2

"...annnnnndd I can do origami, ooo I have this Pilates teacher and this one time she was all like 'I can do origami' and I was like..." Alec tried to drown out Natasha's mindless rambling about what "great" qualities she had. Alec hated Natasha. She was obsessed with him, constantly walked into his room at the most inopportune moments (he was beginning to think she had a key), and was soooo eager to please, it drove him crazy. And she whined constantly.
Alec was rearranging his knife collection while she rambled. The only reason Natasha was hired was because she was the chief's brother's niece so he had to give her a job. So she became "the keeper of legal vices and documented records", otherwise known as a secretary. As the chief's brother's niece Alec was practically required (and paid) to listen to her annoying chatter. Wonder if I'll be punished for spooning out her tonsils, Alec wondered. Maybe she really is a natural blonde. As Alec got up to usher her out before he slit his own wrist he glanced at her new hairstyle.
It wasn't uncommon, she changed her hair every other week, and normally he wouldn't care but her hair today was clearly an attempt at copying the one thing he did care about.
"Natasha, what have done to your hair?" Alec questioned, an edge in his voice.
"What do you like it?!" Natasha squealed. She cleared her throat. "I mean... nothing much just cu-" Alec snatched up the picture from his night stand and held it up to Natasha's hair. In the picture the girl was looking over her shoulder, unaware Alec was taking the photo. Her perfect chestnut curls fell cascaded down her back like a waterfall. Natasha hadn't even gotten the color right.
He gave a disgusted snort.
"Get out." Alec said shoving her towards the door. She started to protest but he just cut her off. "I said, get out Natasha!" He barked. Once she was finally out, he slammed the door and sunk to the ground. He looked down at the picture in his hands. The girl he loved, would always love, and could never have back. Why, why couldn't he touch her one last time? Why couldn't he hear her sing once more? One last picture, that was all he needed. One last photo of her perfect, beautiful face.
8 years ago that was his talent, his skill. Before he got into the whole killing people in mass numbers thing. Alec loved photography and drawing and anything that had to do with art. He was the artist and she was his muse. He didn't care if the rest of the world thought she was "too pudgy" or "too clumsy" or "not girly enough". To Alec she was perfect.
I use that word to describe her a lot don't I? Alec considered. Oh well, that's what she is. Anyone who so much as looked at Alec could see the adoration for this girl in his eyes. When she sang, it seemed if the whole world stopped to listen. She had the most beautiful voice, it was like warm milk. To him it sounded like home, she was home.
Till Alec was 8 he lived in hell. The orphanage in Moscow was shabby and rundown and infested with rats of the rodent and human kind alike. He was constantly beaten and mocked for reasons he couldn't understand in his eight year old mind. He would hide in the corner crying and thinking, what have I done wrong? What can I do to make everyone happy? Then he was adopted and brought to America.
Connecticut was not as cold but just as infested. Alec struggled to learn English and was mocked for his lingering Russian accent. He soon learned that, no matter what you do, people will always be unhappy, and if they didn't care about you, you had no reason to care about them. His heart only got harder and colder. He came to resent his adoptive parents. And when his dad left he blamed himself, like he did with everything. He pushed everyone away because anyone he let in he was sure would leave.
So when in 4th grade, when the girl with the crooked smile, spunky personality and vulnerable eyes walked up to him to deduce him, he tried to push her away but she just came back. One day when everyone else had left the classroom she caught him studying her and walked up to him. "When are you going to realize that I am not going anywhere till I figure you out?" She had asked. From that day forward Alec followed her around like a lost puppy. He slowly started letting her in and to his surprise, she didn't run.
He began to love her, like he loved no one else. Alec knew she only thought of him as a brother and loved him in only that way but as they grew he started to want her in a way that words couldn't describe. She was the other half of him. He craved her touch, needed her smile, and longed to hear her voice. But Alec never told her, and he would never get to. He could only hope some other man loved her as much as he always would.
The door burst open. Alec jumped up, startled. The chief looked looked him up and down.
"We've got a mission for you." He said in his ominous Russian way of speaking. "You are going to need to kill," he paused for a moment before he pointed to the picture in Alec's hand, "her".
🔘🔘🔘🔘🔘🔘🔘
Becca paced around their temporary headquarters control room. Stacy sat in front of a desk typing furiously.
"Oook, ok, look here." Stacy said, pulling a picture up onto a monitor screen. "Dealings in Russian mafia, unknown origin, basically a sociopath and murderer of hundreds, and hmm would you look at that, HE'S ON THE UNITED STATES MOST WANTED LIST!" Becca pushed Stacy out of the way.
"That's the obvious things Stacy. We need things like, recent activity, known identities, accomplices." Becca started typing away, bringing up program after program. "For once try to use the brain I know is locked away somewhere in your head." Stacy put her hands on her hips and made an offended noise.
"Ok first," Stacy said rolling her eyes. "Your dork is showing. Second, I hate to break this to you, Becca, but your mystery man died 8 years ago."  Becca didn't even turn around.
    "I know, I attended the funeral..." Becca mumbled.  Stacy let out an exasperated sigh and collapsed onto the office chair.  Becca continued to type.  Finally she found her answer and let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.
     "There!" She exclaimed.  "Ivan Smirnov, born March 23, 1990 in St. Petersburg, Russia."  Not him, Becca sighed to herself.  Just some guy, at some bar, in some one horse town who just happens to look like him.  And sound like him. A lot.  But it's not him. He's... Becca tried to stop the tears but they started to fall anyway.  He's dead.
    After the night he had been kidnapped, Becca was found curled in a ball bleeding out in the parking lot and was rushed to the hospital.  The bullet was removed, leaving a tiny scar in her left shoulder.  Becca filed report after police report.  But after a quick investigation, finding no trace of him, the police "confirmed" his death.  Unfortunately for her sanity, Becca refused to give up that easily.
    For 2 years she searched everywhere, hacked into every database she could without getting arrested and questioned everyone.  But when you're a better hacker at 18 than most government agents in their mid 40's, you might attract some attention.  A specialized branch of the CIA (otherwise known as assassins for the government) found her and offered her a proposal.  If she came and worked for them, their resources would be at her services.  So she took the one glimmer of hope she had and agreed.  They trained her to be a killer, they taught her that, in order to get what you need, a heart is not something you could afford.
     The next 6 years was hell.  Her conscious tortured her, her heart almost beat her into submission, and yet she always was able to push the feelings away, because only one thought mattered.  If only.  If only I could do this or if only this hadn't happened.  The last year had been her breaking point.
     The head of the organization had sent her to do a deep undercover job inside a branch of the Russian mafia.  She would have to kill, torture and above all, lie.  Lie like hell.  Because in this game, the only hand life dealt you sucked, so to win, you have to cheat.  Realizing that she would have to be working in his homeland, doing something he would never want for her, she had to come to terms with the fact that, no matter what her heart told her, he was dead. And he was never coming back.
Becca felt hands on her shoulders. She looked up at a very worried Stacy.
"Becca, honey? Are you ok?" Becca shook her head up and down.
"Yeah, yeah of course, I was just remembering something I shouldn't have been." Becca said, swiping at the betraying tears on her face.
"Well, good." Stacy said. "Now let's get back to the fact that this guy is still on the U.S.' most wanted list and you've had the lucky pleasure of finding him. You know what Chief's going to say." She gestured towards the door. Stacy nearly jumped out of her skin when it actually opened, revealing the big man himself.
Charles Backster, more commonly known as "Chief" around the agency, was of average height, dusty blonde hair (rapidly going gray), and had a booming voice accompanied by a deep southern accent that could silence any crowd. You either followed his orders or it was your head on the chopping block. He constantly relived his war stories to anyone within earshot and you had better listen and act like you haven't heard it a million times before or you were in deep shit. Chief also seemed to extremely enjoy unloading the most difficult and/or excruciatingly boring missions on Rebecca. He opened his mouth to bark out a new order then closed it again and glanced at the screen the girls had been studying a minute ago.
"Oh, I see you've gotten a head start. Nice work Renolds, but that's only the beginning of that shit this guy's done. You've barely scratched the surface." Chief looked Rebecca in the eye, scrutinizing her. "His real name is Alec Kazimir Sokolov. Born"... December 24, 1990, Becca finished his sentence in her mind. "... and I want you to find him, and kill him."