My Dad Is A Criminal( Fan Fiction of the Blacklist )(Rewritten)

You Again

    Hope you like part three!!!!!!!

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         I put the folder back down and proceed with my daily route.

I try to push the thought l.out of my mind but it keeps coming back. 

The questions would be answered by opening the folder. But I will myself not to sub come to the curiosity. I push on.

I finished getting dressed. I had on a white tee shirt that is tucked into a pair of black jeans, spenders and a leather jacket, and slip on a pair of converse.

I looked at my phone and saw it was eight am on the dot.

The drop is in thirty minutes. I should get going.

Before I walk out of the door.

I take one last look at the mysterious folder before walking out of the house.

My boss called me to tell me where we were going to meet.
This time he said a little Chinese place he knows.

Even though its a new place that I have been to before I still go, but I need to be careful.

I think back to the folder. "Stop it, Sam," I say to myself.

I get on my bike and ride to the restaurant when I get there I walk into a cloud of cigar smoke.

I start coughing. The smoke was disgusting.

My boss stands up from one of the chairs that were placed in a circle around the middle table. 

"Sam so nice to see you.
This is some of my friends".

My bosses Jersey accent came out a lot while he was talking to me.

I try to be polite "Nice to meet you."

My smile couldn't be any faker than at that moment. But I bet no one could see it pasted all the smoke.

My boss picks up a box about the size of a ring box, he also hands me the white piece of paper that tells me where to go.

When I first started working for him he would tell me that if I didn't destroy the paper after I got it it would be bad for him bad really bad for me. 

So I made sure that didn't happen. To some of the newbies, he scared them. He had never scared me. Not much scares me anymore.

I nod at my boss and walk through the door.

When I walked outside I got a breath of fresh air, oh how I missed it so.

I look at the paper and it had a name. Raymond Reddington. "Again?"

 This has never happened to me before. I have only been doing his job for almost a year.

Maybe this happens.

I thinking about the folder that I left on the table this morning. I push it away once more.

This time it's a different address. So this guy is careful.

That's good for him.

I look at the paper 12th street.

That's only down the block from my apartment.

That's really handy.

It only takes me five minutes to get to the house.
I get off my bike and lock it on an electric post.

Because  I'm a rebel.

I grab the box out of my bag and walk up the six large concrete steps in front of me. I ring the doorbell and Dembe answers the door.

He looked at me and didn't say a word. "Something for Raymond Reddington."
I looked Into his eyes while saying my words. "Yes... come on in."

I walk into the house.  It really did not that different from the first. 

The layout of the furniture was roughly the same.

He sat in the same type of chair, the two differ in color and shape but anyone can tell. I looked behind me and Dembe was gone.

I walk towards Raymond and he looks up from the Washington post he was reading.

"Sam how nice to see you again."

I didn't try to be overly nice like I always act around customers.

I felt like I could be myself around him.

I'm not going to though. All I do is talk to criminals and murders so I have to be safe. I need to be neutral.

"Hey." I say with no emotion.  I try to act like I don't care.

  He stands up and walks towards me. I have the box in my hand and extend it to him.

In the passing of the box, our hands touched.

His hand was rough and warm.

I tuck my hands in my jacket pockets.

It felt weird me thinking about the folder and thinking about him.
The way he looked at me. It was hella creepy.

Why was I acting like this?

Why was I so nervous?

Sam get a hold of yourself. I look down at my feet.
I can sense that he is looking at me. "Is everything alright?

He says deep, concerned taking a step towards me. I step back.

I didn't mean to, it was a reaction.

I have lived on my own for so long that I forgot how to act when someone is concerned for me.

I look up and he and I could see that he was a little out of sorts.
"I have to go.Sorry."
I walk to the door open it and shut it behind me.  

The wind from the crisp fall day hits me and blows my hair over my face.

Whats wrong with me? Why did my heart beat so fast when he touched my hand? Whats with this guy? How can he make me feel this way? All jumpy. I just have a lot on my mind. These are just a few of many questions, that run through my head the whole way to my apartment. When I open the door the first thing I  see is that damn folder. I chucked my bag on the couch, my keys on the coffee table, and set my bike on the wall."Fuck it. I'm going to open it. This thing drove me crazy all day. I feel like I'm losing my mind over words written on paper." I take the folder off the dresser and slap it down on my bed. I climb on the other side. Even with all the rage that I feel towards this folder the fear is still there. The fear that I will see something that I never wanted to see. If I leave it alone it will eat me alive. I pick it up off the bed and take a deep breath. I slowly unwrap the string around the red holding clips. I open the tab and pull out the papers inside. My heart is beating fast and I'm getting hot.

The first paper I see is a birth certificate. My birth certificate. The social workers would tell me that they lost all of my things. That they couldn't even find it in their database. I start to read it and get down to mother and father. I can't breathe.  I'm just sitting there staring at it. I look at the other papers behind it. Pictures of me. My mom and me and my dad. The man I thought was dead. The man that I just saw less than three hours ago. I start to cry trying to remember, trying to recall at least a small image of him in my mind. Trying to figure out if this was true or if this was a very cruel joke. I remember my mother dying. I push back further. I was five when my mother died why would I remember before that.

I didn't want to remember my father. I wanted to move on and to never think of him at all.

I can't think about this any longer it hurts too much.

I fall back on my bed the tears fall straight down my face.

I can't process this I don't know how.

I close my eyes.

I drift, crying silently trying not to think. The last thing I want to do is think.

I couldn't stay awake anymore so I slept.