Path to Secrecy

Death

6.45am Headquarters

Death. 

The word itself brings a shiver down the spine.

Some fear the process, some don't.

Some welcome the process, some don't.

I stepped out of Dayton's office, an inner turmoil building by the second. My head slowly spun from somnolent thoughts, vividly causing me to shiver in fear. The cubic levels built inside Headquarters consisted of ten, each level occupying dozens of workers, hastily tossing papers into printers, finishing up coffee mugs before collecting suitcases. They travel to a new destination. Perhaps a meeting room or home.

The phones rang off the hook, clients phoning with sheer determination. The sound of the computer keyboard buttons tapped around the building, while the strong sunlight that hadn't enlivened my skin for a longer period of time seeped through the ceilings oval sky light. I stood still on the third floor, my vision tracking the place. My hands gripped the metal railings, sparkling immensely against the shimmer of the sun's beauty. Glancing down at the levels below, I was speechless. I was confused. I was bewildered at the amount of people that worked with such 'secrecy', visible to the naked world but undistinguished when compared. What were these people scrambling for? Why weren't they hidden, concealed in an inconclusive area? How was this even possible to prevail?

The lounge positioned in the corner of the third level, was lit bright under the illumination of the ceiling lamp, a lively television airing an episode of the teletubbies. Approaching the child-like commotion, I regarded the small figures curled up on the couches. The twins sat still as I closed the distance. While one remained with peeled open eyelids, intrigued by the characters in the show, the other resorted to catch up on a much awaited snooze.

I stopped and pressed my lips together, undecided to intervene or not. Going with the flow, I knelt in front of the one wide awake and watched him zone into the television screen. Unaware or disregarding my presence, I couldn't decide. "You're not tired?"

"M-m." He responded solemnly, staring directly into the bright plasma screen. Bags remained heavily distend under his brown eyes, proving the amount of tears they've shed. I was physically pained for the seven year old boys. The suffering so unnecessary that I too, had to wonder why they were resorted to such a fate. I seized my jaw in a painful clench, repudiating the idea of shedding a single tear, to teach the young lads the method of breaking down.

"I didn't get your name." I whispered, gently sweeping his short hair away from his forehead with my fingers. He sighed lightly while his belly depressed, fingers fiddling in his lap with great agitation. Raising his voice, he spoke in a sound that validate the verge of his tears.

"I'm Brodie. And he's Blaze."

I nodded understandingly, peeking over to the boy peacefully completing his snooze without an air of the tragic events he'd just surpassed within, my hand pressing over the remote control beside Brodie. With both feet crossed at the ankles and body curled into a ball at the edge of the couch, Blaze's belly elevated and depressed smoothly, a slipping baby blue comforter slowly edging the warmth off his body. By a glance, I felt the need to assume both boys were coping with the events, but this time even I couldn't fool my heart with my mind. A glance at the sullen guises, nothing but guilt arose within my chest.

There wasn't a speck of hesitance of whom was to be blamed of their current situation. If only, I had relinquished myself over to La Venganza's, neither of these boys, or any helpless families who'd lost someone in the siege last night, would be in this situation. It was a necessity for us all to be detached. When the twins grew to a knowledgeable age and could understand the grounds of their mother's death, it would become an unbearable matter. But I for one wasn't unperturbed about the thoughts. Because I may be long gone by then.