Bricks in the Wall: New Orleans
by Tosca

Part 3
See part 0 for header information.


That may or may not be true, but the urge to needle him for a reaction is both
strong and oddly familiar. Those hazel eyes flash green and he clenches his
fists. The animation suits him but I tell him,

"I wouldn't. I may have one hand missing but I can still whip your ass."

He blanches, more than is reasonable for the threat, and suddenly I have a
whipped puppy-dog sitting in my chair.

"Kry.., Thomas, I'm sorry. I said there were hard feelings. It's not going to
be easy, but I really _do_ want to help you."

Yeah, and you're from the IRS, or something damn similar.

Still. What he's offering is seductive. Sure, the migraines are getting less
frequent, but that could be a bad thing. He knows a lot more than he's telling
as well. About my background and my medical condition. His boss - who I'm
really not keen on meeting - shoots me in the head but he doesn't find it
astonishing that I'm alive, walking and talking. Last time I checked Krycek was
not a pseudonym for Christ.

He also says my arm was cut off. Yet bar that initial astonishment and the
occasional stare, he hasn't mentioned the fact it's growing back. Either he has
the highest shock tolerance levels a human can achieve or he knows or suspects
a lot of things he hasn't told me.

If what he says is true, I'm not just an escaped science experiment as I'd
feared; and I have worse enemies than I ever suspected. He and his friends are
willing to protect me. And if he can find me, so can my enemies.

Maybe I'm a damn fool to believe him. He's given me no hard proof. What he says
matches my nightmares though - getting shot in a carpark, getting my arm cut
off in a forest, living in an Asian city, half a dozen other situations I'd
rather not dream about again.

Shit! Why bother with all this damn worrying. This is what I've subconsciously
been wanting and waiting for these past months.

"OK, I'll come to Washington with you."

"Great!"

Triumph blooms on his face. I continue,

"How else am I going to get you to spill all those nasty little secrets you
aren't telling me?"

The look on his face is well worth the price of the admission.

==========================

** The first shot echoed around the shadowy carpark like a roll of thunder,
followed by the clatter of iron as your gun hit the concrete. Pain and fear
swamp your desperation. Second shot. Resolve and consciousness start to flee
before the onset of dusk. You put your hand out, try to deny what you know is
coming. You can't see his face, but you know it's stone. Hatred carved in
stone. The muzzle flashes again. You never w...  The darkness is complete.
**

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-- End of Part 1 --
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### The End ###