8th October, 1999
Christina and John Sparks hovered over their newborn baby boy, who they had put to sleep and laid in a cradle, one of the most challenging experiences they've ever had, individually as well as a couple. The baby was deep asleep. He had his mother's eyes- crystal blue, but Christina couldn't help but suspect he would grow up looking more like his father than her. "He seems to have quite strong limbs; I think he might have the potential to become an athlete!" 'And he might actually use it.' Grandpa Mathew didn't say it, he didn't have to. But John ignored his father; he'd grown used to his father's cold attempts to chastise him for not becoming the Olympic swimmer he could've become, and chosen to be a lawyer instead- a choice he had not regretted so far. "Excuse me" said a feeble voice with a strong British accent "I'm very sorry but can I borrow Christina for a minute?" her feeble voice still struck fear in John's heart, like a cold blade, thirsty for blood. Her voice might have been weak, but her tone was as oppressive as ever; John hated her for that. But right then, John felt he shouldn't care. With a nervous laugh, he told Christina to go attend to her mother, Lady Smith , as she preferred being referred to as.
Christina, suppressing a small sigh, pushed her frail, overbearing mother's wheelchair to the abandoned kitchen. The kitchen was fairly big with elevated platforms for utensils . There were various cupboards and drawers, all freshly packed with groceries, Christina had ensured to that a few days ago. The walls, on Marcus's repeated insistence, were painted in pastel shades to invoke happiness, he had justified, and Christina was later glad he hadn't agreed to the plain white she'd recommended. 'After all, a happy cook means a happy tummy!' he had said. But Christina's eyes did not linger around her surroundings; they went straight to the threat as they had been trained to, her mother who had positioned her wheel chair such that she was facing her, but at a distance away- a show of vain authority. "Crystal, you know what this means. I told you not to do this. And yo- you had the audacity to take it farther." She didn't raise her voice but the anger was evident.
Christina just gazed into her grey eyes, defiantly tilting her chin up. She was a rebel and she ought to be proud of it. Then why do I feel so scared? , she thought. Maybe because she now had something to lose, a family. But Christina could not ignore the statement, she had been addressed by her official name and would have to answer to the authoritarian. "I regret nothing." She said, 3 words spoke of her determination to continue on this particular quest and bear any punishment offered. "Well." her mother muttered, her lips pressed tightly to a line, "Your son shall be a recruit." She said, her voice rang throughout the room, invoking unspeakable dread and horror in her daughter. No. No.No. That was all Christina could think. "No!" She protested, "Show some sympathy and pardon, he's your grandson!" Her mother didn't even flinch. "You heartless wench! I'll accept any punishment, torture too, but not giving up my son!" She spoke, trying not to raise her voice, but every word was dripping venom. Her mother steered the wheelchair to her, "I believe as long as you live, this is a curse you have to bear." she muttered in a cold voice. And while going past a shocked and desolate Christina she said, "I regret nothing." in the same defiant tone her daughter had used against her. Christina sank to her knees, her hair on her face, and she silently let the tears streak her cheeks. After all, that was all she could do.
Six Months Later,
DEATH CERTIFICATE
DATE: 4th March, 2000
NAME: CHRISTINA RAY SPARKS, 23
ALIVE FAMILY:
HUSBAND - JOHNATHON MATHEW SPARKS, 24, LAWYER
SON- MALCOLM MATHEW SPARKS, 6 MONTHS
REASON OF DEATH: SUICIDE BY JUMPING OFF AN ELEVATED SURFACE 97.4 m (approx.) FROM THE GROUND
SUSPECTED CAUSE: HIGH LEVEL DRUG INTAKE CAUSING VICTIM TO LOSE SIGHT OF HERSELF
EVIDENCE:
1) SEVERAL DRUG PACKETS FOUND ON VICTIM'S BED. RECEIPT NOT FOUND. PROVIDER UNKNOWN.
2) BOTTLES OF ALCOHOL STASHED IN VICTIM'S ROOM
3) AUTOPSY REPORT STATES THAT VICTIM HAD 5 DIFFERENT DRUGS IN HER SYSTEM
STATEMENTS:
JOHNATHON SPARKS: I HAD GONE TO THE SUPERMARKET WITH MY SON, DURING INCIDENT. WITNESS PROVIDED.
JOHNATHON SPARKS: She has never taken drugs before. If she had, which I seriously doubt and request you to look in, she would've brought it to my notice.
SUSPICIOUS BEHAVIOR: 1)VICTIM'S PHONE NOT FOUND. CLAIMED TO BE LOST BEFORE INCIDENT.
2) VICTIM BORROWED HUSBAND'S PHONE THIRTY MINUTES BEFORE INCIDENT. WAS OVERHEARD TALKING TO SOMEONE. NO CALLER WAS FOUND.
WITH NO FURTHER NEED FOR INVESTIGATION, THE NYPD HAS COME TO THE CONCLUSION OF SUICIDE AND WITH PERMISSION FROM THE PRESIDENT, CONDUCTS CLOSURE OF CASE.
Chapter Two
Sixteen years later,
Malcolm Sparks was not having a happy night. Everything felt weird and suspicious to him; Stop being so paranoid! , he scolded himself but for some reason every cell in his body screamed at him that he was in danger. He felt like he had a red target painted on his chest for any shooter to hit. Of course, he didn't- he wore a plain black t-shirt and jacket, the black looked cool in the neon club he'd just come from. It hadn't taken him fifteen minutes to get fake IDs, one for Lank aka Lankester, and one for himself- Mac aka Malcolm Sparks, but now, he felt terribly guilty about it- like someone was watching him and making note of things, and it didn't feel like God or Santa Claus. It was like the person hid herself just enough for him not to see her, but not enough for him not to notice her. Mac was pretty sure it was a she because when he went to the men's restroom, he didn't sense her. By half-past 11, Malcolm ended up in Lank's jeep, listening to Green Day and Linkin Park and and drowning in coke. He and Lank were thick buds, no matter how wild the night went, it would all come down to them- and the jeep of course. No one abandons the Jeep! Lank had argued. You'd think it impossible to get drunk on coke, till you meet them. But Malcolm still felt her watching him, though from the looks of it, Lank sensed no one. Finally, he couldn't hold up anymore.
"Lank, take me home." he said
Lank turned to him, his eyebrows furrowed in a worried crease. Mac was pretty sure girls would fan-girl all over him, squealing at the worried look on his face like Aww, a boy who cares!! before going all wildcat on each other screaming he's mine!. Yup, Lank had that effect on girls, but surprisingly, he never dated. Mac had wondered about this, but shrugged it off later.
"You okay Mac? You usually want to stay up till 2 and I'm the one who drags you back home."
Mac chuckled before he could stop himself. "What are you, my girlfriend?! I just have a headache from all that music at the club." It was true, his head was throbbing. But it didn't bother him that much.
Lank just nodded, but one look past the blond hair that fell on his forehead, into those green eyes could tell you he was thinking of things you'd never be able to figure out or understand. Sometimes, Mac felt it best to leave Lank with his mysteries and secrets, after all he had them too. Little did he know, they weren't really secret...
The jeep really wasn't tricked out or anything, at least not as far as Mac knew. But it was a cool, old school typical jeep- a secure, roomy piece of junk, in Mac's opinion, but he never voiced it- Lank would flay him alive. For the hot stuff that all girls wanted, he was really creative with his threats- boil in oil, whipped to a hair-strand, Lank could state innumerable tortures that could scar you for life, Mac still had nightmares from the threats he made ten years ago.
The jeep rumbled as Lank drove, and the wind blew in Mac's face, pushing back his shaggy black hair, making his electric blue eyes more prominent.
She held her breath. Mac had sensed her following. He probably thought she was a stalker. She shook her head, Why the heck should I worry about what he thinks?, she mentally scolded herself. He was her task, her first one actually. And she could not afford to mess it up! She started her bike, carefully and noiselessly, she drove it behind the jeep, not even bothering to turn her headlights on, not only would it attract attention, she didn't need them with her night vision contacts and all. She had spent the whole week behind him, okay...maybe she was kind of a stalker, but she didn't do it for the eye-candy. She did it because she had been assigned to.
She decided to take a shortcut to his house, she knew that's where he was going because she'd bugged the van. Never leave your jeep unguarded, she thought and smirked to herself. This would be her first step, she would grow to be the best and reach her aspirations as she had always wanted to. But she was too smart, her first lesson had been not to be 'too cocky'. She suspected, behind that popular-kid hot stuff act Malcolm put out, was sorrow, loneliness and talent- loads of raw talent. She had begun to doubt herself- the hardcore devil was wavering. Something about him sent shivers down her spine- it wasn't the tall-ish slightly muscular figure, or his black untamed hair or his laugh, or his blue eyes. It was his facade- it was so much like hers, but he could afford to break his; she could not.
But she couldn't worry about that then. She had work to do, and she intended to finish it- though she did not completely understand it. What was so important about this boy? He didn't look like a criminal, though they never do. Maybe he was a target, he had the connection- his father being a criminal defense attorney and all. But then why would she have to sneak around. That left only one option, he was a recruit...just not recruited yet. She carefully drove her silent motorbike, yes you got it right. Her sponsors had a lot of things governments often lacked, but they hold their side of their deal and don't interfere- after all we wouldn't want the country to collapse now, would we?
She parked her bike 5 blocks away, behind some scrub. She hid behind his hedge, and waited.
Mac did not like this, she was getting on his nerves, now. Badly. He stood on the porch and fished his keys out from his back-pocket. John was probably out drunk somewhere. He did that when it came along that time of the year- his mom's death anniversary. He took it and put it in the keyhole. He hesitated for a few seconds but at home he'd be safe. He turned the key and pushed the door open. He bolted it shut behind him. He entered his room and sat on his bed. Sheesh! The place was a mess! Soda cans, summer magazines, video game cartridges, potato chip packets, the works. Mac stripped down to a t-shirt and pyjama pants- no, they did not have little ponies on them. They had ducklings!
He pushed all the junk from his bed to his floor. I ought to become a janitor, he thought smirking to himself. He lay down, staring at the ceiling. He wasn't thinking or contemplating his life or any crappy thing like that, he was just staring. Suddenly, he was coughing, his throat felt dry. He smelt smoke.It burnt his throat and he could feel smoky fingers choking him. He rushed down the stairs from his bedroom, only to find the stairs burning. John wasn't home, so he only had to save himself, and like the idiot he was, he jumped out the window.
Chapter Three
Nearly. He jumped out of the window, nearly. He caught the window sill and managed to reach a branch of the tree nearby. He stretched so hard, his muscles hurt and when he held the branch, jumping off and putting all his body weight on his arms, the muscles begged for relief. And Mac nearly granted it to them. With a grunt, he pulled himself up. He felt dizzy and his arms felt like lead- he really needed to lift weights.
Suddenly he heard something, soft barely audible. "Come on. And don't freak out. The branch won't hold." It whispered. Oh, he was freaking out, but he managed to control himself when he felt something touch his neck. The voice sounded feminine, but he couldn't turn around. He just held out his hand, and felt her grasp his. He stepped back, placing his bare feet slowly. He could feel her body moving behind him and thanked himself for wearing a shirt to bed. He also prayed she couldn't see his duckling pajamas- they were really old, okay!
He moved his bare feet, feeling the trunk of the tree. She had let go of his hand when she had started climbing down, but he could still feel her fingertips at this feet indicating she was right below him. "We're almost there." She whispered and as he stepped down, Mac felt the grass at his feet. His throat still ached and watching his home go up in flames wasn't really a morale booster.
"Come on. You drive?" She asked.
Suddenly he remembered he wasn't alone. He turned his head to see her, and all he could think was of how terrifying she looked, like a hot female assassin. She had milk complexion, black straight hair that went down till her hips. But the things that terrified him were the the eyes on her diamond face- her emotionless black eyes. At least he thought it was black, but he had a hunch it was something more fierce. She sighed and snapped her fingers in-front of his face like she was waking him up, "Yo, dreamer-boy! You have a ride?" . At his confused look, she sighed "A car, preferably a motorbike, anything?" He nodded but then he glanced towards the fire. "The keys..." he replied. She bit her lip, "Oh. I think I can jimmy the lock, but is the bike in some garage or something?" He was about to shake his head, but he remembered he'd left it at Gorgo's Garage. He just nodded. She sighed, she seemed to be doing that a lot. "Oh, okay. We take the shortcut, I'm driving." And she walked off, gesturing for him to follow. He suddenly realized the faint distant sounds of police sirens. She cursed. "Sirens. Come on." she whispered. She got on and gestured for him to get on behind her. As he sat and placed his hands on the back of the bike, he could hear her mutter "Nice Pajamas, quacker." She snickered. And she started her motorbike which was tricked out to be silent or something, because it didn't even make a sound.
But she didn't ride it yet. She fished out a flip phone and tossed it to him. "Call your friend Lank. We're going there." He would've asked her how she knew him, but he wasn't stupid. He was staring at his stalker and feeling kinda flattered to have such a hot stalker. He mentally slapped himself. He had to stop doing that!
Anyway all he could do was open his mouth to protest but only to shut it again because of the glare she was giving him. He punched in the numbers and held the phone to his ear. And before he knew it, she'd snatched the phone away from him. He could faintly hear the conversation, and he got this much-
Lank (groggy from sleep): Uh..hello?
Girl: Hello, Lancester, this is Agent Moon.
Lank: Oh. So, what do I have to do Moon and please tell me you are not waking me up in the middle of the night for a chat.
Moon: I know you were never asleep. (Protests from Lank) Shut up, and listen. I'm with your friend Malcolm Sparks and I need you to slap yourself awake and get a set of clothes for him. Some dinner would be good too.
Lank: Hey, wait a minute. I'm not doubting you, but what do you expect me to do when an attractive girl comes to my house with a boy and asks me for a spare set of clothes for him and some dinner, is this even official?
Moon: (sighs) Get your mind out of the gutter, Wolf.
Lank: Oh-kay. Enough said, be here in fifteen or don't come; I can't stay up all night.
She flipped the phone shut. Wordlessly, she started the bike at full speed and Mac held on for dear life- one hand hooked at her waist and the other to the seat. As the world seemed to go past him, Mac was too busy in a daze. He remembered police officers putting blankets on victims of fires and criminal threatening, warming them up under the claims of stress. Now he knew why they did that. If that person panicked and went into a daze much like the one Mac seemed to be in right now, they'd never get answers.
"Oi! We're here. Get off." At first Mac thought she was talking about the bike but then he realized he had swung both arms around her waist and was practically hugging her. He could see her blushing under the street light. He got off and headed to the door, Moon close behind. And before he could ring the bell, Lank opened the door. "Thank god! Malcolm, Moon get in, quick. You guys need to know something. NOW.
They were practically shoved in. Mac realized it must be important because Lank hadn't reacted to his pajama pants. Moon sat on the couch and I crashed on a bean bag nearby.
Lank came stomping in. "He hasn't been found." he muttered.
Moon turned into an unhealthy shade of green. "Oh damn it. Damn it. Damn it." she muttered to herself.
Mac realized he was the only one who didn't know what was happening.
"Hello! Earth to strange person and Lank!
1) Who are you and how do you know each other?
2) Who hasn't been found?"
Lank just stared at him as if he were an idiot. "Call her Moon. We are people who work for someone important. How we know each other, doesn't matter. But we have someone...important missing..." He glanced at Moon as if asking for permission. She nodded ever so slightly. Malcolm felt his throat contrict- whatever the news was, it wasn't happy. Lank cleared his throat nervously- he's never nervous, Mac thought. He looked straight into Malcolm's eyes, daring him to accuse him of lying and said two words:
Your dad.