It Begins * The phone was ringing. Sydney swore as she jumped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around her as she flew down the hall to get the cordless. It was a week since her birthday, and Sydney was at home on one of her few days off, enjoying sleeping in and long, hot showers only to be interrupted when the phone rang. She picked it up on the sixth ring. “Hello?” “Hello, Sydney.” Sydney stopped breathing. Time stood still. The voice was unfamiliar, and yet she recognized it. Her heart started to pound, but before she could say anything, the caller spoke again. “What’s your favorite scary movie?” “Jay, you asswipe,” Sydney let out her breath, starting to laugh. “You scared me.” “How is that possible, Liz?” Jay asked, obviously on his cell. She could hear cars in the background, and footsteps. “It’s not like your name’s Sydney.” He chuckled. Sydney snorted. “Just a fear reflex, Jay.” Just a reflex. “So, what’s up?” “Nothing much. I was going to ask if you wanted to come shopping with me.” Sydney was incredulous. “Shopping?” she asked. “With *you*?” A pause. “Yeah.” Sydney raised an eyebrow. “Are you sick?” “Ha, ha, ha.” Jay sighed. “No. It’s just… I want to buy a… ring. For, um, for Gwen. And I thought I should get a woman’s opinion on the whole thing, and seeing as you’re free today…” he trailed off. Sydney laughed. “Aww, Jay. Of course I’ll come. Where do you want me to meet you?” “In front of the restaurant on Center Street, in about a half hour.” His voice brightened. “Liz, do you think she’ll say yes?” Sydney smiled. “Of course she will, Jay. Of course she will.” * Jay beeped his horn as he drove off. Sydney waved, and then started the walk towards her car, which was a few streets away. The engagement ring frenzy had been short, but Jay was pleased with what he’d finally chosen – a classic diamond, surrounded by amethysts, on a gold band. Gwen would be overjoyed and completely ecstatic, and Sydney had no doubt in her mind that she’d make Jay the happiest guy alive. Sydney straightened her back as she walked, and on a whim, popped into a bakery on her right. She waited in line to buy a bagel, and as she did, looked out the window. And there he was. Across the street, standing by a kiosk buying a newspaper, a burly man in a suit. He was wearing sunglasses, had a cell phone and looked completely out of place surrounded by people in jeans and t-shirts. Sydney’s breath came quicker, and her mind started spinning. That man had been following her and Jay all morning. She hadn’t been sure, but now, as she looked across the street, she was positive. The man looked up towards the bakery, and Sydney glanced away, staring at the blond ponytail of the woman in front of her. She nervously ran a hand through her own, dyed-black locks, wondering what was happening. She was meant to be free. Happy. Not scared. The line moved, and it was finally Sydney’s turn. She smiled at the teenager behind the counter. “A bagel, please. Plain.” The boy nodded and reached for a bag, and Sydney let her gaze wonder out the window again. The man hadn’t moved. She drew a breath in as she pulled some change out from her pocket and handed it to the boy, who in turn placed the bagel, encased in a paper bag, in her hand. She turned and left the bakery. “Miss! Your change!” Sydney ignored the boy’s calls as the door closed behind her, and she set off down the street again, walking quickly. A glance into a window she passed showed that The Man was now hurrying as well. She saw her chance coming up as she neared the corner. Her car was maybe forty feet down the road, and she decided to make a run for it. She glanced over her shoulder, and the man seemed to catch her eye through his sunglasses. As Sydney turned the corner, her view of him disappeared, and she sprinted for her car. She climbed into it, thrust the key into the ignition and then sped out onto the street, a glance in her rearview mirror revealing The Man yelling into his cell phone. Sydney smiled in triumph as she passed through an intersection, hearing the squeal of tires. She looked into her rearview mirror again, a smile still on her face – and swore. Two Lincoln Navigators (why are they always SUVs?) were now driving down the street, picking up pace. Following her. She swore again, swerving into a street on her right and pressing her foot harder on the accelerator. The Lincolns followed, not too fast, but not slow enough to let Sydney relax. She wondered whether she was hallucinating. It had been almost two years. TWO YEARS. Two years full of laughter and smiles and Foosball at the local games arcade with her new boyfriend and her closest friends. She was meant to be rid of Lincolns, of suspense, of men with business suits and sunglasses and fucking gelled hair. It just wasn’t her day. She sped around another corner, knowing the SUVs were falling behind. Maybe they were just testing her… maybe she wasn’t really being followed. Maybe she was imagining the whole thing. Yeah. Right. She gritted her teeth, pissed off at her own naivety. I’m imagining being followed by anti-government cars. She turned a few more corners, exceeded the speed limit by another ten miles an hour, and then, finally, glanced in her rearview mirror. No Lincolns. Yes, she thought to herself. She slowed down slightly, still checking all her mirrors every few seconds. But there was no sign of the SUVs. That didn’t make her feel better – it just made her more suspicious. Sydney turned onto her street, driving slowly and staring at the front of her house. There were no signs of anything being amiss. Melissa’s car was in the driveway, which meant she’d finished work for the day. There was a light on upstairs, and in the living room at the front of the house. Sydney sighed in relief, still slightly on edge. But she pulled into the driveway next to Melissa’s car and got out, bagel in hand. She unlocked the front door (No-one’s broken in) and called out to her friend as she hung up her jacket. “Melissa?” She was greeted by silence, and she panicked. “Melissa?” she called again, racing up the stairs. “Mel!” Sydney went from door to door, checking there was no – (no what? No blood?) – nothing out of place in any of the rooms. She approached Melissa’s bedroom door, light spilling out into the darkened hallway. Sydney held her breath as she pushed open the door and looked in, prepared for anything. Except the sight that greeted her. Melissa was sprawled on her bed, headphones on. Asleep. (Alive) Her chest rose and fell, and once in awhile she let out a groan. Sydney let out a breath and walked closer to the bed. She smiled down at Melissa’s face, so innocent as she slept, her smattering of freckles faint in the dim light. Sydney’s hand reached out and brushed a wisp of Melissa’s red hair out of her eyes, and then she stood back and stared at her for a minute. Surprised (Melissa never sleeps after work) but satisfied with her friend’s safety – for the moment – Sydney left the room, turning off the light. Walking down the hall, she looked at the cordless in its cradle. Wondered why it was sitting there so inoffensively. Wondered if it had always been so smooth to the touch. Wondered if it would ring. It rang. Sydney jumped. She neared the phone, scared of what – of who – might greet her from the other end. She looked at its blackness tentatively, then picked it up and pressed the button that bore the word “talk”. She held it to her ear. “…Hello?” A pause. She was unnerved. “Hello?” “Joey’s Pizza?” Sydney stopped breathing altogether. “… Joey’s Pizza?” “Oh, God,” she blurted out, her eyes tearing up. “No. No, no, no.” The caller (God, I never thought I’d hear him again) was insistent. “Joey’s Pizza?” “God… shit. No!” She slammed the phone back into its cradle, glaring at it as she hyperventilated, the hall bending and spinning. She dared the black piece of plastic to ring again. She dared it. She stood there for a good five minutes, just daring it to ring. It didn’t. Finally, her heart pounding, Sydney left the hallway and headed down the stairs. She was scared now. Fully, completely, and utterly petrified. Her head spun as she tried to understand what was happening. Why it was happening. I was supposed to be FREE!) Sydney paced back and forth in the living room. She felt so strange, pacing. She hardly ever paced. The phone rang in the kitchen and she almost screamed. She was completely stressed now, scared of everything around her. The television. The curtains. The couch. The phone in the kitchen. She stalked over to the white cordless on the wall and grabbed it off its hook. Pressing the button, which used to say talk (it was rubbed off. Rubbed out. Like Sydney was meant to be.), Sydney took a deep breath. “Hello?” She was greeted by silence again, and she was sick of it. “Who *the hell* is this?” This time, someone on the other end sniffled. “Liz… it’s me.” Sydney recognized the voice. “Gwen?” There was a sob. “What’s wrong?” “Jay,” she sobbed. “It’s Jay.” Sydney sighed in relief, knowing how emotional Gwen was. “He asked you to marry him?” A wail. “Then why are you so upset?” “Liz,” Gwen said quietly, as if she were gathering strength. “Jay’s dead.” Sydney froze. “What?” she whispered. “He was killed on the way home, from town. There was an accident… a hit-and-run… he crashed into a wall.” Gwen’s voice shrank as each sentence progressed. The pain in her voice was obvious – so palpable that it surrounded Sydney in its darkness and hunger. “Who - who told you this, Gwen?” Sydney asked quietly. “The police,” she sniffled. “They rang about fifteen minutes ago… and I didn’t know who else to call.” Sydney nodded. “And they told you it was an accident?” “They said hit-and-run… probably a car bigger than Jay’s… which isn’t that hard to find… and – a dark car. They asked me if I knew anyone with a big dark car.” Gwen started to sound more collected, but the underlying tone in her voice proved she was on the verge of breaking down. And Sydney knew who owned a big, dark car. She knew lots of people who owned big, dark cars. Too many people. (With sunglasses, and suits, and gel in their hair…) Sydney bit her lip. “Thanks, Gwen. Thanks for calling me… Look, I have to ask you to do something. Something important.” Gwen blew her nose. “What?” Sydney drew in a breath. (It was times like this that she was acutely aware of everything, right down to her shallow intakes of breath)“Get out of town.” “What?” Gwen asked, startled. “Get out of town.” Sydney sighed. “I’m going to go wake up Melissa, and you’re both going to get out of town. And take Seth with you.” “Liz… what’s wrong?” Gwen sounded more scared than upset now. “What aren’t you telling me?” “I’ll explain, I promise. But right now, I want you to call Seth, tell him to pack and to get over to your house,” Sydney thought fast, racing up the stairs to her room. “Just trust me and believe that all I want is for you to be okay.” Silence. Sydney opened and closed a few drawers, looking for something. “Please, Gwen.” She found it, at the back of her bottom drawer with her old journals. The letter. There was still no reply from the other end of the line. “Gwen?” Gwen sighed audibly. “Okay. I will.” Sydney nodded to herself. “And Liz… be safe.” Sydney almost started to cry. “Thanks, Gwen… Now go.” She listened for the dial tone, then hung up herself and ran to Melissa’s room. Shaking her shoulder, Sydney tried to wake her up. “Mel, get up. Quick.” Melissa opened her eyes and smiled. “Heya Liz.” “Mel, Jay’s dead.” Melissa sat up as Sydney’s eyes scanned the room. Something was wrong. She didn’t know what. (Why had Mel been sleeping?) “Pack,” she commanded Melissa, who was still in shock. “Pack now.” “… What? How did he die? Why am I packing?” Melissa was completely awake now, and even though she obviously had no idea what was happening, Sydney was happy to see that she’d pulled out her suitcase and started throwing in clothes. “Jay was killed. Driven off the road.” She turned to Melissa. “Someone killed him about half an hour ago. Right after he’d bought Gwen an engagement ring.” Melissa gaped, everything forgotten for a second. Her eyes watered, and tears spilled forth, silent streams on her pale cheeks. “Jay… God, not him.” Then her eyes widened. “Oh, shit. Gwen…” she trailed off, them cocked her head to the side. “No. Wait.” She looked at Sydney, confused. “Why am I packing?” “You’re not safe.” Sydney continued scanning the room, knowing she was running out of time. She smelled something. (Gas?) “None of you are.” “What, none of ‘us’?” Melissa demanded. “What about you, Liz?” “The reason you’re not safe is me.” Sydney stated, looking at Melissa’s face. “You, Gwen and Seth are leaving town tonight – now – and you’re heading as far away as you can. Don’t tell anyone where you’re going. If you have to let family know you’re alive, ring from payphones, for no longer than a minute.” Sydney bit her lip as Melissa’s eyes filled with tears. She walked over to her and handed her the letter. “Take this with you to Gwen’s. It explains everything.” Melissa looked at the envelope, then at Sydney, and another tear slipped down her cheek. “I can’t leave, Liz.” Melissa insisted. Sydney sighed. “I won’t.” “Yes, you will,” Sydney said, in what she hoped was an authoritative tone. “God, Mel, you’re fantastic. You’re all fantastic. But Jay’s been killed because he was seen with me today, and you all might be killed if you don’t leave tonight, in one car. Someone take a cell, but…” she looked down at the envelope in Melissa’s hand. “That tells you the truth about everything. Don’t tell anyone outside you three. Run until I call you on your cell. Don’t pick up any calls unless the phone rings - ” she stopped, looking around. “Might be bugged,” she mouthed. Melissa’s eyes widened as Sydney held up her fingers. “Don’t pick up any calls unless the phone rings-” She held up three fingers, then two, then one, then three, then four. She looked at Melissa imploringly. “Can you remember that?” Melissa looked at Sydney, her eyes begging her to reconsider – to let her stay, for Sydney to go. But Sydney was adamant. She shook her head. “You’re going.” Melissa sighed and picked up a nearby pen, writing on the back of the envelope before putting it in her pocket. “Okay,” she finally said, forcing a small smile. Sydney looked at Melissa, and then leaned down and zipped up the suitcase on the bed. She straightened up and looked at the woman in front of her. “Go.” “Bye Liz.” Melissa breathed out, gave Sydney a one-armed hug, then grabbed the suitcase and ran from the room. Sydney didn’t move as she listened to Melissa’s car back out of the driveway and speed down the road. She knew they’d be okay. They had to be. Besides, one warning should have been enough for her this time. (Danny had been. She’d told him the truth, and he’d died. She wasn’t going to let anyone else get killed because of her naivety, because she wouldn’t believe what she knew. Not again.) The three of them would leave the town, the state, and keep going until she let them know it was okay to stop. They’d run and run and run, and would never cease unless they knew they would survive. (Why didn’t Francie and Will listen? Why? They thought she was lying, and they were killed. Blood on the walls, blood on the carpet, blood on the couch, blood on her clothes… blood everywhere.) Sydney broke out of her reverie when the phone rang. She ran into the hall and picked it up, cursing the technology that was fast becoming her most loathed adversary. “Hello?” “Well, if it isn’t Sydney Bristow.” The voice made her blood curdle. Her teeth gritted as she walked down the hall to her room, shaking her head in disgust. “I see you got out alive, Sloane.” The venom in her voice was clear. She hated him. She hated the creature he was. She hated this man for everything in her life. (For the nothing in her life) “As did you.” Sloane sighed. “Sydney, when will you ever learn you can’t run from us? You know we’re always going to catch you.” Sydney narrowed her eyes as she started to pack a small bag with all her essentials. Sloane continued to talk. “You were always so smart, Sydney. So smart. You should have known that we’d find you.” Sydney gritted her teeth, angry; and yet wondering why Sloane was bothering to call her. Then it hit her. (The gas. That’s why Melissa had been sleeping.) She started to pack more urgently, throwing clothes, her journals and anything else she needed in her backpack. A toothbrush, a comb and three packets of different colored hair dye went in, followed by packages of tinted contact lenses and six different pairs of glasses she never wore. Why had she kept this stuff? Sloane rambled on. “You’re such an enigma, Sydney. You seem to be so collected when, in fact, you’re quivering in terror. You never even think about what could be happening to you.” Sydney clicked her bag shut and raced down the stairs, cordless still in hand. She picked up her handbag and keys, shoving them quickly in her backpack. Sloane was still talking, obviously trying to keep her in place for as long as possible, not even talking any sense really. He was stalling her, manipulating her thoughts to keep her frozen, weak. And the smell of gas in the house was getting stronger. Sydney grabbed a coat and pulled it on, knowing she would regret it later, and raced out the door. The phone still had reception, and Sloane was still talking. “Ahh, Sloane, I’d love to catch up and everything,” Sydney smirked, “but I gotta run.” (No more time.) She threw the phone to the ground and raced off down the street, cringing when she heard the house explode behind her. Car alarms went off on the street, and debris crashed into the neighbor’s houses, causing people to scream. Sydney kept running, wondering just how clichéd the whole scene would seem to anyone else. She sprinted down roads and streets; thanking God she still kept in shape. She had no idea where she was going, but hoped something would show itself to her and give her an idea. She prayed that “something” wouldn’t be a Lincoln. Because she had the worst luck in the world, three Lincolns chose that moment to screech into the street behind her. Sydney threw a quick glance over her shoulder at them and swore, amazed at how fast these people always managed to find her. She was nearing the center of town, and knew it would be harder for the cars to follow her in the busy streets, but she had no doubt that the manpower they held in those stupid SUVs was stronger and less fatigued than she was. She turned a corner, racing into a narrow street, wide enough for one car. The SUVs ground to a halt at the entry point, and at least eight men (God, can they ever wear anything less conspicuous that fucking Armani suits?) leaped out, guns in hand, transmitters in ears, ready to chase her to the edges of the earth. Sydney swore to herself that would be only way she was letting them get her. Another corner loomed ahead, and she turned right, into a street full of sidewalk cafes that opened only after six p.m. She rolled her eyes, wondering if the men behind her would trip over the tables. Another hundred yards down the street, she heard crashes from behind her and some people yelling. She let herself laugh for a second. Typical. She ran straight down the road, knowing she couldn’t get off it for a while. Another three hundred yards down, there was an intersection. She had just passed an alley on her left, but that wouldn’t do her any good. Especially since there was a Lincoln driving out of it. Sydney ran faster (she hoped) and wondered if this was how she was meant to die: Being gunned down like a criminal while racing along a quaint street. She’d always expected something more glamorous. Something along the lines of being killed while fighting for her country. She didn’t know why; maybe it was the patriarchal way she’d been brought up (by a father who was never home after her mother was killed, and a nanny who spoke little English, let alone spoke much at all). Cursing herself for thinking of dying in the near future, Sydney forced herself to run even faster. Her legs were slowly tiring, but the intersection was coming up. She’d turn left. After that, she’d figure out what to do next. But the Lincoln was next to her by now. She was on the sidewalk, trying to not be so immediately obvious to the people of the town who were simply out for fun. Because being chased down streets by an entourage of cars is *really* subtle. The window of the Lincoln was wound down, but she didn’t want to look over at the driver. Then, surprising her, the Lincoln swerved into a parking space about fifteen yards in front of her, and the door popped open. She kept running, slightly slower now, still aware of the men chasing after her, somewhat winded after their workout. The Lincoln was right in front of her. She sighed, decided she was sick of running, would try fighting instead, and stepped up to the door. She looked at the driver, his face set in a look of determination, his green eyes stony but still full of life, and gaped. “What…” she started. “Get in,” he demanded. Sydney continued to gawk, surprised and yet… nope, just surprised. “Get in,” the driver repeated, more forcefully this time. A bullet hit the mailbox in front of Sydney, and she jumped, climbing into the Lincoln and slamming the door as they sped away. Sydney looked over at the driver, amazed at how little he’d changed in the last two years. Since when was he on any duty other than sitting behind a desk? He was grimmer now, and she was sure there was a story behind that, but right now, he was the only thing in her life resembling a savior. (“My guardian angel.”) “What’s going on?” Sydney asked, her voice low, revealing her anxiety. Vaughn’s face was slightly exhausted, she saw now. There was a shadow in his eyes that had never been there before, and for a minute, she was scared. He turned to her, his eyes full of concern and something else she couldn’t pinpoint, and said the words she hadn’t wanted to hear. “A lot.” * :: “You have to leave.” “What?” “You have to leave town. Tonight.” Sydney laughed. Vaughn looked at her, his eyes full of unease. “God, Syd… do you know what might happen if you don’t?” “Vaughn, it’s over.” She’d stopped laughing. “SD-6 is gone. You know that.” “It should be.” His voice was grave, but Sydney couldn’t be thrown off. “The CIA isn’t sure. You know that.” Sydney looked away, staring at nothing. Why were they still in this warehouse? Why weren’t they out in the open? They were safe now. (She wanted to feel the freedom, to celebrate it before it left her like everything else.) “Vaughn… I don’t want to leave.” She looked at him, standing above her in his suit (of armor) and wished he understood. She never wanted to leave (him). Never. His eyes softened. “Syd… you think I want you to leave? Of course not.” He crossed to her, kneeling so their faces were on almost the same level. “I never want to let you go,” he whispered, bringing tears to Sydney’s eyes. “Then don’t.” The statement was simple, and Vaughn’s eyes belied everything he felt for her. The pain in them was obvious, as was the longing. Sydney’s chest ached with the love she felt for him, more so because she knew she’d never feel it for anyone else, and she sucked in a breath, worried about why Vaughn was so unrelenting about her leaving. “Vaughn…” she started. She bit her lip, not knowing what she wanted to say (not knowing the words that would explain what she wanted to say). “Here.” Vaughn handed her a manila folder. He stared at her face as she opened it and glanced over its contents, the look on her face comprehending what she saw. “Elizabeth Whitby?” She looked at Vaughn again, her eyes hurt. “Why do I need this? And why now?” Vaughn sighed. “In case you need to run and can’t stop for anything on the way.” His eyes were imploring. “Please, Sydney.” Sydney let the tears spill over. She bit her lip. “I don’t have the strength to leave you.” Her eyes searched his, knowing they reflected the conflict betrayed in hers. “Sydney…” Vaughn smiled sadly. “I love you. You know that, right?” She nodded. “That’s never going to change. No matter where you are.” His face became more solemn. “But please… you have to leave. Tonight. To be safe.” Sydney closed her eyes. She couldn’t. Didn’t he realize that? She couldn’t leave after knowing what they could have. She’d never leave. She told him this. She cried as he held her, whispering in her ear and making her stomach ache because of his perfection. At last, she told him she’d go, knowing she was lying, and hoping he didn’t realize it. They stayed together for a long while. * Sydney ran into her apartment, dropping her purse and the file on the kitchen counter. She opened the fridge, pulled out a bottle of orange juice, poured it into a glass. Placing the bottle back in the fridge, she turned towards the living room, sipping her juice. And choked. The glass fell to the ground, shattering on impact, and the shards slashed through the skin of her sandal-clad feet. But she didn’t feel it. She was numb. She started to hyperventilate as she walked slowly towards the couch. She could hardly breathe. Her chest was tight as she looked at the floor. At the couch, at the wall, at the coffee table. At Francie and Will. A sob escaped her dry throat, and she grabbed at her stomach to stop from retching. Francie and Will were lying on the floor, their clothes soaked in blood. Will’s glasses were cracked and lay next to the coffee table; Francie’s shoe was on the couch. Her body was lying sprawled, almost twisted, one of her legs bent, the other straight, while he was completely rigid, hands by his sides, eyes open and staring into nothingness. (Dead eyes) Sydney fell to her knees between them, gasping and holding her stomach as the sobs tore from her. Her legs became covered by the blood that was soaked thick into the carpet (and the couch, and the clothes on their bodies) and she broke down. She reached out and touched Francie’s cheek; only to have her fingers come away covered in dark, thick blood. Will was pale (death white), and the scarlet specks of blood stood out against his skin. Sydney died then. Her body kept going (her shell). Her legs picked her up off the floor, blood on her knees and hands and skirt, and carried her up the stairs to pack a bag. Those same legs carried her out to her car and helped her drive off. Her eyesight was blurry, her breathing was ragged, and her hands were shaking, but she managed to keep driving. But her soul, her essence, her life – it lay down between Francie and Will on the blood-soaked carpet, closed it’s eyes and cried until it could cry no more. It lay there for an eternity, until after the bodies were found, until after the police were called, until after the apartment was sold to an unknowing couple from Minnesota. It lay there. And it died. :: * > New Haven < Nice Life...: Portland » babblings » home » mail?