AFTER EFFECTS

By LORRAINE O.

His boots sank slightly in the wet lawn as he made his way towards the van. His hair fell into his eyes as he dodged a few of the younger operatives running by in the still heavy smoke, their equipment clanking against them as they moved. Shifting his gun to his shoulder,

Michael clutched the black ski mask in his other hand wondering how Lisa would be later that night when it all had a chance to sink in. She was a wonderful woman, the kind of woman he longed to have in his own life. The closest thing to love he got these days was on missions like this one, and he hated the after effects. Even after all his time with Section, as hard as he fought with his conscience, he felt like hell for what he had done.

He glanced over his shoulder at the grand house; its windows now shattered and flowerbeds trampled and shook his head, sighing. Such beauty and as usual, Section ruins it all. He hated Section, hated it with his whole being but knew in the long run, as much as they hurt the innocent, it always outweighed the evil.

Opening the van door, he climbed in, and sat down on one of the seats. Setting his gun down on the table, he pulled out his cell phone flipping it open.

Mission completed. Fanning is secured. Eight dead, 4 injured. He paused, waiting for an acknowledgement and as soon as he got it, he hung up, replacing the phone in his pocket.

Nikita stepped into the van; her blue eyes glanced over at him, trying to keep her frustration from showing.

Hey, you okay? She asked sitting opposite him, pulling out a piece of gum from her pocket.

Michael looked up at her briefly, nodded slightly and went back to his typing on the laptop in front of him.

Crumpling the wrapper in her palm, she watched him, marvelling at how well he hid his emotions. He always impressed her with that ability, but she always remained grateful that she was still human enough to not hide hers.

Where’s Fanning? He asked keeping his attention on the task in front of him.

Nikita cracked her gum, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. He is with Crocks and Davis enroute to Section. The house has been secured.

Michael gave no indication he had heard her and kept typing.

Taking advantage of the fact they were still alone in the van, Nikita leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. Lisa is devastated Michael. I hope you’re satisfied. She loved you.

Michael paused his typing and looked across the table at her, regarded her silently for a moment then continued typing, making no comment.

Nikita made a disgusted sound and sat back just as the rest of their team arrived, clambering into the van. The ride back was quiet save for the idle talk of the team. Both Michael and Nikita spent the time avoiding any eye contact.

Winter didn’t seem to want to let way for spring, and the air was chilly. The frost began to form on windows at the corners of the shops he walked past, and breath billowed from people’s mouths as they walked by.

He walked at an easy pace, not in any real rush to get back to his apt where he would be left alone with his thoughts. At least out on the street, he could distract himself with the world around him for a time.

A huge shop window reflected his image and he paused, staring back at himself. His hair was blowing about in the wind, eyes covered by the dark sunglasses he always wore, his chin showing a few days growth. His long black coat covered him down to his knees and his powerful calf muscles were plainly seen under the black pants he wore. Black. His colour of choice. It reflected his role in the real world. Dead man walking amongst the living. Everyone in Section wore black but not to the extent he took it. A few operatives referred to him as the Black Angel. A name they thought he knew nothing of, but they were wrong,. He knew.

Pulling his eyes away from his reflection, he continued down the street, boots crunching on the snow covered sidewalk. The smell of fresh coffee suddenly assailed his senses and he paused, turning his head towards the source. A shop across the street was still open, the bright green lettering on the door caught his eye.

JILLS COFFEE HOUSE.

Looking both ways, he crossed the street, making his way to the shop, eager for a cup. Opening the door with a gloved hand, he stepped into the warmth of the small shop and seated himself in a booth at the far end. There were a few people seated, all wrapped up in their on conversations, the music of the radio on the front counter played soft pop from a local radio station.

Pulling his gloves off, he looked up at the approaching waitress. She smiled brightly; her grey eyes sparkled at him in a friendly manner. Twirling her pen, she gave him a once over, appreciating his obvious good looks. What can I get you?

Coffee, black. Was his simple reply, giving her a polite look as he set his gloves on the table.

Right away. She turned away, winking at her co-worker at the counter, motioning with her eyes at him. The other girl grinned and nodded, a slight blush rising on her cheeks as she poured a drink for a customer.

Michael caught the young girls covert messages and allowed a small smirk to cross his features. Everywhere he went, he got the same reaction from women. Blushes, smiles, flirting were plenty and frankly, he was embarrassed by it all. He knew he was handsome by the literal terms, but felt completely unworthy of any woman’s attention or love. He was the devil in disguise and he hated it.

The waitress came back with his coffee and set it down, giving him another huge smile, her young face took in every nuance of him.

Michael nodded his thanks and immediately brought the mug top his lips, unmindful it would probably burn.

Oh, be careful sir,,, I don’t want to see you burn those lips,,,, err,, I mean, yourself. She blushed furiously wishing a hole would open up and swallow her.

Michael cocked his eyebrow at her and smiled faintly. Thank you for your concern. He said in his usual hushed tone.

Smiling once again, the waitress turned and all but sprinted back to the counter, leaving him to himself.

Lowering his eyes, he stared into the mug, his mind taking him back to when Lisa brought the gun to her head, her face looking so pained, lost. He blinked rapidly feeling the panic once again at the sight, knowing it was him that had brought her to this point. He wished she would have shot him rather then try to shoot herself. Guilt rode on his shoulders heavily, pulling his mood down even further. Living his life split in two was the only way he kept his sanity all these years and he wondered how long he would be able to keep it up.

Gazing out the window, he noticed snow had once more begun to fall giving the dull grey city the illusion of beauty. Blinking rapidly, he brought the cup to his lips once again, realizing suddenly why he seemed to enjoy the winter months more then any others. It was a season of illusion. Brief, cool and often cruel. His counterpart, the other side of himself. He closed his eyes, allowing his mind the luxury of escape to a place of peace. A place he would never allow Section to take from him. A place he called his soul.