Page 7 of Tabitha

Man pushes another folder toward me. Inside are stats and a single picture of an older man that looks vaguely familiar. The distinguished man is in his late sixties, his bushy silver hair barely tamed, his bearing proud. It’s his cold, dead silver eyes that raise the hair on the back of my neck, and I can’t tear my eyes away. The stats list only the bare minimum—height, weight, birth, death, and address. “Who is he?”

Man doesn’t say anything until I drag my eyes away and focus on him. “Your grandfather.”

He pauses a beat, waiting for my reaction. I glance down again, spotting the similarities that stare back at me every morning in the mirror now that he has pointed out the truth. As the silence stretches, he begins speaking. “You never asked about your past, and I respected your wishes. If you want me to stop, I’ll destroy the file…but I think it might help you to learn about where you come from.”

I place the picture back in the folder, then set it on the desk and gave him my full attention. I know I should feel anxious or curious or something, but I only see a stranger staring back at me from the picture. “Is that why you want me to take this mission?”

Man isn’t above forcing the issue if he feels it’s necessary. I’m just not surewhyit’s an issue.

He purses his lips, his eyes narrowing for a second, then he answers bluntly. “Yes. You’re bored here. It’s time you step out of your comfort zone. The decision is up to you, but I think it might help you to learn about your past.”

“I’ve trusted your judgment for years. That doesn’t change now. If you want me to take the mission, I will.” It doesn’t matter to me that it’s tangled up in my past.

That is what’s wrong with society—people just don’t know how to let things go. The past doesn’t matter…it’s in the past. Learn from it, don’t make the same mistakes, and move the fuck on.

Man studies me a moment longer, and I can’t get over the impression that I’ve disappointed him by not showing any interest. As if coming to some sort of decision, he begins talking. “When your father joined the army, he received a head injury and became a prisoner of war. It was years before he was found and returned home, but the damage had been done. He was never the same after that.

“Your grandfather had always been an extremist, but he blamed the government for ruining his only son. He only became more bitter when your father just disappeared in the middle of the night. He gathered a few like-minded people and began a militia group. As it gained popularity, a whole town was formed.”

He taps his finger against the folder holding the picture of my grandfather. “He died mysteriously a month ago. You’ll be going to clean out his place. While you’re there, I want you to discover what happened to Private First Class Toris McNeil.”

My eyes widen, surprise overtaking me for the first time since I stepped into the office, and I scratch my eyebrow. “Ummm…you want me to try and people?”

I can fool people into thinking I’m normal for a few hours, a couple of days at most.

Then my cracks start to show.

His lips twitch before he can smother it. “Yes. You’re not to engage the targets until you can confirm the fate of one Toris McNeil. If you can recover the weapons they’re dealing, that’s a bonus, but the main focus will be locating McNeil. After a month, if you are unable to complete your objective, you are free to eliminate the targets.”

I cock my head to the side, catching an undertone I can’t quite decipher, and I take a wild guess. “Part of the military favor.”

He nods his head once. “The military doesn’t want the publicity of an arrest and trial. They want the matter settled privately.”

I understand exactly what he’s not saying—someone important is missing. I’m not to proceed until the body is located.

“You will be meeting with a small security team called HAVOC. They’re already on the scene—”

“Wait! You know I don’t work well with oth—”

“They’re the original security team sent to investigate the militia group and Legion’s involvement in McNeil’s disappearance,” he says, talking over my objection like I didn’t even speak. “They’ve requested additional help.”

I scramble to think of a valid protest, then accept the fact that my wants are irrelevant. Worse, the other team will see me as the interloper and make things difficult. “Are they aware of the situation?”

“That you’re a cleaner?” He shakes his head. “They know nothing about the Belladonnas. You’re not to tell them about your mission unless it becomes unavoidable. They’re retired military turned private security. They were hired to investigate the crew that took over the town.”

“I’m to make contact with them?” I ask, wanting to make sure the parameters are clear.

“Yes.” He sighs, then straightens the papers on his desk. “Since the mission is so large, Pierce will be joining you as well.”

“What? No!” I launch out of my chair and slam my hands on the desk separating us, beyond agitated at the order. For the first time since the meeting started, my composure cracks. “I don’t trust that man.”

“But you trust me, so you can trust me when I say Pierce is a good man.” His voice is firm, and my mouth snaps shut at the not-so-subtle order.

It means my opinion is irrelevant, and I give a nod of understanding.

Man grabs the folders and immediately shreds them, a signal that the meeting is over, and I stand to attention. “You will leave after this meeting. Grab any of the supplies in the playroom, and good luck on your mission.”

I barely contain my glee. He’s giving me free rein to take any weapons or explosives that I deem necessary. He pulls open a desk drawer, retrieves a black credit card, and slides it over the desk. “To use at your discretion.”

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