Frank looks into the TV screen trying to piece together what just happened. The whole room is in shock at what they had just witnessed, none more so than frank. He felt a connection to Tasha, be it a sexual one at that, it was still a connection. One he hadn’t felt since he was happily married, before all the problems started. Now he felt as if the only thing left was his problems. He felt sick.

Twenty Two

Frank was staring down into the bowl. His knees were hurting because of the prolonged amount of time he had spent vomiting into the toilet. He had lost count of how long he had been in the bathroom being sick, but he had a good inkling it was long enough to raise suspicion with his colleagues regarding his whereabouts. He flushes the toilet and gets up. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looks 10 years older than he did 27 hours ago. Frank turns on the tap and sprinkles water into his hair trying to refresh himself, recharge the exterior run down look he had to a more clean and tidy presentation. He looks back down and noticed the cigarette burn that he had inflicted on his shirt a mere hour ago was still there and it was still annoying him. He pokes at it and tried to peel off the crusted shirt fabric surrounding the smelted burn. It felt like hardened plastic that had melted away. Teach me for buying cheap shirts he thought.

Frank gave up on tidying up the appearance of his shirt when he caught another woeful glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror. The toilets in the incident building were much cleaner than any toilets he had recently found himself occupying. That being said he still felt that dirty cold feeling he always felt when looking at a reflection of himself, the cold harsh reality of who he was and what he had done always settled in hard when observing his soulless eyes and rigid story filled complexion.

The voices were back; this time the whispering was non-existent and what sounded like shouting in his head was digging deep into his psyche affecting his already battered and frayed being.

“Get a grip Frank” He whispered to himself trying to sustain an equal balance of sanity and authority.

“ITS NO GOOD WHISPERING FRANK, WE CAN STILL HERE YOU” The voice said, Frank’s expression growing ever vigilant as sweat pours out of every pour of his body, the results of which make Frank even more weary of his mind and the fact that he knew he was losing it.

“Leave me alone!” Frank shouts, grabbing his head and shaking it as if he’s trying to get rid of the sounds he was hearing.

A boastful sound of laughter is heard as the once whispering voice was now taking pleasure in making Frank’s life a hell.

With Frank growing ever weaker at every failed attempt at gaining composure, he moans in agony while grabbing onto the sink for stability.

“FUCK YOU!” he screams as he takes a forceful swing and punches the mirror so hard that his hand shatters the glass and leaves a spider web imprint akin to a car’s windshield after an accident.

Frank drops to the floor again and huddles himself up, gripping his knees with his bleeding hand, the skin on his knuckles hanging off as a result of the impact from the punch. He moans out loud and crawls to the toilet in pain, as he grips the toilets bowl, he hauls himself over and once again vomits into it, the strain on his stomach is so hard; he feels as if he had just been stabbed.

Twenty Three

Nathan’s nerve was as steady as ever. Back in his past life he had been commended on his nerve, in fact it is the reason he is so successful at his job now. This day was no different from any other. He had been summoned to Chase’s makeshift office and was waiting outside for someone to let him through. The office that Connor Chase was using was the old office that Tasha Mitchel once owned before her untimely death at the hands of Chase. Nathan noticed that the office door had Tasha’s name chiselled out, and replaced with a crude but noticeable plaque that read: “The man with the Plan”. Nathan wasn’t nervous at all, despite his position in Connor’s crew. If he showed any signs of uncertainty in his job, then it could prove fatal. There are not many explosive technicians out there that can have the luxury of worrying, or they wouldn’t get anything done. Nathan always thought that there was a difference between worrying too much and knowing too much. Nine times out of ten knowing too much would be more useful than worrying about not knowing anything at all. A perfect balance had to be met. Red or blue was not a guessing game; in the films it’s always red. Nathan knew that in real life, you strip the wire down and locate the correct circuit type to know whether or not to cut the red or blue wire. He always got it right.

In deep thought by now, Nathan took a while to notice the guard standing in front of him, looking down puzzled at Nathan’s temporary short sightedness. He quickly snapped out of his daze and stood up to the guards amused smile. Nathan followed the heavily armed man into the new office that Connor was occupying.

Chase was standing behind his desk looking at a painting on the well-furnished wall of the office. It was a random “Artsy” painting that had no middle or end, much like Chase’s personality.

Connor signalled the guard to leave the room, the door shut behind the man as he walked out, leaving Chase and Nathan alone. Connor smiled at the 6 foot 3 230 pound brick house of a man that stood in his office.

‘You did a brilliant job on the fire exits son’ says Chase.

‘Why thank you sir.’

‘Those C4 bombs will do us plenty in protecting our building, if it wasn’t for you then I don’t think it would of gone so smoothly. It impressive if you ask me, the sheer fact that you could rig up those exits so fast is beyond me. Not to mention that you are quite the catch when it comes to bomber boys! When talking to my associates in this line of business I was told that people like you are rarer than a warless revolution.’

Nathan nods in agreement to Connors flattering comments

‘Again, thank you sir.’ He says

‘So I’m going to cut to the chase Nathan. You may be more valuable then I first anticipated, so I am tasking you with the important mission of interrogating one of the security men that worked here. We believe he has the key codes to the mainframe and we need to get to that if we are going to succeed in destroying all of the data that this M.I.T building holds. Even if they are just a public relations building, I’m sure they have valuable information regarding the actual M.I.T building in Cambridge. It’s a job of the upmost importance. One with grave consequences if not handled professionally.’

Nathan nodded once more. He knew that showing initiative was the key to gaining Connors trust. He also knew that the way Connor knew whether to trust him or not was to test him. Nathan was worried for the first time in a long time.

‘What is it you want me to do exactly sir?’

Connor walks around his desk, standing in front of Nathan and looking him square in the eyes, close enough to smell Chase’s cologne. Close enough to smell Nathan’s fear.

‘That’s not what’s important here son, you see it’s not what you can do for me, it’s how you do it. I’m not in the business of revolution to have an army of prima donnas nor am I in it to house a bunch of pussies. ‘

By now Nathans training was kicking in, he knew what this was. He knew this was an emotional shakedown. Gangs did this all the time, but luckily for him, Nathan’s drill instructor was a ball buster so getting past Chases amateur corporal like persona was easy, hopefully.

‘Yes sir!’ Nathan bellowed in his best soldier like mannerism.

Connor smiled at the sight of Nathan acting like a soldier. He saluted Nathan and mumbled something into his two way radio that was strapped to his bullet proof vest under his white tux. The middle aged man had quite some style for a revolution Marta. Mob like swagger Nathan thought. He never paid attention to the close details that surrounded Chase, just for the simple fact that looking at anything besides Connor’s eyes was dangerous. Nathan did have a chance to take a look at the way chase was presented. His hair was wet and sleek, combed back just like an NYC Mobster would have, but Chase’s eyes were more wide than usual. That worried him even more, and then the big penny dropped as the guard who had escorted him into the room walked in once again, and escorted Nathan out. Just before Nathan left, he caught a fraction of a glimpse at the table that Connor was occupying. On it had a pile of cocaine that would make Scarface proud.