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Why the need to be sad, and cry?
Your world slows down and gets heavier
He lost her on a rainy day, too.
Exactly three months after Tall Oaks, after Ivy University, after working in parallel with him and saving all those who could be saved when all hell broke loose and sustaining injuries. Injuries which never really left her and decayed her body from the inside, slowly but surely until it claimed her completely for its own.
It’s drizzling today. As though the sky knows and is commemorating, also mourning and shedding tears for what the rest of the world doesn’t know, the secret that only Leon knows: that the world is spinning on its axis so much slower because it’s keeling with the weight of her absence.
If this thing wins, she told him, a few days before she left. Promise me you won’t be sad for too long. I did what I love, what I needed to do. The world will keep on without me. Promise me you will, too, Leon.
Everything is easier in theory than in practice.
He lays the sunflower down, the only bright thing against the bare trees, the dying grass on the ground, the dark gray stone. A sensation of desperation—of indignation—wraps around his chest when he sees the smallest cracks on the stone and the tiniest clumps of earth in the serifs of her name. Keep this place clean, for the love of God, something yells inside him. Do you know the person buried here?
Averting his gaze away from the letters, he looks up, stares at the endless, vast expanse of gray, trying to will the clouds into fully shedding rain so he doesn’t have to ask himself where exactly the wet spot on his cheek is coming from.
He can still recall Hunnigan’s phone call. Can still remember it as though she’s speaking right into his ear right now. He was on radio silence the entire day—up in the air for nearly thirteen hours on a flight from Tel Aviv to D.C., coming home to gray skies and the pitter-pattering of even grayer raindrops on concrete, the biting cold of fall almost permeating through the leather of his jacket. As soon as he stepped on home soil his phone was bombarded with notifications, ranging from text messages that went Leon, where are you? to Call me back ASAP.
As it often did, it was Hunnigan’s call that connected first.
Hey, Hunnigan.
Leon. Good, you’ve arrived safe.
Disembarking right now. What’s up?
It’s Ashley.
He’d been planning on visiting his former boss’s daughter that day, even bought her a souvenir from Tel Aviv, an Eilat stone necklace the color of her eyes. It was laughably pathetic: how damned oblivious he was, that he even asked with an almost excited smile on his face, What about her? I’m visiting the hospital right after this.
And his world ground to a halt at the next two words, making him stop in his tracks, the drizzle gathering on his hair, raindrops sliding down the leather of his jacket, plicking tiny spots on the black cloth of his traveling bag.
She’s gone.
You’re staring at nothing
Yet your gaze is faraway
Your tears have dried
In the cold air
Stillness.
He didn’t expect such a thing to come from the person who was at the crux of one of the most harrowing missions he has ever been through.
At first he stayed because she needed him: because she needed his protection, because he was the only one she could count on in that accursed place. Because he was the only one that fully understood how to navigate the aftermath of such a thing.
“I can’t sleep,” was always her preamble during those seemingly interminable weeks after they came home to the States. He didn’t need to be seeing her in person to see that her eyes were bloodshot, her cheeks dry from all the wiped tears. He couldn’t help but note the slightly vacant look in her eyes, like she wasn’t fully present. “I keep seeing them.”
“Me, too.” He confessed. He nestled the bulky laptop closer to him, adjusted the webcam, as though he could physically hold her from just the act. “But I’m here, Ashley. We’re here. We made it out.”
“Even my personal space feels violated because it’s full of these…things,” through the faint white lines of the video call he could feel the density of her forlornness, it could have been his own. Looking ghostly with her computer laptop only illuminating her face, Ashley made a vague gesture at the medical equipment that surrounded her: her own room in the White House had been converted into a medical suite room where she had to be surveilled daily, to be observed every morning by the Presidential Physician per the neurotic orders of the Commander-in-Chief who actually sobbed in relief over Agent Kennedy’s shoulder when he brought his daughter home. “It feels…endless.”
“That’s only temporary. They’re just making sure the thing’s fully out of your system, okay? Your dad’s worried about you.”
She nodded, though she didn’t look fully convinced. “And you? How are you…how are you doing? Are you eating well?”
He smiled. Only the quietude of his own quarantine room at the D.C. General Hospital was his company, yet the quietude felt somewhat amplified right now, with the static coating Ashley’s voice.
“I am,” he answered. “No raw eggs or snakes that I’ll have to consume ‘cause I’ve got no other choice.”
She chuckled. “Good to know.”
Silence hung in the line for a while, both of them just enjoying the fact that they were alive, breathing, celebrating it without words.
And then, not knowing he wanted nothing more than the very thing until he’d said it, wound from him: “Hey, can I see you? After—after this. When we’re done with quarantine.”
She went so still for a moment, he thought they got disconnected. But then, to his immense relief: “I was going to say.”
“I’ll see you soon.” His cheeks slightly hurt, like they were protesting at how wide he smiled, “Go to sleep now, Ashley. I’ll be here.”
“You need to rest, too,” she replied, getting up from her chair as she lifted her computer, looking a tad hesitant. She always did hesitate, but it always ended the same way: both of them sleeping with the computer on, a sort of keeping each other company even in their sleep, and greeting each other a good morning through the same video call.
“I’ll catch up with you,” as he grabbed some stapled pieces of paper and perused through them, removing the cap off his ballpen with his teeth.
He heard shuffling through his laptop speakers. Soon enough, his monitor showed Ashley pulling her white blanket all the way up to her chin, sighing, relaxed. “You too, Leon. Please go to sleep.”
“I will. Just proofreading what I’ve written in this report so far.” He smiled at her one last time. On the last night they had to do this, he absentmindedly caressed his screen that displayed the full of her face. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“See you in the morning.”
Can I go there and sit beside you?
No need to talk, we’ll just be quiet
But he couldn’t really wait.
“Soon” was taking too long.
Leon’s quarantine ended so much earlier than Ashley’s: his was two weeks shorter. And, feeling that any day longer was a day wasted, he went on what seemed to himself a silly outburst of excitement by playing his cards right and jumping on the first chance to serve as security detail for his Commander-in-Chief.
Good thing the White House Correspondents’ Dinner was just around the corner.
The presidential car was one of the quietest spaces in the world, Leon suspected.
The ride from the Washington Hilton was quiet—white city lights passing by, swiftly caressing the black leather seats and cold, dark interior, the quiet punctured only by the President trying to make small talk with Leon and asking how “his best agent” had been since Spain, telling him about how Ashley’s lab tests had been and how she had been a little moody since getting home. Like the good employee he was, Leon nodded along, asked tactful questions and laughed at the President’s jokes, pretending all the while that he didn’t know the full depth of what this man’s daughter was going through.
Hard to not know everything when said daughter called him every night.
“She’ll be glad you’re here,” said the old man when they walked in through the great front doors. Looking at this watch, Graham added with a hint of satisfaction, “Hmm. 10:37. By this time…you’ll find her in the library.”
When Leon saw the golden bob leaning on the armrest of the great wingback chair facing the fireplace, he concluded that Ashley was probably a person of routines.
He didn’t even say her name. Like how he had become attuned to her, she just heard, and the sound of his footfall bouncing off the spines of the books was all she needed to know that it was him.
Her grin was a flint that ignited him: at her mere sigh of “ It’s so good to see you!” when she ran to him, he felt himself go weightless, and utterly convinced that her smile could have lit up a small city.
“So good to see you, too, Ashley,” he mumbled against her golden strands; indulged himself a little by clutching her closer as though he had been tossed and turned by the ocean waves and now had found his buoy.
There was that feeling.
Wholeness.
As if he had nowhere else to be.
They pushed the long chair closer to the fireplace, the portrait of old George Washington being the only witness to their friendly chat that eventually wound down to a peaceful quiet: finding that there wasn’t much to talk about since they talked practically everyday, they settled for silence, with Leon leaning back on the chair, pretending to read Eisenhower’s biography that she surmised he’d like. And he did —only that glancing at her as she read Kafka’s letters was infinitely more interesting.
The White House was always such an intimidating place.
But any space inside it that was beside her wasn’t, it turned out.
“Can you come visit again next time?” she asked before he left, some time after midnight.
“Can’t make promises, but I’ll try.” He had to admit: he felt a little flattered at her asking. “Why?”
“I like this.”
“Like what?”
“Not talking. Just…quiet.” Her smile was humble. “I like being quiet with you.”
They shared another hug before he departed. That was also when he said it for the first time: “I like being quiet with you, too.”
Even for just a moment, just want to be with you
Even if I’ll have to leave later
Even if there’s no end, I won’t leave you
Because as long as we’re together, I’m already home
Already home
Words not being his strongest suit and initiating physical contact making him feel all too conscious to even think about, Leon found a middle ground: buying or picking up small trinkets of his travels which he gave to her every time he arrived home: something mundane to somehow counter-balance the insanity of what he had to go through, the facsimile of a notion that his job was just like “any” other job that required a lot of traveling and a reminder to himself that it wasn’t just his Commander-in-Chief that waited for him and his report but a real person who cared about how he was and not what he did.
At first it was a friendly gesture. Then the gesture became a habit. Soon it translated to Here’s proof that I thought of you while I was away.
Some unspoken, mutual understanding passing between them, they both knew that while it was delicate, it had to be cultivated to be sustained. Leon not being the master of his own time, Ashley met him halfway and established a habit of going home every two weeks from university so they could see each other, going on late-night drives and visiting spots that overlooked the vast city, letting the wind whip at their faces as they looked at the twinkling lights before them and relishing what felt like the world being abandoned and leaving just the two of them.
“You seem happy, Leon,” remarked Ashley one time as she sat on the railing, one Friday night during one of the busiest months of her senior year. “What are you thinking about?”
He noted a particularly bright lavender light at the farthest northeast. “This.”
“What about this?”
“We’ve been doing this for years. It never gets boring,” he looked at the sprawling sight of bright spots below, so opposed to the pretty dark hill they were now standing on. “Each time I look down there I see a light that wasn’t there before.”
“I could do this for always,” she agreed, smiling. “Never gets old. Never gets boring. Sucks that I have to go home each time; I could count them forever.”
Good to know that he wasn't just imagining the tranquility. Good to know that he wasn't just the only one who felt this. Hands in his pockets, he posited: “So let’s.”
“Let’s what? Go home?” she laughed.
“Let’s do this always. Count the lights.”
Let’s do this endless task.
A look of understanding passed between them, just as a gust of wind did, rustling the leaves of the trees nearby.
“Endless” will never get boring if I get to do “endless” with you.
“Okay,” she agreed simply, the something warm and golden she carried for him blooming in her chest. “Let’s count the lights.”
“And don’t worry about getting home. We don’t have to hurry. I’m driving you home anyway,” he mounted the railing, balancing his behind and legs, at which she laughed at his bulky form trying to perch.
“Dad might look for me. I still live under his roof whenever I’m back here.”
“Does he know you’re hanging out with me?”
“Actually? He does.”
He scooted closer to her. “So no need to hurry.”
Curiosity painted her face, the faint glow of city lights dancing on her pale cheek. “Alright,” she leaned her head on his shoulder. “No need to hurry.”
They counted the lights, murmuring numbers under their breaths, pointing with their fingers, carrying out the endless task without order or method and checking in every minute with one another on how many they’ve already tallied, then laughing when either of them shrugged with I’ll just restart.
“Sorry; I’m being selfish,” said Leon when midnight came, making her look up.
“Why?”
“I said we don’t need to hurry about getting home.”
“No biggie. But why?”
“Just that…” he sighed as he pulled her closer by her arm, his expression shy but hiding nothing nonetheless. That was how he said it without saying it: “Kinda feels like I’m already home.”
I'm looking at you
(This is not) a dream
I watch you as you sleep
One in the damn morning and someone was ringing his doorbell.
Fighter’s instincts always being the first to kick in, he reached into his drawer and grabbed a gun before squinting into the peephole, only to exhale an enormous breath when he found who was on the other side.
She was carrying a big box.
“ Jesus, Ashley!” he sounded almost exasperated, clutching his chest. “You just came back from a ten-hour flight! We agreed I was gonna see you tomorrow!”
“I wanted to be the first one to greet you!” she piped, bouncing once on the heels of her boots and practically shoving the box to his chest. “Happy birthday!”
Even when it felt like the sun prematurely rose on his day and burned away any remainder of sleep that hung behind his eyelids, he didn’t feel unceremoniously roused, didn’t find himself frantic nor rattled: there was that peace, that quietude, that stillness .
“Alright, calm down, feisty,” he placated her incessant Open it-open it-open it as he pulled at the gauzy white paper, and his heart dropped all the way to his stomach.
Dropping the box and the torn papers, he held the sheepskin leather jacket aloft in utter disbelief: it was this. Exactly this.
The fluffy shearling collar and insides, the buckles, the very same size.
He told her about this before. Loved that jacket. Bought it with my first paycheck so it had sentimental value. Never saw it again, though.
“You like it?”
“Like it?” He pulled her from the hallway, into his apartment, into his arms. “I love it! Ashley, where’d you get this?”
“Pulled some strings. I happen to be familiar with that boutique in NYC. Since it’s long since phased out, I got in touch with the designer and had it made again,” he felt her shrug against his chest. “No big deal.”
“Uh, no. Yes big deal,” he pulled away and gave her a prolonged kiss on her forehead. Holding her face in his hands, though, he added with a little frown, “This costs fifteen hundred. How can I repay you?” And, to somehow alleviate the growing awkwardness at the talk of money, “Especially that you’re a recent college graduate who’s still looking for a job.”
She laughed. “Don’t be silly; it’s a gift. You don’t have to pay me.”
“I want to.”
“So insistent, ” she huffed as she pinched his nose and shook his head lightly with it. “Fine. You can repay me by letting me crash here tonight. I think I’m gonna collapse if I have to get inside a vehicle again. I’m so t—”
“Okay,” he hugged her again, tight. “Crash here tonight.”
Rescuing Ashley was one of the hardest things he ever had to go through, but each time he looked at her back in that godforsaken place, he knew making the decision to keep fighting for her was easy.
His friendship with her was even easier.
And loving her? The easiest.
As he tucked them in, she in one of his white shirts, her head nestled on his pillow, he kissed her on the forehead again and mumbled, “Best present. Ever.”
“I’m gonna have a hard time topping that jacket next year, then,” she chuckled, eyes closed, face all content and merry.
“Not the jacket. The giver.” That was the first time he kissed her on the mouth. “You didn’t even have to go through the trouble, Ash.”
“Nope.” She peeped at him through half-lidded eyes, smiling drowsily as she placed a hand on his stubbled jaw, convincing him that any place where she was was the only place he needed to be. “Doing things for you is easy, Leon.”
What was life before her? “Go to sleep. I’m gonna need you all rested up. I’ll need you for a few hours tomorrow.”
“Oh,” her face in a deep blush, she buried her nose deeper into the pillow, giggling, “Finally?”
“Finally,” he laughed. Going through the motions of this had been deliberately slow but all so worth it. All so worth it because it was her.
“One condition.”
“My birthday but your condition?”
“You’ll like it,” Ashley scooched closer just as he readily gathered her to his chest. “Wear nothing but that jacket.”
“You bought that because of a kink?"
“Maybe. We’ll see,” humming contentedly, she buried her nose into his chest; he could still hear the mischief in her voice. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“See you in the morning.”
He didn’t go back to sleep that night.
Hard to go back to sleep when staying awake and looking at the person peacefully snoozing next to him was much more interesting than dreaming.
Can I live in your kingdom?
I’ll serve you, take care of you
At first, he stayed because she needed him: she needed his protection, because he was the only one she could count on in that accursed place. Because he was the only one that ever fully understood how to navigate the aftermath of such a thing.
Eventually, he stayed because he wanted to be with her.
And, even much later, he stayed because he wanted to be nowhere else.
“So how do we make this work?” he asked, the question slipping from him before the thought had fully formed. Sounding needy was the least of his concerns when he knew how much they had come to rely on each other for rest. Excited though the both of them were at her getting accepted for the job and the prospect that awaited her there, there loomed the fact that they were going to have to be away from each other much farther and much more frequently than before.
“Just think of me being in college again,” she patted the space on the railing beside her. “I’ll travel here every week. It’s just an hour or so via plane.”
He took a moment to drink in the sight of the wind taking liberties with her hair. She looked just as she did so long ago, but the years touching her face as shown in the extra crinkles by her eyes when she smiled and laughed made him even warmer than he always was.
He couldn’t wait to see more of those crinkles.
The decision was all too easy.
“You won’t have to. I’ll request for reassignment,” he declared. “Especially with that plan of yours—your plan to propose something for their curriculum? We don't know who you’re gonna be working with, Ash; some of them might be on the other side. Just proposing that could put you in danger.”
“But they need you here in D.C. I don’t think Adam’s gonna like that.” Much as she was moved by his declaration, she never competed with what she thought were the bigger things in his life, little dreaming that she outweighed and outmatched all of them.
“If Adam’s really my friend that he claims he is, he’ll understand. Besides, he knows about you and me. About Spain, how we met. He was also your dad’s VP,” He tried for a smirk. “There’s a world of reasons here, Ash. But all that aside, it’s time I stay where you are.”
She turned his words over for a long second, and, with the city lights shining even brighter in the tears that pooled in her eyes, said she, “Is that…you saying…we move in together?”
“Yeah.” He felt his own eyes cloud, too. “It is.”
Her lower lip trembled, her eyes shining brighter. “But, Leon…I don’t want you feeling like this is something you have to do. Like I’m making you have to take care of me.”
“Not the case at all.” He pulled her with one hand, perched his chin on the crown of her head. “There’s no contest here. I like taking care of you, anyway.”
“By making me go through knife lessons, gun training, and signing me up for krav maga,” she snickered.
“It’s called tough love.”
“Literally.” She smiled against his chest, her lips right by the scar they both had. He smelled of a long day, the faint scent of fabric softener, the soap they lathered on each other’s bodies this morning. “I…I want to keep you.”
“You can,” he kissed her. “You will.”
He whispered into her ear the words that were as good as pointing out the obvious.
She whispered them back.
Love is easy.
Finding a home—a place to rest, a stillness—not as much.
And yet the universe had somehow conspired in his favor to hand him both things at the same time.
“Hey, don’t hurry with the reassignment,” she said. “Take your time settling your affairs here in D.C.”
He smiled once more; couldn’t stop the warmth spreading in his chest anyway even if he tried. All the loneliness before she came into his life now seemed worth it, if life was now apologizing and making amends by giving him such a gift for a person—as though he had been an empty house this entire time, waiting for the person to live in him for the rest of his days. “Alright. I’ll help you look for a place. The HQ there isn’t that far from the university, so don’t think about distance. We can go down there so we can visit in person some prospects, if you like.”
“I already have some prospects,” she replied, and excitedly, added: “This weekend? Road trip?”
“This weekend it is,” he grinned. “Ten-hour-long road trip; we take shifts at the wheel.”
“I’ll really like that.” Just from her smile, he knew they didn’t have to hurry with the task. Hurrying seemed pointless when all they needed for a home was the other’s side. “Valdelobos’ most troublesome duo is now moving to Tall Oaks.”
Her students mourned her. Her colleagues shed tears for her. Professor Graham, one of Ivy University’s faculty, the former President’s daughter who took on such a mundane job that was so humanizing, freshmen and new faculty tended to stare at her whenever she passed by. One would have expected her to breeze through life as a socialite, starting a charity, becoming a figurehead of helping the less fortunate, a light-footed angel shedding her light and patting the heads of children and the old. But no—she got her hands dirty; proposed additions to the curriculum and presented to the university’s Board of Regents an Anti-Bioterrorism Course that students of all fields could take.
All so the world would be made aware of what lurked in the shadows, so they would be made aware of what preyed on the defenseless, the awareness she would raise from her corner of the world.
It was almost hilarious—that the endorsement letter addressed to the Board of Regents emanated from the United States’ very Commander-in-Chief, the former Vice President of the proponent’s father.
The course was approved in no time.
If this isn’t the most elegant string-pulling I’ve ever seen, remarked the Head of the Board when the Regents and the proponent posed for photos. Great work, Professor Graham. Sometimes it escapes me that you’re the former President’s daughter because of how down-to-earth you are.
So down-to-earth, so human.
So down-to-earth that she rang the bell at the courtyard of the campus and raised the alarm for evacuation when all hell broke loose.
So human that she forwent her own personal safety and accompanied the campus security in searching the buildings for any remaining students who weren’t yet infected, wielding the gun that Leon gifted her when she completed her firearm training he personally oversaw.
Leon knew. He was the only one who fully knew why she did what she did .
I was their age when Spain happened, remember? she said to him on her fourth week at the hospital, smiling serenely despite the grayness of the tissues of her arm and her wincing in pain every now and then. I couldn’t let what happened to me happen to them.
I’m sorry I wasn’t there, Leon held her hand, kissed the back of it. You must’ve been scared.
I was, she confessed. I wanted to call for you. But I knew you were also doing your thing, and somewhere on campus grounds I knew you were protecting others, too. I couldn’t let you down.
Love is easy.
Loss isn’t.
Rest. I’ll be here. He kissed her graying hand and the necrosis that had spread from the side of her neck to her cheek. I’ll see you in the morning.
See you in the morning.
No need to be sad, no need to cry
Your world’s moving fast, getting lighter again
“Don’t fucking do this to me, Leon! Cut this shit immediately!” roars Chris Redfield above him, in the midst of the explosions and rumble of the earth, concrete and iron creaking and thundering onto the floor as the island begins to shake with its very own weight. Louder, the man yells into the jagged edges of the chasm Leon has fallen into: “I’m not gonna lose another guy! Not you!”
In the midst of the pandemonium, something gnaws at the back of Leon’s mind, something he hasn’t felt in two years. Then he realizes that it’s not gnawing, no, not exactly: it’s a humming.
A slowed-down anthology of memories flash in his mind in succession: brown boots in the mud and rain as they ran for their lives, yet all the same, he knew that as long as she was safe, he was going to be, too. A red scarf around a delicate neck over a tangerine shirt, a white palm being proffered to him and a grin that said she was always going to save him just as he fought to save her. Static blue and white lines on a video that meant he wasn’t alone—not anymore . Silence disturbed only by the soft crackling heat of the fireplace in the library of an imperial place. Car doors rolled down, sunset gold catching in flaxen threads of hair whipping in the wind, the smile of peach-pink lips and green eyes twinkling that could put an empire to its knees. Softness of skin at the underside of the thighs as he mounted them over his arms, the fragrance at the side of an even smoother neck as he left a mark using his lips that said, This is where I belong.
Sunflowers he laid under the shadow of a soulless gray stone that signified Here lies the sum of my joys. Green grass that grew and withered under his feet, only now a space that told of a life that once was: a life he saved once, but a life who saved his everyday. His trembling hand as he held the piece of paper that contained a letter he could never send, because where was Heaven’s mailbox? Tears that trailed from his eye to the tip of his nose, blotting upon the page and smudging the ink as he read the letter aloud and alone, saying, The world is quieter without you, and closing his declarations with I will love you from here.
And the empty space in his bed each morning and night, occupied by nothing but a pillowcase he hadn’t washed in years because its fibers held the faintest scent of her hair. Traveling to the hills where they once stood, counting the city lights one by one, and letting the cold wind dry his tears when he completed the tally: there were nine hundred and fifty-seven of them. Rains in September reminding him not only of the innocence he lost in that ruined city but also the person he never knew his future wouldn’t contain. Him being an empty house again, with no one to cross his threshold, his windows aching.
All of that, and yet, the world that has slowed down ever since then is now once again spinning in its axis just as it should, recalibrates the gravity under his shoes, fills his lungs with air.
He hasn’t felt this glad in so long.
Rumbling replaces the humming in his ears at the realization. As if to point out the obvious of what he’s going to do, he raises the remote and flicks the cover switch to show the bright red button. Cupping one hand to the side of his mouth, he yells over, “Jill’s disarmed Dylan but he’s getting away. Get the fuck out of here, Redfield! Secure Rebecca!”
Behind her brother, Claire is covering her mouth, all the pain in the world on her face as she witnesses her friend about to sacrifice himself right before their eyes. Yet, braving through her tears, he sees her swallow her own anguished shout as she grabs her brother by the arm and pulls him, shaking her head, yelling something that Leon doesn’t catch, as the enormous stone wall to his right implodes and water rushes through.
“I’ll make sure to take down these drones with me!” is the last thing he says to them with an optimistic thumb-up and a grin. “Go!”
And barely a minute later, just as true as she’s always the first to call him, she’s also the last: “Leon,” whispers the plastic in his ear with an audible sniff. “Everyone’s out. You can detonate it now.”
“Thanks, Hunnigan.” He presses the earpiece. “I’m gonna miss you.”
“Shut up,” replies the voice somewhere between a gasp and a sob. “ You’re leaving me to write this report on my own. Damn you, Agent Kennedy!”
“Nah; you can handle it,” Leon laughs over the sound of another explosion, and he knows it’s time. Just before he taps the earpiece for the last time, he bids her: “Condor One out.”
He looks at the big red button under his thumb. Smiles.
He feels, oddly, at peace.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” he mumbles.
Then he becomes deaf as everything turns red, then orange, then yellow, then white-hot—and then that’s all there is for an infinity of moments.
Even if there’s no end, I won’t leave you
Because as long as we’re together, I’m already home
He doesn’t believe in the afterlife. It seems pointless when he’s encountered so much violation of what life and death respectively possessed, their individual sanctity ruined by maniacs trying to marry the two separate things when all they should always be is divorced.
Some say one has to do good deeds while still alive so they can get to Paradise. Some say one has to be good so they’re reborn into better circumstances. Some say all there is to do is to accept a Savior. Some say there’s nothing there at all.
Ugly, is his first impression right now, though. Ugh, not this place, please.
Harsh white lights right above his head assault the back of his eyes; he squints, feels metallic cold against his back. His muscles are sore—and his chest, as though someone just tore it open with a blade made of pure flame, hurts all the more. Wincing, he realizes he’s wearing his old gloves, his old leather holsters, his old mission gear.
Yet by instinct, he knows who to call for: “Ashley?”
“I’m right here,” answers a young woman with cherubic gold hair, helping him as he gets up. He knows that tangerine shirt, that green skort, those brown boots.
He knows this place, too, and for the briefest moment, he’s afraid, but the sight of this person makes him too relieved to feel anything else and has him scrambling from his half-laid position as he reaches for her with both arms. “You’re here! God, you’re here!”
“I am,” she laughs against the muck and brain matter clinging onto the fabric of his shirt. “We are.”
His old instincts he’s still carrying with him here, apparently, when he pushes her slightly and grasps her shoulders, asking, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“Never been better,” she answers, her green eyes as tranquil as ever, and it’s how he knows he has no reason to fear. “Now come on.”
“Where are we going?”
She pulls him to the door, her hold on his hand firm, and he notices that this old place isn’t as dark and dingy as it was: the place is well-lit, as though someone opened the windows and let the sunshine stream in. “Home.”
But he stops in his tracks, pulls at her at the slightest. “No need to hurry," he says.
There’s a long pause.
She gives him a mildly confused raise of the brows. He smiles, just before he leads the both of them himself—into the kind, endless morning beyond the door. “I already am.”