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“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Alex.”
He thinks about that photo he saw, of a young Mrs Jones with the two kids. Were they hers? Or a niece and nephew? Siblings? No… too big an age difference. What had happened to them? He’d never thought of Mrs Jones as having a life outside that dark, secretive warehouse before. For him she’s always been her job incarnate – all secrets and lies and calculated decisions that impact people’s lives. Never a real person with a life and a family.
He thinks about the little glimpses of her life that her apartment has given him. The empty fridge and sterile kitchen, as if no one is ever home long enough to cook. The modern, designer furniture with no personality, taken straight out of a catalogue, as if the house had been put together as a show home and never changed. The Marcus Aurelius book by her bed, as if she needs a little wisdom and guidance after days spent sending people to their deaths.
He thinks about the quiver in her voice – he’s never heard her sound scared before. He never imagined she could sound scared, robot that she is. Good. She deserves to be scared.
But, in the end, it’s not the photo that makes the difference. It’s not the fridge or the furniture or the book. It’s not the slight quiver in her voice. It’s not even her apology – he doesn’t care about her apologies, nothing she says will ever, ever make up for her killing his father.
It’s her saying his name that stops him.
“I’m so sorry, Alex.”
Because, in that moment, he remembers who he is.
Scorpia have tried so, so hard to strip him of his identity – he can see that now. They have tried to turn him into a faceless, nameless, emotionless agent of murder. But in that moment he knows that, no matter what happened to his father, he isn’t, at the end of the day, a murderer.
He doesn’t want to be.
He will not be Scorpia’s weapon.
“It’s not a question of what you want, it’s a question of who you are.” Yassen’s words come back to him in that moment.
Well, who is he then?
He’s Alex, son of John and Helen Rider. A much loved, much wanted baby who brought them happiness and hope for the time they had him.
He’s Al, nephew of Ian Rider. Loud and goofy, always happy to learn from and explore with his Uncle, an occasionally reckless, often grumpy teenager.
He’s Alex, friend and ward of Jack Starbright. The little brother she never had but had always wanted.
He’s Rider, sixth form student at Brooklyn Comprehensive. Terrible at maths, passable actor, good footballer, bit of a rebel.
He’s Alex, best friend of Tom Harris. Cycling buddy, film companion, secret keeper. Friends forever. They’ve been through enough for that to be a certainty.
And… he’s spyboy. Friend and confidant of Kyra Vashenko-Chao. And, he promises himself, if he gets out of this alive maybe, hopefully… something more?
“I’m so sorry, Alex.”
Memories of those he has both loved and lost flood over him, grounding him. His hands twitch slightly. He trains his line of sight on the fridge, and fires.