Author's Note: Okay. This story started off what I considered beautifully, and then just got drawn out to a point of no end. This is the end, but not of my writing career. I will be back eventually. I just need to finish this and move on.
"The worst is over now and we can breathe again.
I wanna hold you high and steal your pain away.
There's so much life to learn and no one left to fight.
I wanna hold you high and steal your pain…"
Seether feat. Amy Lee, Broken from Disclaimer
Chapter 24: There is an Ending
There is an ending. It's out there somewhere. I can feel it whenever I look back at my life and when I look at my son. I can feel it when war is declared somewhere else in the world, when my husband gets sick with the flu, when I find a gray hair, and when I find the photos of my son's birth.
There is an ending. It's out there somewhere. I can see it when I watch the stars in the heavens, finding that the sky is not the same as when I was child. I find it when I look at my god daughter on stage, her body growing and changing. I look at it when day becomes night and when night becomes morning, and the glorious sun and moon change places for the day.
There is an ending. It's out there somewhere. I hear it coming faster than ever before with new shapes and sounds that astound and change the face of the world forever. I could hear it when I heard your voice for the first time, and I still hear it when my son laughs and cries and speaks, whether he talks or the past, present or future or a time and a place where neither time nor places exist.
I thought you ended. I thought you were gone completely. It turns out I was wrong about that ending. It was too soon for you to die, much too soon. You were too young and I was too old to care about such things as the ending.
But I can feel the ending. And it spares no one, not even you.
Do you remember when I said goodbye to you for the last time? You looked at me as if you were ready to cry, but I knew you weren't. You were too far gone for me to hold anymore and for me to heal anymore. You were too broken and too twisted for me to heal as good as new. I wish that everyday you were beaten down I could have saved you from such an end. But that end was not meant to be. And our end together was never meant to be.
You were meant for other things. Maybe not better things. But you were meant for other things.
In my quest to discover what my life has meant to me I drew several conclusions about my past and those few days I spent fretting over you as a mother should. I found that in my life there were too many questions left to be answered to settle down. There were too many ends left to be met for me to have yielded for the men in black who try and cover up those ends so that none may rise up to meet them. There were so many other roads and paths to be discovered in the process of my life to have spent there, staring into your coffin of sand, wishing that we had so many more days before your end. There were so many other feelings and wishes and dreams and choices to be made to have been left standing there, watching the remains of my daughter, the product of a barren womb, the property of a government who would neither love her nor care for her, and in the end would leave her to rot before they would sacrifice anything to gain her happiness.
I curse everyday that I accepted that end. I hope you understand this, even though you understand so little of the beauties of the world. You still looked like a stone when we dragged you from that lab, still that iron clad composure that I remembered in myself when I was younger than you, but nowhere near the levels of desensitization that you have reached.
If you were here to see the end with us what would you say as you witnessed our cities falling and our lives being destroyed? How would you exist knowing that our lives have been played as pieces on a chess board working forward to this moment where the last of our race is being occupied and used by an alien entity that is eating out our insides and feasting on our bodies? You'd smile sardonically and pick up a gun again, fighting to the last, wouldn't you? You'd run in without thinking of the risks and destroy everything with a pulse.
I wanted to hold you a lot longer than I did before you had to leave. I knew it better than you did (or so I like to think) that you had to go. You weren't meant to stay around and wait for such an end. I imagine you now in Morocco or Spain or Hungary in a small café drinking coffee or perched high with a rifle in your hands using this letter for target practice. Either way, I have written this as a sign that I do miss you and that as short as our time was together, I loved you as much as a mother could love any one of her children (even though you had and still have a few edges to smooth out).
I know you won't write back. Even though it's been over a year I know you won't risk your cover that easily. So I'll leave you on this note: I will miss you Emily.
John Doggett looked at his watch and raced up the steps to the Washington theatre. He was five minutes early to pick Meredith up for her audition, but he found that when he walked in the door it gave him a perfect advantage to sneak back and see his daughter performing while she was unaware of his presence.
The theatre was one of the older auditoriums in the district and was scheduled to be replaced by a newer model in the following year. He walked down the creaking wooden hallway, sliding past the stage mothers who were putting fake eyelashes on their daughters in preparation to face the director and the casting director of the new play: Elemental. There were infants crying who were waiting what seemed like miles away from the door which housed the auditions, unguarded by the stage director who was helping a mother get her daughter in costume. He found his way to the door but was blocked off by a strange woman peeking in at his daughter.
He was about to push her out of the way (GENTLY) but found that it was Monica. He crossed his arms.
"I thought you were going out to get more coffee?" He said in a whisper. She turned around quickly and laughed a little. Monica leaned forward and kissed him, her arms wrapped around his head, pulling her deeper into the kiss. There was silence for a time, the sound of children drowned out under Monica's touch before she leaned back and laughed again.
"John. You should have told me what you gave her for a monologue." He looked confused. Monica eyed him carefully.
"I thought you were going to find her one." He said. They stood silent for a moment before he pushed past her and peeked inside at his daughter.
Meredith (he thought so. He wasn't quite sure) was dressed in a black coat that was much too big for her. It was stolen from her mother's closet and would normally come to Monica's knees. On her daughter, however it came down to her ankles and trailed along on the floor. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and streaked with red food colouring, and she was speaking so quickly he couldn't understand a word she was saying. The directors were in awe, however, at her energy. She pulled up a chair from the back and got down on her back, talking about hot wiring a car (all by herself).
"And then came the best part." She announced, getting up to her feet. "We broke back into the division building and found the evil assassin in her home. But she wasn't ready to kill us anymore. Oh no. She was about to let her FOUR HEADED HOUND OF HELL ATTACK AND EATS US UNTIL WE WERE NOTHING BUT PILES OF DISGUSTING…"
The long list of disgusting organs from the human body made the directors cock a brow. They looked strangely at her as she pulled forth another tool for her monologue from the coat. It turned out to be a toy chain saw from William's old toolbox, one that made soft noises when one pulled the rip cord and caused it to hum and shake lightly. Meredith grabbed it and swung it down on the chair as she made sounds of screaming and gurgling noises. She jumped up on the chair and performed what John could only describe as the weirdest dance he had ever seen.
When he final stood up, Monica didn't look too impressed.
"I swear she gets that from Mulder not me."
Monica laughed again as Meredith continued jumping up and down on the chair.
The sunlight streamed through the windows of the apartment in Italy, the beautiful scents and sounds of the markets beneath them rising up to meet her with the afternoon wind. She looked over at Jason on the bed, his laptop open as he spoke to someone in Italian quickly over the cellular device. She glanced back outside at the small two year old running around with his nanny and his twin brother. She held herself slowly, tightening her grip on the letter she had just received.
Jason hung up the cell phone. He looked over at her and smiled as she walked back over to the bed, wrapped in nothing but a bed sheet.
"Are you going to write back?" He asked. She looked at the letter and shook her head.
"Not yet." She said. "Not until he's dead."
Jason was hurt by that statement and she knew it. He didn't like the idea of her killing again, but she couldn't get out of a habit that was bred into her.
"Don't do it." He said. "For them." He gestured towards the window, speaking of their twin sons. She shook her head again.
"I have to do it." She said. "For them."
There was silence again.
"So what should we do?" He asked her. She shrugged. "We have the whole day."
"Let's just sit here." She told him. "Let's just sit here and do nothing."
Jason lay back with his wife. It wasn't until he wasn't looking that Emily actually smiled.
It's short, but I'll be back! I promise I will be! And the story will be shorter! I already have an idea in the making!