The Jigsaw

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White.

The world was white. And empty.

"The lamp, please..." he heard a distance voice in the milky void. "Electrodes... gel..."

Something cold touched his temples.

"Here we go. Keep him still."

Then everything exploded. His body tautened like given a paralyzing electric shock; every muscle was tensed beyond its capabilities, sinews, tightened like strings, almost braking. He felt the ultimate pressure blasting out his head, pushing the eyeballs out of orbits and causing a nosebleed.

It lasted forever until finally the pain lessened and became dull. The shocking impulse was gone, but body cells kept the memory of it.

Casey wanted to moan but his voice got stuck in a tangle of tubes jammed into his throat.

Slowly from the milky fog shapes emerged. Blurred and waving, faces were floating above him, wincing and moving their lips.

"That's right, boy... come back," words, said like in a slow motion, made it to his mind with a highest effort. He blinked his eyes trying to clear his vision. Faces became a little more steady and substantial. Serious, concentrated eyes were observing him from under white cauls.

"Okay now... get some sleep," he felt a slight prick in his neck and faces dispersed in emptiness again. He was immersed in black this time, thick cotton wool of nothingness.

***

An overpowering, inexplicable dread was the first emotion accompanying the painful smashing against the ragged reef of consciousness coming back. Casey's eyes snapped widely open, his heart went crazy. He feverishly looked around, just to see the white, immaculately clean room, some medical equipment and his body covered with a tangle of wires, and sensors, lying on a huge, automated bed.

What the hell?! He didn't remember any of this, his memory was completely blank. How had he found himself there? What had happened? What about this strange system ...? Dozens of questions and no one around to answer them.

Fear left him slowly for there was nothing terrifying around. He closed his eyes again for a minute to calm down and drew a deep breath. His hand, when he reached to his forehead to wipe the sweat, was trembling slightly. Two round, flat sensors were stuck to his forearm and connected to the complicated machine, beeping quietly, via thin cables.

Casey took a look at his body. Everything seemed all right. No visible injuries. He tried to move his legs under the thin sheet, expecting pain or other dramatic effects, but he felt nothing unusual. Both legs were under his control. He peeked under the cover. He was naked, but in one healthy piece.

What the hell are those? He made a disgusted face as he started to analyze the medical equipment and all the wiring. Not wanting to disconnect whatever he was attached to, he couldn't get up, but just lying there and going out of his mind trying to figure out what had happened was an unbearable prospect. Placed near his right hand he noticed a small box with a button, almost asking to be pushed. Without thinking he pushed it but nothing happened. Suddenly irritated, he swung at the device, accidentally throwing it off the bed.

"Shit!" the sound of plastic shattering to pieces on the floor annoyed him even more.

"Well, well, Mister Hero... Barely awake and getting into mischief already!" the door clicked and the familiar, disturbing voice sounded. Casey faced where it was coming from and saw the handsome, tattooed face, half-smiling indulgently. He felt relieved, surprisingly for himself as Sam used to be the most frustrating company he could imagine. However, he was the first object he could remember since he had woken up and Casey felt the irresistible need to cling to this small patch of the known world.

"Shit... I'd never believe if someone told me I'd be happy to see you..." he sighed, smiling widely.

"They must have messed with your head really hard," Sam smirked, perching on the edge of the bed.

"With my head? What happened? What is all this...?" Casey gestured around.

"Uhm... neurological procedure?" the agent answered hesitantly.

"What?! Don't give me that bullshit... I don't remember anything. What happened to me? Tell me the truth. Please. I beg you!"

"I'm tellin' the truth. You had a small... psychological treatment."

"What does it mean?" Casey got scared. He understood nothing and his imagination was suggesting images of brainwash and other, equally unpleasant ideas.

"It means that scientists took care of your trauma."

"How?"

"They've erased the memory of it. You know that it did happen, but you can't remember it," Sam took his time to explain.

"How come? Of course I can!" Casey racked his brain trying to evoke the scene of Karnov's death and... he found the black hole; nothing to catch hold of. That gave him shivers and he started to show signs of panic. He choked on a muffled, broken sob and stared at Sam with terror in his eyes. "What... what the fuck?! I... have to remember! I know he died, I saw it!!!" he shouted in despair trying to convince himself that he did remember. His mind was working frantically on recalling the recent events.

No results. Emptiness.

"Shit... what... why? Why nobody asked me?!" he blurted out angrily. It was about his head; his memory; his past. They had no right to go in there and do what they liked!

"They never ask..." answered Sam bitterly. If Casey was a little less concentrated on his own situation, he might have caught barely audible regret and hatred in Sam's unpleasant voice.

But he hasn't.

"It's my fucking mind! How dare they?! How the fuck..." he stopped for a moment coming to a sudden conclusion that he didn't also remember anything from before the medical interference in his mind. "How did I find myself here?"

"We brought you here."

"When?"

"Yesterday."

"What time is it now?"

"Afternoon. Half past two."

"So I’ve been here since yesterday... And when... all that happened?" he still had some difficulties when talking about killing and dying.

"Two days ago."

"Then I lost two days of my life," Casey made a wry face and gave Sam a mistrustful look. "Why? Why did you do that? You put me to sleep?"

"Yeah. It's necessary that the body and mind are down for 24 hours before this procedure."

"Why?"

"How should I know?"

"Why didn't you tell me... why didn't you ask me, you mother fucker?!" Casey's frustration found an outlet in outburst of anger. He punched Sam in the arm, not powerfully, just furiously. Sam instinctively jumped away, his eyes gleamed dangerously.

"Who the fuck are you to put me down?! I'm not your fucking dog! This was MY problem! MY memory! You had no right to do that to me!!!" Casey was tearing sensors off his body, not caring any more if it was safe. His personal freedom and free will had been violated and it was something not to be forgiven.

"Calm down!" Sam caught the laying man's arms and pinned them down to the bed.

"Calm down?! You treated me as if I were an animal! You don't do that to people!"

Sam tensed up jaw's muscles and muttered through the clenched teeth: "People have far worse things done to them! You got your fucked mind put right, so why are you complaining?! No nightmares, no barfing, no insomnia from now on. What's wrong with you?!"

"What's wrong?!!" Casey yanked in the grip and when Sam didn't let go, he spit in the face leaning over him.

"You son of a bitch..." the black-haired man withdrew his hands and wiped his face.

Casey, naked, jumped out of the bed, having extricated himself from the net of wires. He was pushing at Sam aggressively, pointing his index finger towards the agent's chest.

"Nobody asked me! You've just messed up my head not only without my consent, but also without my knowledge! So what do you think is wrong with me?! It's MY FUCKING LIFE! And my choice! Even if I want to upchuck myself to death it's not your fucking business!!!"

"Oh, really?! Then do not ever come to me again to talk ‘cause you can't sleep! Don't vomit through MY window and don't smoke MY fuckin' ciggies!" this time Sam got carried away.

"I won't!" Casey started to the metal locker in the corner enraged like a bull in a cage. The door, forcefully pulled, struck the wall with a loud thud, chipping off the white emulsion paint. Inside the man found his underwear and clothes: the blue jeans, the black turtleneck sweater and suede brogues. He quickly put them on and shot through the door not looking back.

Sam let him go, furious and jittery. He couldn't tell what rattled him most: Casey, the subject, or he himself. He put all his rage into the lethal kick delivered to the broken device lying on the floor. Plastic parts flew across the room at light speed and slammed against the wall smashing to smithereens.

***

Casey was briskly pacing cold corridors of the Maoro medical center. His fury brought him to Ramson's office door. He stopped for a moment to calm down a little and knocked.

"Come in!" he heard and entered the cluttered room. The dense air of the cubby-hole, as they had called it, was still and kind of foggy from dust specks. Nobody could remember when that place had been ventilated.

"Casey," Ramson looked up from behind the papers. "What brings you here?"

"I want to resign," Casey announced.

"Resign from what?" the officer knitted his brows thoughtfully.

"From here. I don't want to work here."

"Why is that?"

"I don't feel my basic rights are respected. This is not what one could expect in a decent special unit."

"How exactly your rights are not respected?"

"You said I would be behind the front line and in the first action I almost got killed. Well, never mind that, things happen. I understand. But then someone decided, without my knowledge, to erase my memory! Is that how civilized people act?! I feel like an experimental guinea pig!"

Ramson was attentively observing the young man. Casey's cheeks were flushed with anger, his eyes flashing. Emotions boiling up in his chest accelerated the heartbeat and made him feel hot.

"Listen to me, son," the commander's voice sounded coldly. "You belong to us now and I don't think it's appropriate to complain."

"Wh... Excuse me?" Casey was put of his stroke. "Is this a prison?!"

"No, it's not. But it's not a place where you can decide on everything either. You were accepted here, you agreed to our conditions and these are the consequences."

"I haven't agreed to brainwashing!"

"It wasn't brainwashing. It was just a quick session instead of a long process of recovering under psychologist's care."

"It's not the same. I can't accept people rummaging in my head. I want my memory back!"

"It's impossible, I'm afraid. Besides, why do you want to remember horrible things?"

"Because they happened to me! Because they are the part of me and as well as other memories they constitute who I am!"

"Well, now you are exactly the same as the 'you' before that action."

"No. It happened. I was there, I saw it. When things happen you can't just pretend they don't. Removing consequences and avoiding responsibility is simply wrong!"

"So you prefer to go through the whole nightmare step by step, huh?"

"I didn't ask for it, but I'd rather let myself feel the burden of this experience. Otherwise you can create a monster; someone who doesn't feel the significance and weight of taking life..."

Ramson smirked vaguely, his eyes expression stayed inscrutable. "Oh, really?" he asked quietly, making Casey's blood run cold. The young man was dumbfounded with sudden enlightenment:

Holy shit! That’s what he wants!

"It's for your own good, Casey. I don't want you to get depressed or neurotic."

"Then don't make me go through things like that."

"That I cannot promise. But I'll do whatever is in my power to help you to go through this."

"I don't want it, sir," Casey had already made his decision. "I'm quitting."

"You're not."

"Yes, I am!" the man felt enraged. He was sweating and subconsciously clenching his fists.

"When I say you are not, believe me, young man."

"I can leave. What are you going to do? Imprison me? Doesn't make any sense..."

"Indeed. Remember our first talk?"

"I guess so..."

"Bribery or blackmail, huh?"

Casey kept silent. His heart froze, bad feelings launched an offensive. He eyed Ramson with mistrust, afraid of what he had coming and already furious about it.

"I can see you remember," Ramson chuckled shortly. "Then no need to talk anymore."

"I don't care about the job. If it's supposed to look like this I don't want it. You can kick me out, whatever..." Casey shrugged his shoulders. Those past days had changed his optic completely. His worries and dilemmas had been shifted onto higher level, where question of having or not having a job was a mere trifle. He believed that there were things in life that couldn't be traded for job, money or comfort. He had touched the border he didn't want to cross.

"It's not about your job, Casey," the officer put on a serious face but he didn't look like willing to reveal the ace up his sleeve. Casey was waiting, though, not asking. He just couldn't decide what could be more nerve wrecking - to know or not to know.

"Your choice: ask me, I'll give you a hint; don't ask, I'll keep it a secret. But you have my word - I'm not bluffing."

"Tell me," the blond man raised his chin defiantly. He came to the conclusion that it was better to know what he was going to face.

"Okay. Let's do it this way..." Ramson turned around on his swivel chair and opened a huge metal drawer. He browsed through its content and pulled out a grey folder. "Here is the information you might be interested in," the file landed on a desk in front of Casey. They had his name printed on the cover.


"One hour. After this time I want it back. I don't ask you for discretion cause, frankly, I don't need it. However, take my friendly advice not to share this with anyone before you read it. One hour," Ramson gave Casey a meaningful look. The young man hesitantly reached for a folder, touching it as if it might sting him. He swept it up with a trembling, sweaty hand and quickly retreated from the stuffy room.

***

The training room was almost empty. A few soldiers were practicing strikes and falls, glancing curiously at the young woman obsessively working out with dumb-bells in the corner. She was so absorbed in her exercises that she even didn't have to pretend she hadn't noticed their smiles nor hear their comments. Something was eating at her.

"Hey, Ramson wants to see you," Sarah felt a slight pat on her shoulder and put her hands down. She'd been awaiting this and the tension had become hard to bear.

"Will I get a push?" she asked almost woefully, running out of steam.

"I don't think so. You'll just take a beating," Simon had no intention of comforting her. When you screw up, you pay for it. Clean deal. "But we both know this is not about what Ramson will do, right?"

"Yeah..." it was obvious that who judged most ruthlessly were partners, not bosses. "What can I do?" she asked quietly, staring at her feet.

"Nothing. Take it like a man," Simon shrugged his shoulders and left her with her burden. Like in trance she put the dumb-bells back with too profound reverence. Slowly, as if trying to stretch time and delay the inevitable, she put on the light tracksuit top and moved towards the door. Plodding across corridors by heart, she wasn't thinking at all. It was better not to think as all possible thoughts were depressing. Regardless of how much she wished not to face Ramson, she finally reached his office. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

"Uhm, sir? You wanted to see me..."

"Yes. Sit down."

Sarah perched on the threadbare chair and placed her locked fingers on her knees.

"Well, what can you say to justify yourself?" his voice was businesslike.

"I... I told them I'm not good at it..."

"It was my order, not theirs."

"I know. But they had suggested it."

"Still, it was my order."

"I know! I just... why do I always have to play a stupid, easy girl?! That is all men see..."

"Hey, hey, hey!" Ramson stopped her. "I'm not your psychologist so keep your problems for the right man. You were not asked to play a stupid, easy girl, but to lure the target. What, for God's sake, do you find so affronting about this task?!"

"I can do other things! I am better than luring men who are after my ass..."

"If that man was gay, what do you think, who would do this job?" the officer was not looking at her, having focused his eyes on the computer monitor.

Sarah just gritted her teeth and said nothing, thinking only that that man wasn't gay!

"What's more, we had such a case once. And it did work. Nobody had to save the day," Ramson turned the monitor to her and what she saw made her redden in shame. In the photo some superannuated gentleman was nesting his face in the crook of Sam's neck, his left hand wandering over the agent's chest and the other - resting on his hip.

Sarah suddenly felt that her 'being better' was a ridiculous caricature of professionalism. Just to think that she might have to seduce a woman as part of the job was enough.

"That's how things work, Miss Blade. You have an ass, pardon my words, men are after? Good for you. One more tool to use. So learn how to use it, unless you want to find another job."

"No, sir. I'll learn."

"Good. I believe there will be no second time. Dismissed."

"Oh...?"

"Oh? Were you expecting a kind of punishment?" asked Ramson, smiling faintly. Seeing confirmation in her eyes he explained: "You'll have your punishment. I don't need to contribute."

Sarah lowered her head, being crushed by the awareness of what she had coming. Nobody was there for her, she had to make it alone through the disappointment and grudges she had earned.

She heavily stood up and left the room to do her bitter penance.

***

Simon found his brother in the isolation ward, sitting on the stool near the window and staring outside. The cigarette stuck, forgotten, in the corner of his mouth was losing ashes.

"What's up?" the blond man started a conversation.

"Nothing," answered Sam dispassionately, not averting his look from the poplar bending in the wind. He took hold of a fag with the thumb and the index finger.

"Right," Simon sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. "How did he receive that?"

"He didn't."

Silence reigned over the room. Sam was thinking about heaven only knows what and Simon was chewing over the news that hadn't really surprised him. Finally the blond broke the silence asking: "Where did he go?"

"How should I know?"

"Does it bother you?"

"What?"

"I don't know, anything."

"Yeah, maybe."

Simon was hesitating for a moment, not sure if he should keep on asking.

"Uhm..." he started.

"Leave it, Simon. I'm just thinking," Sam cut him off.

"I'll try to find him."

"Mhm..."

Simon pushed his hands into his pockets and left, planning to check on Casey in his dormitory, if he was there. His face had a tired, considerate expression and his eyes were indifferently sliding over the stone floor passing under his feet. The memory of muscles was leading him, as he sank in deep thoughts, through the beaten paths.

He didn't understand. Sam was never easy to read but also he was rarely that affected by events or people. Like with Sarah. He gave up on the woman for her failure. During the action he had done everything to carry out the task but it had nothing to do with understanding or support. She had a hard time before her to set the rules of cooperation with Sam. Yet it was mainly her problem. Sam had judged, thrown it out and that was all.

Yet Casey... what was so exceptional about him that he could either infuriate, amuse or just absorb that wild, self-contained man?

"Casey?" Simon knocked on the door. Nobody invited him inside. He was just about to move on when a quiet sound riveted his attention. He moved his ear closer to the door and froze, listening. The sound reached him again, this time a little louder. What the hell...? he thought realizing with amazement that what he had heard was a blubber. Surprised, he opened the door and slipped in. He knew Casey wouldn't easily come to terms with what had happened to his memory but such an emotional, whiny reaction was a complete disappointment.

A despair-stricken figure was kneeling doubled up on the floor. Casey’s forearms had pulled his head to his knees and the whole body was rocking back and forth. The view hit Simon hard. He hadn't expected to find his colleague in such a condition, with his nerves evidently shot to hell.

The long-haired man didn't even notice the agent's presence. His obsessive movements could make one think of an animal, crazed with pain. Short, choking sobs were tearing his chest apart, sounding more like mournful woofing then human cry.

"Holy shit..." Simon whispered not knowing exactly what to do. Then his look fell on a folder lying on the desk. A grey file was open, some documents inside and an empty memory card case. He took a closer look at the cover. "Casey Moore", it read.

Then he understood. "Fuck!" he angrily snapped the folder shut and knelt in front of Casey. "Casey?" he asked loudly. "Hey, do you hear me?" he touched the sobbing man's arm.

"Don't touch me!" Simon was taken aback by the stone-cold, distinct voice, full of pain and hatred. He knitted his brows and squatted on his heels.

"Listen..." he tried again.

"I won't listen. I don't want to know you. Every single one of you. Get out of my sight!" Casey's voice cracked with stifled sob.

"Like hell I will!" Simon rolled his eyes impatiently. "We're on the same side, Casey."

"What side? What fucking side, huh?!" The crying man looked up at the agent with his red, glassy eyes.

"You set me up! You knew! You knew everything and you let all this happen, bastard! You didn't warn me... Not even a word of explanation. Not a fucking thing!"

"And you think you are the only one who is going through this?" Simon was trying to control his emotions.

"If I'm not than that's even worse. You drag people into it knowing what is waiting for them. It's inhuman..."

"It's very human. We don't have much choice ourselves."

"Right, no choice but to put me to sleep like a fucking guinea pig!"

"Oh, about guinea pigs try to talk to Sam. I'm sure he has a hell of stories to tell you on cold winter nights!" Simon lost his temper for a second but quickly scolded himself. It was about Casey and his sudden collision with the dark side of reality, not about Sam, experiments and making a martyr of himself. He sighed, relaxing.

"Shit! What we're even talking about... I... I am doomed! I'm completely fucked up!" groaned out Casey.

"I know how you feel... however cliché it sounds, I do. But it’s not the end of the world yet..."

"I want to go. I want to... He didn't let me..." Casey was slowly relaxing, his tears flowing now down his cheeks and dripping from his nose and chin.

"I know. Everyone has such a folder... they always have something on us. On you, on me, on everyone."

"Why?"

"I guess it pays... They don't need our love, fear is enough."

"I can't... like this..."

Simon gently but firmly squeezed Casey's shoulders. "You'll get over this. Think that it can't be worse and from now on, day by day, it'll be getting better. Have hope."

"I can't believe... I can't believe... My memory, my father... How... Oh, God!" the crying man was slowly breaking. Despair had sucked out his strengths, leaving nothing but emptiness and frightful loneliness. He surrendered to Simon's comforting touch and sank to the floor, resting his head on his hands and closing his swollen eyes.

"I want to sleep. I want to wake up tomorrow and it all to be gone... I want..." his muttering became quieter and quieter, until he fell asleep, leaving Simon deep in his thoughts, on his knees.

***

Simon left Casey sleeping on the floor. He headed straight to Ramson and entered his office without knocking or invitation. The officer slowly turned his chair towards the guest and two pairs of watchful, cold, inscrutable eyes collided. No one said anything. With a supercilious gesture of reproach and disapproval Simon just threw the grey file with "Casey Moore" label onto the desk, as if throwing a glove into the enemy's face, and left.

Ramson sighed heavily as he leaned his head back. He didn't reach for the documents, staring at them with disgust. They were laying before him as a bitter symbol of his mental prostitution. He had sold himself, together with his ideals and way of life, for something he earnestly believed in some time ago. The innocently looking folder was an unpleasantly pinching proof of the transaction he wasn't proud of.

***

Dreams slowly started to fade and reluctantly surrendered to Casey's mind control. It was a sign he was waking up. Along with the consciousness the memories of the passing day attacked overwhelming him again and squeezing his heart with a stabbing pain. He had no strength or even motivation to open his eyes and face the situation. It would be so nice just to lie there and sleep; forever.

Dying isn't that bad, right...? His thoughts, too wild to be brought under control were raging around his tormented mind not meeting any nets of logic and comprehension.

Pain, burden and regret; his whole self was made of them.

Intent knocking fought its way to register in Casey's consciousness. He didn't react. What for? What sense did it make to open the door? To hear "what happened?" and answer "nothing"? His body was heavy and numb. The will to move and carry on had completely abandoned it and left like a shell lying on the floor.

"Casey?" Sarah's voice sounded like from another world. He thought that he might actually answer but his face and lips didn't take up the subject and refused to make an effort.

"Casey, are you there?"

It was a good question. Shit if I know... Casey thought but said nothing.

"I'm coming in!" the door creaked and a slim figure slipped in.

"What..." she started and broke off in the middle of a question seeing the living corpse of her friend. Casey's amber eyes, with dark circles around them, didn't even glance at her from their aimless wander over the ceiling.

"What's going on?" Sarah came closer and crouched down waving her hand before the man's face. Empty, sad look turned to her.

"Nothing," he answered.

"Nothing, my ass!" she shook her head with concern. "Is it cause the action?"

"The action...?" he frowned trying to follow the conversation. "No, not the action."

"Hey, you scare me... What happened?"

"Leave me alone."

"I don't think so." Sarah sat down near him and leaned against the bed. "You know, I screwed up... You heard about it?"

Casey didn't react, just staring at her, so she continued. "I... I couldn't force myself. I almost compromised our operation. That... It's hard to deal with such an experience when used to being tough and good at something."

"Really?" asked Casey, a little too heedlessly and abrasively.

"Hey, what's wrong with you?" Sarah gave him an attentive, worried look. "You don't have to confide to me. Just tell me what it's about..."

"Are you always that good in everything? Can't deal with failures?" Casey ignored her question.

"I deal with them... No other choice. I only said it's hard for me. I can't help it," she bit her lower lip.

"I can't help it. Well said," the man told it more to himself than to her.

"Hey, you are talking nonsense..." Sarah made a wry face, feeling irritated.

"Well, I can't help it," he smiled coolly returning her own words and slowly heaved his body to stand up. He sighed heavily and waddled to the small fridge. Its door snapped open when Casey pulled the handle.

"Shit!" he slammed the door forcefully enough to make the appliance shake. His hands were imperceptibly trembling. His whole self was trembling. It felt annoying not to find even a beer in a storage. And this fact, when realized, made him even more enraged. When had he become like this? Since when did he start to look for consolation in alcohol?

"Shit!" he repeated to express all he had inside.

Sarah was observing him considerately, confused and alarmed. It was so not like him to get that unsettled and vexed. Weird... she thought.

"Uhm... wanna drink?" she asked guessing what he'd been looking for.

"I hate it." Again, he seemed not to have heard her.

"What? Drinks?" Sarah felt bewildered.

Casey's eyes fell on the desk where the devil folder should lie. He scowled at the memory of revelations that had come down on him and froze for a second remembering he should have returned the files in one hour. But he relaxed immediately, with a foolishly vindictive half-smile and decided he didn't care. Maybe Simon had taken them, maybe not... Whatever.

"What?" he as if woke up and looked at the woman annoyed and surprised.

"Casey, I'm trying to chat with you! You speak nonsense; you don't listen to me... What the hell?"

"Nothing," he shrugged his one shoulder and curled his lips in an ugly grimace.

"Right. Nothing," Sarah nodded her head resignedly. "Wanna have a drink? I need one."

He shrugged again but put on his jacket. He also needed one. One? No. He needed a lot. He needed to forget. Or maybe... to remember? He wasn't sure what he wanted anymore.

"I should call home..." he whispered to himself.

"Hmm?" Sarah once again tried to catch the meaning of Casey's behavior but he just put her off shaking his head and leaving.

Later, he thought, I can call later.

In an awkward silence they reached a bar. It was an old base club for those who were too lazy or tired to go outside, to the city. Simple copper lamps hanging on long ropes were giving off a dimmed, warm light. The jukebox was playing golden jazz oldies, and behind the counter the moustached bartender was drying glasses with deliberation. Melancholy with a subtle note of decadence was hanging in the air and wrapping minds and hearts. Casey's heart shrunk painfully under its touch. He gnawed at his lips and blinked few times to overcome the sudden snivel.

"How can I help you?" before the bartender carefully put a glass away he gave it the last tender brush.

"Whisky with ice," murmured Casey. He sat at the counter and rested his forehead in his palms, slipping fingers into the bright mess of hair.

"Don't drown your sorrows... they can swim," Sarah perched at the high bar chair and ordered a sweet drink.

"Fuck them..." the man raised his glass and finished it at a single gulp.

"Geez... slow down! I won't carry you back, you know?"

"It could be a good exercise," said Casey ironically.

"Maybe it'd be a good exercise for you to stop acting like a fussy chick and behave like a man for a change..." she finally snapped back having enough of Casey's unintelligible rudeness.

"Oh, really... So you could behave once like a chick for a change!" not looking at her he passed the glass to the bartender and got it refilled.

"That was a cheap shot..." she wasn't angry, more like disappointed.

"It was," he confirmed indifferently.

"Why? Is it because I fucked it up at that party?"

"I don't know what you did at the party."

"Yeah... I tried to tell you."

"Why?"

"Why what?" the conversation with Casey turned into something really troublesome and annoying.

"Why’d you want to tell me?"

"Dunno... Sam was there, Simon knows, Ramson gave me scolding... I thought I'd talk to someone who might not have a grudge. I miscalculated, I suppose."

"I don't have a grudge, Sarah," for the first time that evening he used her name. "I'm not the best person to look for understanding at, though..."

"I don't..." she made a pause, "Okay, I admit, I wanted some understanding. Don't you?"

"Understanding?" Casey repeated thoughtfully, sipping whisky, "No. And I don't want to be forced to look for understanding."

"Are you?" Sarah raised her brows.

"No," it was true. He didn't need understanding. He needed his own life, with his own decisions, back.

"I don't get you Casey. But that's your problem."

"Damn right... "

For a long while they were sitting silently drinking their magical mixtures of consolation, Coltrane's sax solo was sifting from the speakers. Casey broke the silence asking: "Why are you here?"

"You mean... here?" she looked around.

"I mean the agency."

"I told you that already..." she shrugged her shoulders.

"I know but... How is it to kill a man?" he decided to put it differently.

"Uhm... have you...?"

"No, not me," answered Casey. "Sam has," he added seeing her questioning look.

"Yesterday... right," she nodded her head remembering the report she had seen after the operation. "He's a good shooter."

"That's it?" Casey's eyes expressed disapproval. "We've killed the guy and that's all you have to say?"

"Why? He is a good shooter," she shrugged her shoulders putting on innocent face.

"Yeah, he is... A freak."

"That's for sure. But this freak is still a hell of a shooter," Sarah raised her brows stating the obvious.

"Have you... uhm.. had some problems after shooting someone? Y'know: dreams, fears, regrets...?"

"Not really. I mean, I was nervous and over impulsive, I had some sessions to learn how to go through it... But well, it was a self-defense. I just had to do what I did. I'd definitely do it again and I have no regrets. Does this answer your question?"

"I don't know. I... I don't think I even need any answers," said Casey absentmindedly and finished his drink.

"I don't understand what you are thinking, Casey Moore," sighed Sarah. "But never mind. I drink to you and I hope you'll have a better day tomorrow," she smiled and the man just couldn't help smiling back.

However faint and melancholic, it was still a smile.

They were sitting in silence for a few minutes, Casey staring blindly at his glass and Sarah observing the bartender who had gone back to polishing his precious glasses of all shapes and colors.

"I'm glad you are not mad at me..." the woman brought up the forgotten subject of her failure.

"Why should I? Nobody's perfect. Besides I wasn't there, I haven't seen it," he shrugged his shoulders staring at the wall decorated with rows of bottles.

"I feel lucky, then. Well, almost..." she smiled bitterly. "Sam was there."

"Wow, it's a miracle you're still alive!" smirked Casey.

"Yeah, still. You've got a point. However... actually he was... understanding isn't a good word. Uhm... supportive. Strange, right? But he was. He calmed me down, was helpful, saved us... And after all of this he just wrote me off."

"That I can believe..."

"Yep. I was just surprised he didn't do that immediately," she chuckled, already cheered up by her liquid comforter.

"C'mon... it was only to avoid troubles and finish everything as soon as possible."

"Anyway, it was... nice? Ah, whatever..." Sarah slurped playing with the alcohol with the tip of her tongue.

Casey flushed as he suddenly remembered the support Sam gave him behind the curtain in the Karnov house. He subconsciously squeezed the glass, angry and embarrassed. Was it... nice? Well, it worked. But it was just an egoistic act, nothing to base the hope for acknowledgment on. Hope for acknowledgment?! Geeez... I'm going crazy, he snorted feeling warmth crawling up his cheeks.

Sarah drew her eyebrows in a pretended sulk and reproached him: "Why are you laughing at me? Who knows, it might be my last night among the living?"

"Pardon? I'm sorry, I've been thinking..." he waved his hand to drive away the straying images.

"Oh my God! We won't shoot the breeze tonight, I guess..." Sarah laughed shaking her head in disbelief. She stood up and ransacked through her pockets in search of change.

"Let’s call it a day then," her colleague half-smiled and casually bowed her out.

Something was wrong with him. Actually, everything was wrong with him. It wasn't the first time when he was looking for solace in spirits. He realized, not without disgust, that it had started to evolve into a dangerous habit of dealing with hard times by reaching the state of complete mind weightlessness.

Where had his healthy lifestyle gone to? What had happened to his philosophy?

It was a fast ball, he thought, this revelation coming as an unpleasant surprise. Somehow he had always believed he had been constant in his principles as the northern star. What am I to do now? How should I keep going? He had landed behind the limits of the world he had used to know, where his rules imprinted in his mind and heart couldn't cover all situations. He felt like an explorer of the unknown. Taking his curiosity and inclinations to facing challenges into account it could have even been an interesting experience, if not for lack of choice. Nobody likes when their life is disposed around like a mere resource or tool.

Funny... he had desired oblivion, he was striving for it and trying hard to erase the recent past, but when given, he cursed it. They say: "Be careful about what you wish for."

True. True they say...

***

When Casey shambled back to his room it was well after midnight. How he was supposed to get up the next morning and work, he had no idea. He was tired, disappointed, disgusted, frustrated, angry, and smashed; and probably many more things he couldn't name. He didn't bother to turn on the light, partially out of laziness, and partially not to torment his bloodshot eyes.

"Holy shit!" he blurted out, jumping back and stumbling over his own shoes when the red gleam glowed in the darkness, scantily revealing a demonic face. He lost his balance and fell back, banging his head against the wall.

"Ahhhh..." the moan escaped his lips when he sat on the floor massaging his occipital bone. "What are you doing here?" he mumbled.

"Smoking..." Sam's mocking voice indicated the playful attitude.

"No shit..." Casey's mood was as far from playful as it could be. He stood up heavily and took of his jacket, throwing it somewhere into the darkness. "How did you get in?"

"I have my ways..." Casey could imagine Sam’s smile. He just nodded his head trying to grope the bathroom door knob. He pulled off his sweater, dropped it onto the floor and splashed water over his face. He let it trickle down his neck and naked chest.

"What do you want?" he asked calmly going back to the room and sitting on the bed near Sam.

"A lot of things..." the next vague answer Casey could expect.

"What do you want here?" he had no strength to even get irritated.

"Nothing."

Nothing... thought Casey smiling slightly. It reminded him of himself, talking earlier with Sarah.

They were sitting very close to each other, their thighs adhering. Casey could feel the wiriness of steel muscles, tensing sometimes under jeans. The fabric of Sam's shirt was brushing the bare skin of his arm. He felt relaxed and... understood; not that he'd been looking for it.

Minutes were passing by as they remained quiet and almost motionless. Sam's joint was slowly burning out, ash falling down onto the floor. From time to time the red glow was moving towards the man's lips and then the silent rustle was blazing it up. Strange shadows were flickering across the dark face, shaded with messy hair. Casey could smell the aromatic smoke scudding around.

"You drunk?" Sam asked, almost whispering.

"Yeah..." answered Casey keeping the low tone.

"You stink..." it was rather a matter of fact statement than the sign of nastiness.

"I know. I'm sorry," the blond man didn't feel like defending his pride. Fatigue? Humility waking up? Something else...?

The glowing point found his way to Casey's side and hung before the man's tired face. He raised his hand and hesitantly closed it around the fingers keeping the pet. The touch was subtly electrifying. It was both weird and fascinating to hold another man's hand, to touch his skin.

He pulled it closer to his mouth and slipped the joint inside. Sam's knuckles brushed softly his chin and lower lip. It gave him gentle creeps and his hand trembled slightly.

Casey was drunk and he knew it. He also knew that what he felt, thought, and liked was because of being drunk. Therefore he gave himself an allowance to carefully explore that thrilling and unknown area of intimacy. He didn't release Sam's hand with a cigarette, inhaling shallowly and absorbing impressions.

Marihuana... he verbalized the thought in his head, no real conclusion drawn.

Which else of his rules and convictions has been yet to get bent?

He felt strange, recognizing an innocent flutter he remembered from his childhood. It had always accompanied unwrapping birthday presents. He remembered examining the package's shape with his palms, shaking it, trying to guess what had been inside; impatient fingers tearing the paper to reach the present's heart as fast as possible; joyful beating of his heart and warm blush of emotion on his cheeks.

And now, it was all there, apart from one thing: it wasn't innocent. Whenever his slightly incoherent thoughts lingered to his hand squeezing Sam's fingers, the wave of heat was flushing through his body pulsating in his veins and speeding up his heart.

He couldn't decide what he wanted to do. His body, bemused senses and demons of the wild nature hidden for years and now awaken were pushing him to cross his boundaries. He felt the primal urge to give in, to explore, to possess, to go all the way into who knew what and unleash emotions. Nonetheless, there was still a frail voice of his common sense and a composed, trained character that was whispering about consequences.

It was easy to go with the flow on the spur of the moment but sometimes it was very hard to live on afterwards. Not every moment was worth a whole life payment.



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Okay, now your turn ;) Judge.


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Child of the Darkened Moon - please, take your shot. I hope it's not too late ;)

Anon - I hope I'll live up to your expectations...

ASOTA - thank you for all your exclamation marks :D

Aleks - still there? If so, then you already know what happened later :)

Zsadarya - I guess I'm not even a bit less desperate now. Unfortunately. But you made my days :)

peach like prince - that's an honor to hear it from someone whose stories are that popular :) I also left a few words for you...