One Shot, One Kill.

Chapter 4: Bearer of Bad News.

"We’ll have those apple puddlings that you love so much on the menu tomorrow, Mrs. Petrov.” I told the elderly woman as I walked her to the door. holding on to the small brown bag containing the take-away's she had ordered. Mrs. Petrov was a wealthy Russian immigrant who had moved into the neighborhood a few years ago. She had taking a special liking to our family, and to our restaurant. I could never understand why.

"My mother and I will reserve a plate for you. You can send your driver to come pick it up tomorrow evening." I said, holding the door open with my free hand and then leaning against it so that it remained open as she walked outside.

She turned to look at me when she was out, her eyes gleaming as I handed the bag to her.

"I will come pick it up myself." She said, the corner of her lips rising wryly. Her accent was rich as ever. I smiled kindly at her.

My mother believed her to be lonely.

When she first moved into the neighborhood, there had been talk. Talk about her having a family. Talk of her loosing her husband and children to an accident. But no one knew for certain who this woman was. What her story was.

"Have a nice night ma'am." I told her and after making sure she made it safely to her car, I walked back into the restaurant and then shut the door, turning the key in the keyhole and then tugging on the door knob to make sure I had locked it properly. I flipped the "open" sign over so it showed that the restaurant was "closed" from the outside and then before I made for the kitchen, humming quietly.

"Mrs. Petrov just left. I closed up after her." I announced, beaming with pride as my mother turned briefly away from the dishes she was washing to spare me a glance. She returned my smile but it didn't quite reach her eyes.

I could see the sadness lingering in her eyes.

And I knew it had something to do with my father leaving. I had overheard her on the phone earlier, talking to her mother. I'd heard her talking about how she had a bad feeling in her guts about everything. She had been on edge since the day my father left and even if she tried as much as she could to hide it, it was as obvious as the almond shape of my eyes.

She returned her gaze to the dirty plates she was tending to.

"Did you see her to the door like I asked you to?" She asked and I nodded. "You made sure she got to her car?" She asked.

"All in one piece." I pursed my lip, taking steps till I was just beside her. "Let me take over that ma." I told her, reaching for the sponge in her hand and the relief on her face was nearly instant.

She was tired. And stressed.

She was lacking sleep worrying about my father, but somehow, she managed to wake up every morning to run the restaurant.

It had been two weeks since dad left. Two weeks and we hadn't heard a single word from him.

It was unlike him. He always called.

At least to let us know that he had arrived safely at his destination.

I sighed under my breath and then shook my head dismissing the thought. He was okay. He had to be okay.

I heard mother sigh loudly as she reached for her napkin and out of the corner of my eyes, I could see her wipe the water off her hand and then lean tiredly against the counter.

And for a short moment, we both stayed in suffocating silence. I could tell that she was deep in thoughts. And I was certain that she didn't realize how tense her silence made the atmosphere, how much it worried me.

I don't think she realized how scared her silence made me. For my father, for our family. For her.

I wished that she would say something. To ask me about school... about my grades, about my friends. Anything. And I wanted to tell her not to worry, and that father would return home safely. But I couldn't bring myself to utter a single word.

After a moment that seemed like forever, there was a knock on the door. Three loud consecutive bangs, that showed that despite the "closed" sign on the door, whoever knocked was somehow certain that we were still inside.

I made an attempt to wash the soap off my hands but mother stopped me.

"Don't worry, sugar. I've got it." She told me.

I spared her a worried glance but I remained, and continued to do the dishes. I listened to her footsteps recede, and after a short moment, I heard the door lock click open. I felt my eyebrows narrow, and I wondered why she would open the door when we'd already closed for the day.

But after a second, I heard voices, and I instantly felt my anxiety ease.

It was Isaiah!

It was more than just Isaiah. It was news about my father. It was mother's peace.

I placed the plate in my hand in the dish rack and then reached for the napkin.

"-dropped by the house but no one was home." I heard Isaiah say. "Christopher?"

"Sleeping over at a friends."

I stopped in my tracks.

I heard the creaking sound of a chair being pulled out from underneath the table, followed by another, and another.

I realized Isaiah wasn't alone. He had to be with someone.

"This is Wale." I heard Isaiah say after a few seconds. "He's with the team." He added. I stalked quietly towards the door, trying as hard as I could to not make a sound.

Mother already said I was at a friends. I couldn't afford to make a mistake. When I was close enough to the door, I hid beside it and then peeked. I could see Isaiah sitting across my mother in his uniform. He had acquired a few cuts and bruises on his face since the last time I saw him.

Beside him was another man. Dark skin, huge. Also in a uniform.

I wondered if he was new to the team. I had never seen him before.

And then, I noticed my mother's stance.

I couldn't see her face, since her back was turned to me. But I could see that she still standing.

"To what do I owe this visit, Siah?" Mother asked. Her tone was firm, but not hostile. She was calm, but there was a tinge of panic in her voice. I wondered if Isaiah heard it too. I heard her gasp softly afterwards. "I-Is it Vincent? Is he okay? Where is he? Why are you here?" She asked all in one breath.

And I couldn't understand why, but my hands began to tremble.

Maybe it had something to do with the glances Isaiah and Wale exchanged. Maybe it was because they let the silence linger for a second too long before they spoke. Or maybe it was the remorse on Isaiahs face.

But there was a feeling in my gut, and a voice in my head, that told me that Isaiah was not a bearer of good news.

"I think you're going to want to sit down for this one, Mrs. Mun." Isaiah started.

The moment the words left his mouth, I noticed the shift in mother's posture. I saw how her back slouched. I saw her legs begin to fail her. But she stood, still.

"Where's Vincent?" She asked again, only this time, there was hostility in her voice. Only this time, her voice broke. Only this time, my heart was racing hard against its cage. I swallowed hard.

"Mrs. Mun, your husband... he," Isaiah started. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news." He continued. "But Captain Mun..."

"Mr. Mun and his team of traitors rebelled against the state." It was Wale who spoke this time.

And the moment his words left his mouth, time stopped.

One second, two seconds, three seconds.

Four seconds, five seconds, six seconds.

Seven seconds, eight seconds, nine seconds.

Ten seconds.

I saw my mother's legs suddenly give way. And I saw her slowly fall to the ground.

I wondered why I didn't rush to help her up.

I was stuck. My feet were supposedly glued to the ground. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe.

I couldn't think. I couldn't speak.

"They attacked and killed the Prince of Andorra and his envoy in Afghanistan. They endangered the country, and it's citizens. And under the orders of the Lieutenant, they were punished for their treason." Wale continued. And I heard Isaiah mutter a silent apology under his breath.

"Vincent would never!" Mother gasped, but her voice was barely above a whisper.

I tried to make sense of the situation unraveling in front of me.

Father couldn't have rebelled. It was impossible! He loved the country. He loved his team. His love for each and every one of them ran deep within him. It was in his veins, with his blood. It was in his bones.

He would die for them. He would die for the country.

He gave his leg for the country.

He would give more.

He would never put them in danger. Or anyone else for that matter.

There was a loud, white noise in my head, drowning out the sound of their voices.

I placed my hand over my head. Over my ears.

And I waited. I waited for mother to come into the kitchen. And for her to tell me that they were lying. For her to tell me that it was a joke. A prank.

But Wale's voice was in my head. His words were taunting me. Over and over.

When I finally lowered my hand from my ears, it was Isaiah's voice that hit my ears.

"-can't leave you here in this state, Mrs. Mun. We'll give you a ride home." I heard him say.

And I heard mother mutter a few inaudible words.

"We'll give you a ride home, Mrs. Mun." Wale said, firmer. "We're not asking." He continued.

I set the napkin down on the table and then reached for the door knob.

"You should stay." The sound of my mother's voice stopped me right in my track. "Stay o-outside while I turn off the lights and close the shop." She added, her voice shaky.

But she was talking to me. I know she was.

But how could I?

I saw Wale try to resist. But I saw Isaiah stop him, and then mutter a few words to him. Wale glanced back at my mother, his eyes glaring wickedly.

But after some seconds, he walked towards the door, and then outside. He stood right outside the door. Isaiah followed, giving himself a little more distance from the shop.

And I watched mother walk towards the light switch. I was struggling to wrap my head round everything that has happening.

But I knew she wouldn't come to me. They were watching.

He was watching.

And when she turned off the lights, I heard her say something. Her voice was barely audible. Barely above a whisper. But I was able to make out some of it.

"Run." She'd said.

"Run, Chris."