Protecting the Bad Boy

"Run Dylan!" My dad yelled to me and I started to run faster across the field. "Come on sweetheart, I know you can do it." He yelled again, as the distance between us was reducing. I managed to smile. We were both in a green, empty field. My dad was in the corner of the field and I was at least five kilometers away from him, running towards him. It was one of his trainings. But it was okay for me, because I was spending time with him. He was almost always working, and the time I spend with him was so short, so I enjoyed every single second with him, like it was the last one. Which could be the last one. He worked for CIA, always on dangerous missions. Danger, guns, secret missions... those were his life. And mine too. Well too soon I think. And the reason of all of this running and training was he wanted me to be a secret agent like him. Like father like daughter. "Come on Dylan! You almost made it! Come..." He started to yell again, but a shot filled the air and everything turned black. The sky, the grass of the field, even the air looked like it turned black. I stopped and just stared at my dad, who had a small bullet hole in the middle of his chest which was bleeding. He gave me a last look and his body fell to the ground, making a loud thud. I froze and stared at my dad"s dead body. I knew he was dead. The bullet touched the heart, not in the middle of it, but it was enough to kill him. My blood started to boil, as my anger started to spread in my body. I was scared. I couldn"t see the killer and I was in the middle of a field, so that means that I was in big problems. If he shot my dad without being noticed, that means that I am already dead. I was angry with the person who killed the only person that I had in my life. He killed my dad!!! I searched around to find the killer, a gun appearing from nowhere in my hand, but before I could have the chance to use it, I heard a shot and I felt a sharp pain in my chest. I lightly touched the place that hurt, and when I saw my fingers, they were covered with blood. I felt all my power going away from my body, leaving it empty as I fell to the ground like my dad. I was dead too! *** My whole body hurt, when I got up immediately. Especially my head. It was killing me. "It was just a nightmare! It is just a nightmare! It wasn"t true!" I whispered to myself. Since my dad died and I saw the videos of how he died, I had those nightmares every night. I mean almost every night, but it"s not like I saw many beautiful dreams before my dad"s death. The nightmares were always different. Never the same. Sometimes, they looked like the videos I saw, and sometimes, the only similar thing between my nightmares and the videos was the way of death. But there was always something new. For example this time I died too. And let me say that it wasn"t such a good experience. It was awful. I got up from my bed and entered to the bathroom to wash my face. I couldn"t stay anymore in my room, so I went outside and walked through the empty hallways. It was 4:00 am, and the training starts at 5:00 am, so I had one hour to do what I had to do to delete the views that I had in my mind from the nightmare. So I went to the Training Center to do my thing. I lived in one of CIA"s buildings which trained the new agents. There weren"t many people my age, but at least I wasn"t the only one. And since my dad had a good reputation (they called him Death, because he was great with the guns, and could kill any target miles away and he was the one who had killed more "bad guys" than anyone else in CIA.), I had a good reputation too (they call me The Death"s Daughter. How cool is that?). This reputation helped me to be noticed and to be the first teen agent in CIA, Who has completed a mission. And I was only seventeen! I have had many missions, but that doesn"t mean that I was done with the training. My bosses, and with my bosses, I mean the people trained me and gave me the missions, had decided that I need more training and that I wasn"t completely ready. So here I am. Still training! For start, I decided to run a bit. Running has always helps me to clear my mind from those horrible nightmares. And I was kinda in good mood, even though I had a bad night. It was strange, but it was good. That meant that my day wasn"t effected by my nightmares. I ran at least five miles, but still I wasn"t tired so decided to go and give some punches to the sandbag. For some weird reasons, I was punching it like crazy. My fists started to hurt, and I knew that I had to stop, because they very soon were going to bleed, and I have to train with the sandbag during the training too, but I couldn"t. As I predicted, my fists started to bleed so I was forced to stop, because the pain was so sharp that it looked like someone was cutting them with a knife. I sat in the floor near the sandbox and took a bottle of water. After taking two sips I started to stare to my fists. To be more specific, I was staring at the blood. Is it going to sound insane if I say that I liked the color of the blood? The fresh blood had such a nice color, but after it"s dried it makes me sick and I want to puke. The blood in my fists was fresh, but it reminded me the blood I saw in my nightmare, so I pulled my eyes away from it and stared at the door of the gym. The trainer entered, followed by the others who didn"t look very happy to be woken up so early, but 5:00 in the morning was too late compared with the days when we had to wake up in 3:00 am, or when we had to wake up in the middle of the night to train for being prepared in sudden attacks that could happened during a mission. Yep! Waking up in five in the morning was way much better. I got up to start training with the others, but the trainer came closer to me and stopped me. "Mr. Anderson want you to be in his office in eight o"clock." He said and let me go, while the others stared at us. Mr. Anderson was the boss who gave me the missions. So after this notification I wanted to know what he wanted to say to me. Maybe he was going to give me a mission, but I wasn"t hoping very much for it. I hadn"t any friends, so when the trainer orders us to choose a partner, I always end up with one of my teachers. Sad, I know! But that helped me to become stronger, because fighting with a teacher that knows every possible fight technique was hard. Very helpful, if you wanted to learn more. But sometimes it turn against you... like now. I couldn"t concentrate, because of the sweet conversation I was going to have with Mr. Anderson after three hours, and because of that the teacher here, called Daniel, was making my life miserable (and me the joke of the class.), by throwing me on the floor every second. My butt hurt, but despite how much I tried, I always found myself on the floor frowning. *** After getting beat up from my very such-a-sweetheart teacher, and after having a horrible pain in my butt and all over my body, finally it was eight o"clock. I walked to the Mr. Anderson office and knocked in it three times and waited. I heard his voice to tell me to walk in, and I opened the door. He was sitting behind his desk with some files in his hands. He pointed, with his hand, to the chair in front of his desk without looking up at me. Mr Anderson, was a middle-aged man, with gray hair, brown eyes, and some weird scratches on his faces, that made me believe that he had worked outside this office, in middle of the action, before he started the boring office work. I didn"t want to ever work in a office. Where is the fun in that? Reading boring papers all day, signing things, and boring stuff like that, weren"t the perfect things to make a job exciting. "How are you?" He asked still with his eyes in that dam file. "Fine." Since my dad"s death, Mr. Anderson took me to live here. He was friends with my dad and always tried to be kind with me, but it wasn"t in his type to be kind, so it was abit hard for him. Me, in the other hand, wasn"t helping him very much by being so emotionless in some cases. But I have my days, when I am in a good mood, like today, but after all that throwing on the floor, that good mood had disappear. Not it fault. I was going to talk with Daniel later for all of that. "So... Dylan... I have a job for you!" Mr. Anderson said and that"s all I needed to be in good mood again. "What?" I asked excited. "This is Rhydian Steinfeld." Mr. Anderson started to talk, handing me the file he was reading. I took it and started to read. In the corner of the first page was Rhydian"s photo. "He is the son of one of our best agents, who died a week ago, during a mission. Before he died, he managed to send to his son a copy of the list of our agents. Now he is sent to an outer town to continue school and he doesn"t have any idea where the list is." "And what do I have to do?" I said. "You have to take care for him." "WHAT? What am I? A baby-sitter?!" I shouted. "He has been followed by russian mafia, for that list, and even if he is in a safe place now, he needs someone with experience on his side." "Why did his dad have a copy of the list?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "Someone inside the agency made a copy of that list with every necessary information in it and sold it to the russian mafia. We caught him, but we had to send Rhydian"s father to get back the list. He made a copy of it, before he died and destroyed the original copy." "But why me?" "Because, we need someone who can go where ever Rhydian goes, and that includes school too." "No." I almost shouted again at the second I heard the "s" word. "No what?" Mr. Anderson said looking at me like I was going crazy. "I"m not doing it." "I"m not asking to you Dylan. I"m ordering you. You"re going and this is the end of the discussion. I"m going to send to your room the other details. You"re going tomorrow. You can go now!" I walked out of the office pissed off. Great! Like it wasn"t enough the schooling I was doing here, but even when I"m in a mission, I have to go to school. Just great! This was worse than the nightmare. The real nightmare starts now!