He Returns

One: Fear Is Back

Bzz, bzz, bzz. I read the name of who is calling me and straight away regret not going to prison. A soft, muffled female voice declares, ’You can come back, it settled down,’ I nearly screamed from excitement. I can go back! No more sitting all day in the freezing cott- ‘But, you mustn’t get too excited, they might still be on a lookout.’ she interrupted hesitantly and carried on with the details of where I will live, work, and do other everyday situations.

My plane is at half-past five in the afternoon and it is noon. If I were to speed, I could go at three o’clock, but it would be better if I wouldn’t attract attention, and getting a speeding ticket is definitely not attention-seeking for the police, so I should go at two o’clock. Now I need to get my suitcase, which should be somewhere in the attic.

Ahhh… Memories fill this place. So many of my weapons and pictures of victims hidden away from the rest of the world… ohh the good times. Thick layers of dust cover my equipment, and as my fingers run along the edge of my favorite gun (M16A4), a curtain of filth stays attached to my two fingers. I look around and notice my suitcase. Old, dusty, hard brown leather in a square shape, my best buddy. Carried my whole life in it once. Moving from a little, ugly town in England to New York was a big experience, and the case went with me. When I was running away from New York, it was with me. Never failed me. Now, it is time for another adventure, back to New York. I felt stinging in my eyes so I quickly took it and left. ‘Murderers never show weakness.’ is what she used to tell me.

There aren’t many things I could take, but it’s fine, as all my things will be shipped across Europe and the North Atlantic Ocean. Essentials like toothpaste and a toothbrush, shirts, trousers, socks, and pants are all I will be able to take. I don’t have much time to try and pack more anyway. Clothes pour out of my wardrobe. Different colours, blue, red, white, orange, but mostly black. I take two black long-sleeved shirts, fold them neatly, and pack them. Two pairs of trousers go through the same process, and then I pick up seven pairs of random socks and the same amount of pants. I left my suitcase by the door to not forget it and sat on the cream leather couch.

It feels weird leaving this place. As much as I hate it, it became my home. I look through the huge glass window on to the snow, then get up, turn smoothly on my wood panel floor, and glide through the carefully planned living room to the white quartz kitchen. All the potential weapons: knives like machetes, hidden pistols under countertops, and deadly chains in the bowl on the upper shelf of the first cupboard on the right. Wooden, royal stairs that I have walked up and down millions of times. My bedroom, a  simple grey and white display with an emergency exit that I never got to use. Attached to it is my bathroom: compact, black, and white marble, I never liked making a fuss over bathrooms. You walk in and out, don’t spend a lot of time in there. I take my phone out to look at the time and realize that it is ten to two.

I walk back down my stairs one last time, calmly, taking in the smell of wood. I walk towards my front door to put on my favorite shoes and a thick coat because Russia is the complete contrary to warm. My shoes slip on easily. They are super worn out, damaged to the extent of falling apart if another step is taken in them, but they fight, so I put them on once more. After I put the coat on too, I walk out of my house, making sure the door is securely locked, as if a spell would have been cast on it making it impossible to enter, and left the key inside of the flower pot for my men.

Slowly, I approach my car, a silver Mercedes-Benz, and get in. I slam my door a little bit harder than I expected, and it woke me up. I am going to New York. After twelve years of hiding from the police, I am going back! Perhaps I should go back to my old life? It definitely was fun. She said I shouldn’t, but she is not my boss, I am my own boss.

Before I never leave, emerged in my plans, I start the engine and drive off to Sheremetyevo Alexander S. Pushkin International Airport.