Author's Note: Sorry again for the long delay. I was working a lot and I recently started college again. 
I simply promise I won't abandon this story completely. Hope you all enjoy this next part!
Chapter Seven
Irina
The top of the black convertible was down and the car was speeding its way along the LA freeways. Irina’s flight had landed less than two hours ago and she was on her way to meet Sydney. She was a mix of emotions but none of it showed on her face as she deftly maneuvered through the city traffic.
She was dressed simply and very casually in jeans, a white tank top that showed off her lean, toned arms, and white Nikes. Her low ponytail whipped around behind her head, but she didn’t mind.
Glancing at the map secured to the passengers seat to make she had the right exit, she pulled off the freeway and began making her way through the maze of streets that was the real Los Angeles. About fifteen minutes later she was pulling into a deserted dirt parking lot satisfied she’d picked up no tails.
She drove slowly so she did not raise a cloud of dust and she roved her gaze over the abandoned warehouse sitting on the lot. Sydney had described this place to her in detail, so it didn’t feel like unknown territory. But more importantly, she knew that the CIA had abandoned it. Therefore, it was the perfect contact point for this meeting.
Around the back, she found a garage door that opened by hand. Irina left her convertible running while she heaved the door up just enough to clear the car. Once inside, she quickly shut off the engine and lowered the garage door back down. Immediately, the interior went dark and Irina switched on the flashlight she’d grabbed from the glove box.
The warehouse smelt dusty and dry and her swinging beam lit up stacks after stacks of packing crates. Curious though she was about what was in them, Irina didn’t stop to take a peek. She immediately made her way to the old office room in the corner. The door was locked, but it was just a regular key lock. Irina soon had it picked and open. She aimed her light around. A table stood against one wall, a cordless telephone sitting in the middle. Two chairs had been placed at it and one wall was stacked with more packing boxes.
She smiled when she picked up the receiver and heard a dial-tone. She hung it up, found the light switch, set her flashlight down, and then dialed a number she’d had memorized for a long time.
Sydney
The excitement of being free has worn off and I’ve had a bit of a lonely afternoon. Will didn’t have much time to stick around after bringing me home. There was still some paperwork left to finish at his “magazine job”. He apologized about it in the car and once he’d let me in, given me a key, a few words about what was in the fridge, a hug, and an apologetic smile, he was back out the door.
I took the time to wander around, noting the differences and the things that hadn’t changed. It was evident Will hadn’t touched much, but it was obvious he had settled into Francie’s room. There wasn’t much left in there of hers but a few picture frames with photos of the three of us and keepsake items with too many memories to doom to Goodwill.
Seeing my room was a bit of a shock at the same time as it wasn’t. The bed was made, but there was nothing else left around. No photos on the table, no jewelry box on the dresser. My closet was completely bare. The bathroom had towels and toilet paper and hand soap, but nothing that suggests regular use.
I wandered out the living room, at a loss of what to do. I don’t feel a desire to go out and shop yet. I don’t really want to see all the changes in the fashion world yet. So I just borrowed a pair of Will’s sweats and started in on a pint of Ben and Jerry’s from the freezer. Curled up on the new soft blue sofa, I stare out the window, contemplating my itinerary for the next few days. First, I’m expecting a call from Dixon with my bank account information and next, Carrie is coming over after she is finished at the JTF to go shopping.
The telephone pulls me out of my dreams of a brand new wardrobe. Expecting Dixon’s voice, the words I hear in answer to my bright hello shock me.
“Joey’s Pizza?”
“Wr...Wrong number.” I stutter and hang up. I’m stunned into confusion. That signal was retired a long time ago, right after the take-down of SD-6. And the voice! If I’m not mistaken, that was my mother. After a few more seconds of reflection, I realize I’m not that surprised to hear her voice. I’m more surprised that she actually called the house. It’s almost like....almost like I expected her to call, but not this soon. What is going on here?
Everything seems to be in slow motion and my thoughts feel foggy trying to sort through the facts. I knew that call from my mother was coming. How I knew, I don’t know, but I did.
I know I am going to go meet her at the warehouse. I know I don’t want to turn her in to the CIA. What has suddenly come over me? Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m getting up off the sofa and putting the ice cream away and my spoon in the sink. Will’s sweats come off and my suit goes back on.
But how am I going to get there? I don’t have a car yet. I guess I’ll have to borrow Vaughn’s. No, no, what am I thinking. I can’t do that. So borrow Will’s? No, he needs his this afternoon and he’ll be nosy. Dad’s? Dad’s could work. He finds plenty of things to stay at work late for, so he certainly has the time to lend me a set of wheels for an hour or two.
I pace the kitchen as I try to think. What am I doing? It’s like I’m not really in control of me. Then an explanation occurs to me. From somewhere in the blackness, I’m telling myself things and it’s confusing as hell. I’ve got to start thinking clearly again.
I make myself sit down at the table and I put my head in my hands. Trying hard not to think about anything in particular, the world slowly comes back into focus.
What I know is this: my mother called and I’m not surprised. I might even be a little glad. And while I still have no idea about my missing years, it seems very likely right now that she knows something. Whether I feel manipulated into this or not, I have to go meet her. I pick up the phone from where I dropped it and dial my dad’s cell.
“Bristow,” he answers.
“Hey Dad, it’s me.”
“Sydney. Is everything alright?”
“Yeah, Dad, everything’s fine. I was just wondering if I could borrow your car to go to the store and get a few things. Will had to go back into work.”
“You haven’t been given a car yet?”
“Um, no. All that re-issuing takes place tomorrow after my briefing.”
“I’ll be by in around half an hour,” he hangs up.
I don’t think I’ll ever figure my father out. At least I know I can always trust him. Or can I? Why didn’t I tell him about Mom’s call? I realize I feel a strong compulsion not to.
I start washing the dishes in the sink trying not to think too hard or second guess myself. I’ve managed to live a long time in this business by trusting my instincts; I’m just going to have to do again.
Before I know it, my dad has pulled into the driveway in a car I don’t recognize. I just finish putting the dishes away when the doorbell rings.
“Come in!” I yell.
Dad opens the door and waits for me to walk over. He hands me something as he starts to talk.
“I went ahead and signed these out for you.”
I look down to see a set of keys and cell phone in my palm and smile.
“Thank you, Dad,” I say as I give him a hug. He returns it and then holds the door open for me as we leave.
~~~
I take Dad back to the JTF, and then I’m all on my own in this. I still remember how to get to the warehouse, of course. This is one place I highly doubt I could ever forget. So much had happened here, I guess it’s rather fitting of my mother to choose to meet me here.
I’ve pulled into the parking lot, but no other cars are here. Well, I didn’t really expect Irina Derevko to announce her presence that obviously. I park where I used to and make my way inside.
Slowly, I walk around the boxes up to the cage, suddenly lost to memories. I can’t believe the things so fresh in my mind really took place years ago. Then I look up and see her. My mother is sitting right where Vaughn used to sit.
My first thought is that she looks tanner than when I last saw her. And then I realize she’s dressed more casually as well. I stop walking. I’ve seen her in that outfit before.
I am sitting, relaxing in a white chair. My fruit drink is sitting on the table cradled by my hand. I glance at her, sitting on the porch rail beside the table. I find myself looking into her eyes. They are crinkled at the corners because her smile is genuine.
That smile is just for me, I realize. I feel my face respond in kind then we both go back to listening to the one of the other people gathered around the table.
As quickly and vividly as the memory comes, it fades. But there it is, none the less. I dazedly walk through the little gate opening and she stands up. She comes over to give me a hug. I feel happy to see her, but half-heartedly return it.
“Let me look at you,” she says, and she stands back to look me up and down. I watch her warily, but she seems to have a real interest in my well-being. She takes my elbow and guides me to sit down with her.
Mom smiles the same smile I just remembered.
“Tell me what has happened since Hong Kong,” she asks straight out. I look her in the eye and she doesn’t look away. I notice that she looks a little uncertain as well. Finally, some pieces of the puzzle fall into place in my mind.
I’m not sure I can trust my voice to not shake. “I was with you wasn’t I?”
My mother nods and doesn’t look away. A little sadness creeps into her gaze.
The corners of my mouth lift in a little smile of relief. I am so glad I was with someone I trust rather than with Sloane. It’s a small moment of clarity, but I know without a doubt that I do trust her now.
As I open my mouth and begin to talk about all that’s happened since I woke up in Hong Kong, there is an underlying thought that won’t go away. I realize that by telling her, I have acknowledged to myself that I believe in what I have forgotten. A peace settles over me and we talk and I accept the fact that I truly love my mother and I would trust her with my life.
I simply promise I won't abandon this story completely. Hope you all enjoy this next part!Chapter Seven
Irina
The top of the black convertible was down and the car was speeding its way along the LA freeways. Irina’s flight had landed less than two hours ago and she was on her way to meet Sydney. She was a mix of emotions but none of it showed on her face as she deftly maneuvered through the city traffic.
She was dressed simply and very casually in jeans, a white tank top that showed off her lean, toned arms, and white Nikes. Her low ponytail whipped around behind her head, but she didn’t mind.
Glancing at the map secured to the passengers seat to make she had the right exit, she pulled off the freeway and began making her way through the maze of streets that was the real Los Angeles. About fifteen minutes later she was pulling into a deserted dirt parking lot satisfied she’d picked up no tails.
She drove slowly so she did not raise a cloud of dust and she roved her gaze over the abandoned warehouse sitting on the lot. Sydney had described this place to her in detail, so it didn’t feel like unknown territory. But more importantly, she knew that the CIA had abandoned it. Therefore, it was the perfect contact point for this meeting.
Around the back, she found a garage door that opened by hand. Irina left her convertible running while she heaved the door up just enough to clear the car. Once inside, she quickly shut off the engine and lowered the garage door back down. Immediately, the interior went dark and Irina switched on the flashlight she’d grabbed from the glove box.
The warehouse smelt dusty and dry and her swinging beam lit up stacks after stacks of packing crates. Curious though she was about what was in them, Irina didn’t stop to take a peek. She immediately made her way to the old office room in the corner. The door was locked, but it was just a regular key lock. Irina soon had it picked and open. She aimed her light around. A table stood against one wall, a cordless telephone sitting in the middle. Two chairs had been placed at it and one wall was stacked with more packing boxes.
She smiled when she picked up the receiver and heard a dial-tone. She hung it up, found the light switch, set her flashlight down, and then dialed a number she’d had memorized for a long time.
Sydney
The excitement of being free has worn off and I’ve had a bit of a lonely afternoon. Will didn’t have much time to stick around after bringing me home. There was still some paperwork left to finish at his “magazine job”. He apologized about it in the car and once he’d let me in, given me a key, a few words about what was in the fridge, a hug, and an apologetic smile, he was back out the door.
I took the time to wander around, noting the differences and the things that hadn’t changed. It was evident Will hadn’t touched much, but it was obvious he had settled into Francie’s room. There wasn’t much left in there of hers but a few picture frames with photos of the three of us and keepsake items with too many memories to doom to Goodwill.
Seeing my room was a bit of a shock at the same time as it wasn’t. The bed was made, but there was nothing else left around. No photos on the table, no jewelry box on the dresser. My closet was completely bare. The bathroom had towels and toilet paper and hand soap, but nothing that suggests regular use.
I wandered out the living room, at a loss of what to do. I don’t feel a desire to go out and shop yet. I don’t really want to see all the changes in the fashion world yet. So I just borrowed a pair of Will’s sweats and started in on a pint of Ben and Jerry’s from the freezer. Curled up on the new soft blue sofa, I stare out the window, contemplating my itinerary for the next few days. First, I’m expecting a call from Dixon with my bank account information and next, Carrie is coming over after she is finished at the JTF to go shopping.
The telephone pulls me out of my dreams of a brand new wardrobe. Expecting Dixon’s voice, the words I hear in answer to my bright hello shock me.
“Joey’s Pizza?”
“Wr...Wrong number.” I stutter and hang up. I’m stunned into confusion. That signal was retired a long time ago, right after the take-down of SD-6. And the voice! If I’m not mistaken, that was my mother. After a few more seconds of reflection, I realize I’m not that surprised to hear her voice. I’m more surprised that she actually called the house. It’s almost like....almost like I expected her to call, but not this soon. What is going on here?
Everything seems to be in slow motion and my thoughts feel foggy trying to sort through the facts. I knew that call from my mother was coming. How I knew, I don’t know, but I did.
I know I am going to go meet her at the warehouse. I know I don’t want to turn her in to the CIA. What has suddenly come over me? Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m getting up off the sofa and putting the ice cream away and my spoon in the sink. Will’s sweats come off and my suit goes back on.
But how am I going to get there? I don’t have a car yet. I guess I’ll have to borrow Vaughn’s. No, no, what am I thinking. I can’t do that. So borrow Will’s? No, he needs his this afternoon and he’ll be nosy. Dad’s? Dad’s could work. He finds plenty of things to stay at work late for, so he certainly has the time to lend me a set of wheels for an hour or two.
I pace the kitchen as I try to think. What am I doing? It’s like I’m not really in control of me. Then an explanation occurs to me. From somewhere in the blackness, I’m telling myself things and it’s confusing as hell. I’ve got to start thinking clearly again.
I make myself sit down at the table and I put my head in my hands. Trying hard not to think about anything in particular, the world slowly comes back into focus.
What I know is this: my mother called and I’m not surprised. I might even be a little glad. And while I still have no idea about my missing years, it seems very likely right now that she knows something. Whether I feel manipulated into this or not, I have to go meet her. I pick up the phone from where I dropped it and dial my dad’s cell.
“Bristow,” he answers.
“Hey Dad, it’s me.”
“Sydney. Is everything alright?”
“Yeah, Dad, everything’s fine. I was just wondering if I could borrow your car to go to the store and get a few things. Will had to go back into work.”
“You haven’t been given a car yet?”
“Um, no. All that re-issuing takes place tomorrow after my briefing.”
“I’ll be by in around half an hour,” he hangs up.
I don’t think I’ll ever figure my father out. At least I know I can always trust him. Or can I? Why didn’t I tell him about Mom’s call? I realize I feel a strong compulsion not to.
I start washing the dishes in the sink trying not to think too hard or second guess myself. I’ve managed to live a long time in this business by trusting my instincts; I’m just going to have to do again.
Before I know it, my dad has pulled into the driveway in a car I don’t recognize. I just finish putting the dishes away when the doorbell rings.
“Come in!” I yell.
Dad opens the door and waits for me to walk over. He hands me something as he starts to talk.
“I went ahead and signed these out for you.”
I look down to see a set of keys and cell phone in my palm and smile.
“Thank you, Dad,” I say as I give him a hug. He returns it and then holds the door open for me as we leave.
~~~
I take Dad back to the JTF, and then I’m all on my own in this. I still remember how to get to the warehouse, of course. This is one place I highly doubt I could ever forget. So much had happened here, I guess it’s rather fitting of my mother to choose to meet me here.
I’ve pulled into the parking lot, but no other cars are here. Well, I didn’t really expect Irina Derevko to announce her presence that obviously. I park where I used to and make my way inside.
Slowly, I walk around the boxes up to the cage, suddenly lost to memories. I can’t believe the things so fresh in my mind really took place years ago. Then I look up and see her. My mother is sitting right where Vaughn used to sit.
My first thought is that she looks tanner than when I last saw her. And then I realize she’s dressed more casually as well. I stop walking. I’ve seen her in that outfit before.
I am sitting, relaxing in a white chair. My fruit drink is sitting on the table cradled by my hand. I glance at her, sitting on the porch rail beside the table. I find myself looking into her eyes. They are crinkled at the corners because her smile is genuine.
That smile is just for me, I realize. I feel my face respond in kind then we both go back to listening to the one of the other people gathered around the table.
As quickly and vividly as the memory comes, it fades. But there it is, none the less. I dazedly walk through the little gate opening and she stands up. She comes over to give me a hug. I feel happy to see her, but half-heartedly return it.
“Let me look at you,” she says, and she stands back to look me up and down. I watch her warily, but she seems to have a real interest in my well-being. She takes my elbow and guides me to sit down with her.
Mom smiles the same smile I just remembered.
“Tell me what has happened since Hong Kong,” she asks straight out. I look her in the eye and she doesn’t look away. I notice that she looks a little uncertain as well. Finally, some pieces of the puzzle fall into place in my mind.
I’m not sure I can trust my voice to not shake. “I was with you wasn’t I?”
My mother nods and doesn’t look away. A little sadness creeps into her gaze.
The corners of my mouth lift in a little smile of relief. I am so glad I was with someone I trust rather than with Sloane. It’s a small moment of clarity, but I know without a doubt that I do trust her now.
As I open my mouth and begin to talk about all that’s happened since I woke up in Hong Kong, there is an underlying thought that won’t go away. I realize that by telling her, I have acknowledged to myself that I believe in what I have forgotten. A peace settles over me and we talk and I accept the fact that I truly love my mother and I would trust her with my life.
