Two days later, my phone rang. It was Marcus’s mother. I was so shocked that I could respond when she said hello. How did she get my number? We talked for a few minutes. Apparently she got my number from searching through Marcus’s things in his room. They were trying to reach out to any and everyone who knew him to see if they knew where he was.
I completely forgot about the fact that Marcus’s parents would be worried about their son. She was crying so much over the phone that I could barely understand her. That night it was a little harder to fall asleep.
For the next couple of days, I couldn’t get Marcus out of my head. I would think I could see in the corner of my eye but when I turn my head, no one is there. I had a lot more free time now that my mission was over and I wasn’t playing ARGs anymore. It made me actually miss him a little. One night, when I was trying to sleep, I kept seeing his face. I pictured him at the prison, being tortured and suffering and I began to cry. I was so confused. What was wrong with me? Two more weeks passed like this.
One evening, I was watching a Korean soap opera with my parents while we got ready for dinner. This girl was bawling and losing her mind because she had betrayed the man that she loved. And then it hit me. I almost dropped the salad bowl I was holding.
I loved Marcus. In some backwards effed-up way, I had grown to sympathize with my target and realize that I was in love with him. The next month was torture. I was depressed, stopped caring about school and stopped caring about my family. What I had done had begun to weigh on me. I killed 4,000 people and blamed it on the guy I was in love with.
One day, in the middle of summer, a year and a half after the attack, I saw a familiar face on the television. It was Marcus. And he was dead. Apparently they had shipped him off to Syria where they tortured him for hours on end. He finally confessed to the bridge bombing and was convicted of treason and sentenced to death.
I couldn’t breathe. This whole time I was feeling bad enough but now he was dead. All hope for me ever
seeing him again was gone. I left the house and walked around the city all day thinking of what I could do, feeling so terrible for what I had done.
Before I realized where I was, I found myself outside the stupid Asian massage parlor. The same one from the day of the bombing. Some guys were eyeing me and I decided I had a solution. I walked over and asked if they were drug dealers. After they stopped laughing, I asked again. They asked me what I was looking for.
“Heroin.” I said with a straight face.
They looked at each other and said, “now why would a pretty girl like you be looking for that.”
I pulled out $200 and replied, “I’m trying to buy heroin. Do you have any or not.”
One of the guys pulled out his phone and within 5 minutes a car pulled up. The guy walked over to the window, picked up a bag of white powder and then walked back over to me.
“Do you even know how to use this?” He asked.
“I’ll Google it.” I replied, grabbing the bag and throwing him the money.
I made it home some hours later. My parents were out at church, something they did every so often. I had the whole house to myself. I opened up my computer and Googled heroin. When in doubt, Google it. I went to our closet and got one of the syringes my mom uses when she helps the terrorists and brought it back to my room. I put a small hair tie around my arm so that my vein popped up. I had liquefied the entire heroin and sucked it into the syringe. Go big or go home right?
“Here we go.”
I pressed down on the syringe and felt the fire in my vein. It felt incredible. I smiled and kept pressing down. I’d see Marcus soon.
<- Chapter 3