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A/N - Last introspection and development chapter for a bit. Again, this grew.

Chapter 8 - The Road of Life

"Men heap together the mistakes of their lives, and create a monster they call destiny."

John Hobbes

I-93

Massachusetts

October 20, 2011

The trees lining the highway blurred together, the brilliant orange and red leaves flashing to either side of the black suburban as I pointed myself south. The brilliant colors of a New England fall muddled together as they flashed by, mirroring the racing thoughts flying through my head. Those thoughts, disturbingly dark, were matched by the growing knot in my stomach. Had I screwed up...again?

I wished I could be worthy of what Amy had offered. I had wanted it only a decade and a half earlier...hell, that chance had been one of the few things that had made living in that town bearable. I could remember those evenings where we just stayed up and chatted...nothing special, just friendship. A friendship where we could share everything...or so I thought. Had I been wrong?

That fateful night kept playing through my mind, the pained expression that had played across her face as she told me that we couldn't be together...that I wasn't good enough for her family, or at least that was what I heard. That night had soured me on the town and its inhabitants, created a grudge that had lasted since then. I realized now that my grudge had serious consequences.

That talk yesterday had only been a small crack in the dike, but the weight of history brought down the whole dike. Amy wasn't the one who destroyed my life, but it was I who had destroyed hers. With my impulsive choice to run away from my problems, I had forced Amy into taking the job that I had apparently been being groomed for, albeit without my knowledge. Thinking back I could only think that my friendship had kept her from meeting someone that she could truly be with as she truly was, not having to hide any part of herself from her love. Someone who was not me.

In my racing thoughts, Amy's face keep flashing back to me as I drove, but not as it should be. I saw her in that dark storeroom, looking like she did all those years ago when we were growing up. I saw thick, red blood..her blood...staining my hands as I gripped the Beretta. I saw those last gasping breaths as my actions took her life.

I had made the decision to storm that room in Germany, cockily leading my team directly into an ambush. Of the six of us who rushed into that dark room, I was the only one who left. I had decided to acquiesce to that voice in the storeroom, and to those pleading eyes of the Lycan whose life I stole. I still bore the pain from that boy in Boston...the one I thought had been saved, but apparently had no chance.

I had never really tried to get close to anyone while working. Sure, I had acquaintances, but friends? Not really. My only friend was sitting beside me, head resting against the window, strangely sullen.

I felt a buzzing on my hip, my ringing cell phone. Slowly unholstering it, I quickly glanced at the screen; I saw the 603 code and guessed that it was Amy. Not now. I hit the ignore icon, tossing the phone into one of the cupholders. Right now, I just needed to be alone. My thoughts were company enough. A buzz a few minutes later announced that she had left a message, but I just filed that thought away for later.

The drive finally concluded as I reached my apartment. After grabbing the mail, I just wanted to sleep. Between the hospital and the events at the cabin, I hadn't really rested well over the past few days. I needed a little time to try and sort out my thoughts. Maybe I'm right and I'm just destined to be Death to all those I meet, a suit for a cloak and a .45 for a scythe. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm just Death to myself...the ultimate critic.

As I walked into the room, I dropped my keys on the bedside table...or rather tried to. They slipped off and fell under the bed. Crouching to grab them, I lifted the sheets and saw that box of history sitting under the bed. All of those letters that Amy had sent...those letters that I hadn't had the courage to read...nor to throw out.

My hands were almost moving of their own accord as I reached under the bed and pulled the box out. My hands were almost trembling as I opened the over and pulled out the first letter. The neat script was still eminently legible, even if the paper was a bit stiff.

Michael,

I hope this letter finds you. Your father apparently had to call in a couple favors to get your address. Why you didn't tell them is your concern, not mine, but I beg of you to reconsider. They miss you almost as much as I do.

I'm sorry. I wish we could have been together. I understand what you have gone through the past years, being looked down on for your heritage, being mocked for being different and just how hard you worked to prove yourself. You almost made it. To be honest, a lot of the town was just as surprised as I was to learn that you had enlisted. From just talking to everyone, we all wish for you to be safe and return to us, even if only to talk. This is a strange town, but I think your choice struck something within them. Even Seamus, that letch, asked me to wish you the best, although I think his words were 'Remind that bastard that we're due for a rematch.' The thing is, he was almost jocular in his tone, something I heard only rarely before.

Mike, stay safe. In any other life, if just one thing were different, I would have said yes. I want to change that one thing, but it takes time and your help. Please stay safe and return.

I can wait. I will wait.

God Speed and God Bless,

Amy

That letter started the thoughts churning through my head. The town had turned around? I thought back, remembering the sympathy that my sister had recounted to me upon my return to the land of the existing, all those years ago. Apparently the whole town had shown up to pay respects to both my parents. Well, almost all the town. I could remember my sister telling me that, apparently, Amy hadn't shown up, the excuse being that she was out of town on urgent business. With everything Amy had told me over the last week, I was wondering if that was the whole truth.

All these years, I had discounted this as a typical reaction of small town folks. My parents had been tolerated by the town, neither liked nor disliked, but in small towns, particularly when you're burying five bodies, it's tough. I had seen the Irish wakes and funerals of some of the men I worked with, both in the Bureau and the Navy. Any of these small towns banded together like nothing else I had ever experienced, one of the last bastions of Mapleton Dr.

But this letter made me start to question this thought. Maybe I was more attached to this town than I was currently admitting. Did I misread the town, or did the town misread me. Who knows. My curiosity piqued, I started to continue reading the letters. What I read shocked me.

Apparently my choices, my decision to run away from the problems I encountered was misread by Amy. She read my choices as wanting to make something of myself...to make myself look better in her eyes and disprove the townsfolk who had so looked down at me. From this, from what she saw as virtue, she decided to change her future. She enrolled in the same local college I would have attended, going for that degree in criminal justice. She started volunteering in local public service agencies, getting experience in the public safety sector before even graduating. She pushed herself the entire time, graduating with a perfect GPA and walking off that stage into a waiting position with the sheriff's department. Her next letter was the one that caught me.

Mike,

I don't know if you are actually receiving these letters, or whether you are actually reading them, but I wanted to thank you. You changed my life.

Before you left, I was following a path that had been laid out for me. My father wanted me to be work in the environment...to be his little princess doing jobs fit for a woman...

I had to laugh at that statement. She had been planning on going into the EPA for cleanup. It may have primarily been a desk job, but nowhere near this 'woman's work' that she was talking about. Although, her father was a little odd. Shrugging the thought away, I continued the letter.

...not this aggressive deputy business. He was actually completely against the town leadership when they recommended me to become a deputy. When you left, the town's plans were thrown into disarray. We would soon need more deputies, and well, you inspired me. I had asked them for their thoughts and apparently they felt I was the best option. He wanted me to be a 'defender, not aggressor' in his own words. Well, I can say that I am, and I did it my own way because of you.

We had a kidnapping today. Some creep pulled a kid off the street, in plain view of bystanders. Not bright, but most crooks aren't. We found the guy, knife in hand, as he was preparing to slit the boy's throat and destroy the evidence. He made a few mistakes. He won't be part of any recidivism statistic.

This creep wasn't the rewarding part of today, nor the reason that I am writing this. The sight of that boy being reunited with his family was the most heartbreaking aspect of the entire affair. Not because I was sad for the boy, but because I was sad for you...and me.

Mike, if you are reading this, I still care. I want to see you again...to know that you are alive. I hope you don't hate me for what I said all those years ago.

I love you.

Until I can see you again,

Amy.

I had never looked at the events of our lives that way. I always thought that the dream she had always explained to me was just that, hers. I never suspected that she had any other desires. Shows how well I could read her. I still felt like I didn't know her at all.

Thinking back on all of this, I realized that I still couldn't pull myself back into this world. I had left it so many years ago and cultivated a detachment that would likely be with me for life. Part of me wanted to go back to the way things were that decade and a half ago...when I wasn't this distrustful of everyone, but I knew that was impossible. I had made my choice a long time ago. I just needed to learn how to live with it. Maybe I could, maybe I couldn't, but I should try.

Reaching onto the bedside table, I grabbed the phone, the blinking light at the top reminding me of a missed call. The dialogue in my head continued to play back and forth, arguing over whether I should listen to the message or not. Part of me wanted to hear what she had to say, to see if there was still a chance of reconciliation. The other part, well, it feared rejection again. That nagging doubt would probably never leave me.

My optimistic side won. That voice came out of the phone, heavy and thoughtful.

"Mike, I'm sorry. I can understand your choice, and want you to know that I do not hold it against you. I have withheld the truth from you for all of these years. Not only that, but I let you believe that you knew everything about me. You must think that I was acting all those years ago, but I just want you to know. Everything I told you then, I meant it. I completely understand that you hold a grudge against me and the town, just as I once held a grudge against you for running away.

Mike, I want us to start over. We cannot hold these grudges against each other. Mike, we all make mistakes and errors throughout our lives. I've made my share, but let me be clear. You were never one of those.

Mike, I love you."

I was stunned. She was right, I had been a fool. Maybe I couldn't deal with all of this now, but I owed her at least a second shot. What was different, the fact that she put on a fur coat at night? No, I realized, it was the lies that hurt. Her lies and duplicity I could almost understand, but after my life, I could never trust anyone who was that able to evade the truth. That was what poisoned everything for me. I hated that.

The hurt in her voice had been evident throughout the entire call. I had left because I didn't want to hurt her feelings by saying yes and once again being distant, or by trying to stay afloat in a morass of new rituals and societal obligations. I thought that she would be better served by someone like her.

Like her...as if her difference was some sort of disease. From that call, as well as the letters, I understood. She had had options other than me. She chose me.

I promised myself that I would change. I needed to let go of what had happened in the past. Yes, my history had sucked. Self-imposed exile, two years of tortuous captivity, and a specter of death that seemed to follow me around.

However, I had done plenty of good. The sight of Sarah and her father danced in the forefront of my mind as I realized that without me, she would be dead, her father at best holding a funeral, at worst never knowing what had happened. I at least now knew what had happened to my parents, and that the cause had been my father's attempted heroism. Perhaps life sucked, but I needed to make the best of what I had.

'Grudges are the albatross of the soul,' I thought. 'They hold us in place, never seeing the good in ourselves, always mocking our failures. To get rid of the failures...to get home... to peace with myself, I need to get rid of that albatross. I would need to admit the truth to myself'

"Amy, I forgive you," I whispered under my breath, speaking to no one but those ghosts of my past that seemed to follow me. "We all made our choices, but those choices do not set our lives in stone, but only I can change my own path."

I decided that I would go back that weekend. I had to work tomorrow, and I figured that Stark would need the report on my weekend. How the hell I was going to write this up, I had no clue.

A grumbling stomach brought me back to the present from my sojourns through the past and future. Looking outside, I realized that my introspection had taken up the better part of my afternoon. My mental exhaustion from the past week was still there and insistent, but my hunger talked a little louder.

A quick meal fixed that, and my exhaustion guided me under the warm covers of my bed.

As the next morning rolled around, I fell right back into my normal routine. My leg was still a little stiff, but the hot water of the shower helped loosen it up so that I could get around and get back to the work.

Entering the office, I heard a lot of unexpected laudatory congratulations. The cries of 'good shoot' and 'nice work' became almost omnipresent as I strode to my desk. There, I saw the reason for all of the adulation.

The Boston Globe was sitting on my desk, the front headline proclaiming "Kidnapper Killed in Shootout With FBI; Child Rescued in Daring Raid." Skimming the article, I saw that the story had been sanitized to a generic kidnapping. The laudatory tone of the article was rather off-putting. It almost made me feel ashamed as I read how I was made into some sort of super-agent, single-handedly rescuing the girl, when, in all honesty, if David and Amy hadn't been nearby or if that strike team hadn't shown up, it probably would have been my body lying dead in that field.

Looking up from the story, I saw a yellow post-it note that had fallen off the paper.

Mike, We'll talk Monday on this. I'm out the rest of the week, cleaning up. IA's ruled it a 'good shoot', BTW. Good job. -- Stark

Apparently this stuff went pretty deep. Usually an IA review took a few weeks of desk duty. Somebody's pulling strings, but I wasn't complaining, nor was I surprised. That strike team wasn't exactly freelancing, and I guessed that Stark had something to do with that.

The rest of the day passed rather quickly. I managed to get replacements for a lot of the stuff that had been used during the week, even managing to requisition another rifle to replace the M4 that had been damaged. The paperwork for the day was simple, mostly following up on old reports that had piled up in my absence and scheduling new training...apparently the New London area now wanted some tactical and terror preparedness training.

I smiled at that thought. I knew that this weekend's events had something to do with that, but I also wondered if there was a more personal reason, as I saw the name at the bottom of the request, Sheriff Sullivan. I'd have to discuss that with her tomorrow, I thought, a smile on my face.

My reverie was broken as my phone rang. I looked at the receiver, realizing that it was almost six o'clock. I had definitely gotten wrapped back up in work. I needed to go soon, otherwise I would be here until midnight. The remaining paperwork could wait until next week. Clearing my head, I picked up the receiver, prepared to tell whoever it was that whatever they needed would have to wait until next week.

"Agent Hart."

"Mike, it's Tom at the front desk. There's a Marshal Anderson here to see you."

"Ok. Tom, tell him I'll be out in a minute." I gathered up all of my belongings and started out.

As I reached the lobby, I saw David from across the room. It's not as if he was hiding. He was wearing a blue raid jacket, the words US Marshal emblazoned across the back.

"Marshal Anderson, I presume." I was crossing the lobby toward him as he turned around. He was tall, maybe half a foot taller than my six foot frame. His black hair accented a tan face that looked as if it had seen some years. It wasn't old, but maybe a little haggard, probably from the events of last week. With that thought, I realized that I didn't want to know how I looked after my week. I probably looked like something a cat puked up. I gripped his hand firmly when I reached him.

"Michael, good to see you. Can we talk somewhere?" he returned the handshake firmly, again not backing down from me.

'Crap.' "My office is in the back. We can talk there." The walk back into my office was quick, and we both settled into seats, myself at my desk and David in a chair I kept in the corner for visitors. A couple years of seniority and experience in this office was always a plus. "What's going on, David? Why are you in Boston?"

His reply completely sidestepped my questions. "What happened with Amy?" A moment of stunned silence followed as I tried to process an answer, although he just kept on speaking. "Sarah, my wife and I tried to catch you to thank you yesterday. Amy said you had left, and was real strange. She's usually outgoing, but she just wanted to be left alone."

I decided that I couldn't lie. I had promised myself that I would be better, and needed to follow through on that. "David, a long time ago, when I still lived in New London, I asked Amy to marry me. Yesterday she said yes." His expression brightened at that. Seeing this, I sadly continued. "This time, I said no. I just needed time to sort all of this out. I thought I was protecting her from myself, from all of my bad decisions, but I realized just how much those two little letters hurt her. I was actually going to see her tomorrow to try to reset everything, or at least do damage control."

David's expression went from one of joy to pity. "Geez, Mike, I'm sorry for digging. I just wanted to see if something was wrong with you...is there anything I can do?"

"No, I just need to talk to Amy tomorrow. I can't say yes, yet, but I can at least walk back into her life as a friend."

"Mike, tell you what. Why don't you come back up with me tonight. My wife's been begging to meet you, and Sarah wants to show you some kind of video...what is she doing knowing about S&M?" He cast an accusing eye at me.

"Heh," a nervous laugh, "If it's what I think, it's a Metallica concert. Apparently she likes some of the same music I do. If it's what you think it is...well, that wasn't me." His stare backed down, looking almost bashful for not knowing his daughter's music habits. "As for the offer, what the hell. I promised myself that I would give the town another shot. May as well start with someone I already know."

"Great," was his reply. "Uh...do you mind driving? My partner took the van back to Concord an hour ago. My wife was supposed to pick me up at Alewife and the bike won't fit three. Plus, she should probably go grab some food for tonight."

"Heh, fine. My truck's in the garage."

As we left, I quickly thought of taking the bureau suburban, but it would be tough to justify. Yes, Amy had requested some training, but this trip wouldn't be purely business. Reaching that black behemoth that I had just returned that morning, I grabbed my bags out and tossed them into my own truck. It didn't have the toys the bureau truck did, but I had some basics from way back when I worked on alerts, as opposed to on the clock. Plus, the stereo was better.

As we pulled out of the garage, heading toward my apartment to pick up Loki and some clothes, I turned on the radio and was rewarded by Metallica starting to come out of the speakers. I had to smile at the serendipitous song.

"Dave," I started, "This is the S&M concert I was telling you about. This song's 'Of Wolf and Man.'" My grin was splitting across my face as I looked over at his incredulous face.

"You've got to be kidding me. Next you'll tell me that Warren Zevon's on that CD, too and expecting me to stick my head out the window." The grin on his face belied the accusing words.

"No, Zevon's not on this CD, and I can open your window if you want." I glanced over at him, grinning. "Just don't drool too much."

His guffaw was enough to tell me what he thought of my attempt at humor. "You're horrible."

After picking up everything we needed, I started north. David had already spoken with his wife, telling her that I was coming over and to 'Prepare a feast.' We spoke of our respective jobs. David was primarily assigned to a fugitive task force, but he had requested a transfer run today to try to chat with me. As that Lycan commander from the strike team had said about Lycans, David seemed to enjoy the chase.

We had just hit the state line when my phone started vibrating. Looking at the display, I saw a 508 number that I didn't recognize. I turned the radio down a little bit.

"Hart," I answered.

"Agent Hart, it's Agent Dalis. We've got a problem."

Dalis...Dalis, oh yeah the other agent who was dealing with the bank robberies. "What's wrong?" My mind was racing. What could have happened. Even if it was another robbery, he sounded somehow off.

"There was a bombing in New London. Some kind of truck bomb. About a half dozen fatalities. We also cannot find Sheriff Sullivan or..."there was a shuffle of papers in the background as Dalis apparently looked for something. "...or a Sarah Anderson. We think they may have been kidnapped."

"What? How?" My mind was racing. "How does that happen?"

"I don't know. We're still working on it. Just get here." With that the call ended, replaced by disbelieving silence.

My foot was already flat on the floor, pushing the V8 engine to new levels as I hit the switch to lower my window. I handed my phone to David, who was looking at me, knowing that something was wrong.

"In my contacts is one named Stark. Call him and tell him I need any available agents to New London. Yesterday." His bewildered expression showed that he had no clue what was going on as I removed my old throw light from under my seat, and applied it to the roof, the old magnet somehow holding on in the slipstream around the truck as it illuminated the darkening road in blue light. "If he can get the same group as last time, send them," I included as an afterthought.

"Mike, what happened?" David was almost beside himself in confusion.

"David, that was another agent. There was an explosion in New London...truck bomb. Six dead. It appears that Amy is missing. So is Sarah. They're thinking kidnapping."

Horror wrote itself across his face at that second name and he redoubled his efforts to find Stark's name in my contacts. I simply focused on the road, steering around the idiots who didn't get out of my way as my V8 sang its thunderous song.

'Amy, I let you down before...I chose myself over you. Please let me begin again.'

'I'm coming.'

A/N - Thanks for reading. More to come, getting to the climax of the story now. Please review and comment.