3. Christian
Christian
T he sounds of gunfire echoed in my mind, a relentless barrage of noise that never seemed to end.
I found myself back in that godforsaken place, the humid air thick with the stench of sweat and fear.
A sprawling mall in the heart of Hong Kong.
The architecture felt oppressive, trapping us in a concrete maze.
I could see the civilians' terrified faces, hear their muffled cries as they tried to hide behind overturned tables and shattered glass displays. My pulse pounded in my ears, matching the rapid fire of automatic weapons. Every shadow seemed to conceal a threat, every corner held potential death.
We moved in formation, my team and I, clearing room after room. The air hung heavy with tension. My rifle felt like an extension of my body, each movement precise, calculated. We were trained for this, born for this chaos.
Suddenly, an explosion rocked the building, sending shards of glass raining down like lethal confetti. The shockwave threw me off balance, and I hit the ground hard. Dust filled my lungs as I struggled to regain my bearings.
“Christian! Get up!” a voice barked over the comms, urgent and edged with desperation.
I pushed myself to my feet, shaking off the disorientation. Through the haze, I saw them—a group of hostages huddled together, wide-eyed and trembling. And then I saw him—the lead gunman—an all-too-familiar face etched into my memory.
He sneered at me, his eyes cold and devoid of humanity. He raised his weapon, and time seemed to slow. I aimed and fired, but it was too late. A bullet tore through my shoulder, a searing pain that nearly brought me to my knees.
I grunted, but the sound barely escaped my lips before darkness enveloped me.
I jolted awake, heart hammering against my ribs like it wanted out. The room was dimly lit by the early morning light filtering through thin curtains. Sweat drenched my sheets; I felt like I’d been dragged through hell and back.
Breathing heavily, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and rubbed my temples. The nightmare clung to me like a second skin, its images refusing to fade away. The silence of the room felt suffocating after the cacophony of gunfire and screams.
I stood up and paced around the small space, trying to shake off the lingering dread. Each step felt heavy as if wading through molasses. Outside, birds chirped obliviously—and here I thought they all flew south for the weather.
But no matter how hard I tried to escape it or how far I ran from it in waking hours—the nightmare always found its way back to me.
My stomach rumbled. I couldn't remember the last time I ate—hours? A day or two? The lines blurred when nightmares claimed the night and exhaustion claimed the day.
I grabbed a pair of jeans from the floor, pulling them on with practiced efficiency. A plain black t-shirt followed, its cotton fabric a familiar comfort against my skin. I laced up my boots, each movement deliberate. I needed breakfast—needed to remind myself I was still alive, still here.
The stairs creaked under my weight as I descended, each step bringing me closer to the hum of morning activity. The dining room lay just beyond, the scent of coffee and freshly baked bread mingling in the air. My stomach growled louder in anticipation.
Just as I stepped into the room, a sharp shriek pierced the air. Instinct took over before my mind could process it. My eyes darted to the source—a woman teetering on a ladder, arms flailing as she lost her balance.
I lunged forward without thinking, arms outstretched. Her body collided with mine, the impact jarring but manageable. I tightened my grip, steadying us both as she clung to me.
Claire’s eyes were wide with shock as she caught her breath. Her fingers dug into my shoulders momentarily before she pulled back, regaining her composure.
"Oh my gosh, your shoulders are so broad—" She started choking.
"Are you all right?" I asked.
"No," she said. "Yes. Of course." She offered a smile. "Thank you."
"No problem," I replied, my voice steadier than I felt inside.
We stood there for a moment, an odd tableau amid the clatter of breakfast preparations and murmured conversations. Then she offered another small smile and stepped back, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
"You've got quick reflexes," she observed.
"Comes with the territory," I said with a half-shrug, trying to downplay the adrenaline still coursing through my veins.
Claire straightened, still catching her breath.
“What were you doing, anyway?” I asked, curiosity slipping through.
She blinked, clearly taken aback by my question. “Oh, well, there's this string of Christmas lights that needed fixing, but I couldn't quite reach it.” She glanced up at the offending decorations and then back at me. “Would you mind taking a look?”
I arched a brow, unsure why she’d ask me of all people. The request felt odd—domestic tasks weren't exactly in my wheelhouse.
Her cheeks flushed a light pink. “No, never mind. How rude of me. I'm sorry.”
The apology struck a chord. It wasn’t like I had anything better to do, and the sincerity in her eyes nudged at some long-dormant sense of decency within me. “I can take a look,” I said, surprising myself more than her.
Claire's eyes lit up with relief and gratitude. She pointed to the far corner of the room where the ladder stood beneath a tangle of half-lit lights. "Over there," she said, voice soft but steady.
I crossed the room, feeling her eyes on me as I reached for the ladder. The rungs felt solid under my grip—a good sign given my luck lately. I climbed up carefully, scanning the length of the lights for any obvious issues.
“You don’t have to do this,” Claire murmured from below.
“I know,” I replied without looking down.
At the top of the ladder, I spotted the problem—a loose connection where two strands met. Years of dealing with finicky equipment in far more dire circumstances had taught me patience and precision. I jiggled the connection gently until it clicked into place.
The lights flickered once before glowing steadily.
“Got it,” I called down, descending the ladder.
Claire’s face brightened as she looked up at the now fully lit string of lights. “Thank you! It’s been driving me crazy for days.”
I shrugged as I stepped off the ladder, brushing off imaginary dust from my hands. “No big deal.”
For a moment, we stood there in comfortable silence, admiring our small victory against faulty holiday decorations.
She shifted her weight from one foot to the other before speaking again. “Can I offer you some breakfast? As a thank you?”
I hesitated briefly but nodded. “Sure.”
She smiled warmly and gestured toward an empty seat at a nearby table.
As I sat down and took in the homely spread before me, it struck me how different this moment was from those relentless memories that haunted my nights—how it felt oddly... nice.
I sat down at the table, the smell of breakfast wrapping around me like a warm blanket. The aroma of sizzling bacon, freshly scrambled eggs, and toasted bread filled the air, mingling with the faint scent of coffee.
Claire placed a plate in front of me, piled high with food. The bacon looked crispy, with just the right amount of charred edges. The eggs were fluffy and golden, with flecks of green that hinted at some herbs. I took a forkful and brought it to my mouth.
The eggs were light and airy, seasoned perfectly with a hint of chives that added a subtle freshness. Each bite melted on my tongue, the warmth spreading through me like an antidote to the coldness that had settled in my bones.
I reached for a slice of toast, its surface glistening with butter that seeped into the crispy edges. I bit into it, savoring the crunch and the rich, creamy taste that followed. The bread was hearty and dense, with just enough chewiness to make each bite satisfying.
The bacon was next. I picked up a piece and took a bite. It crunched loudly between my teeth, releasing a burst of smoky flavor that mingled with its salty goodness. It was the kind of bacon that made you want to close your eyes and savor every second.
Claire poured me a cup of coffee, its dark liquid steaming as it filled the mug. I took a sip, letting the bitter warmth spread through me. It was strong but smooth, cutting through the remnants of sleep that still clung to my mind.
“You’re quite handy,” Claire remarked. "Cream? Sugar?"
“Just used to fixing things,” I replied between bites. "And no, thank you."
Claire opened her mouth, a question poised on her lips, but something seemed to stop her. Her eyes flickered to the side, as if catching a distant sound or movement that I couldn't perceive.
She cocked her head. “Enjoy your breakfast,” she said finally, her voice softer than before.
I watched as she walked over to the ladder, her steps purposeful yet hesitant.
She bent down and began to collect it, fumbling slightly with the unwieldy object.
I expected her to bombard me with questions—about anything from my favorite color to deeper things—but she didn't. Instead, she left me alone with my thoughts.
Surprised by her restraint, I continued eating, though my attention remained on her. She struggled with the ladder, trying to collapse it without making too much noise. A smirk tugged at the corner of my lips.
Stubborn woman.
I found myself oddly grateful for her silence. The questions would come eventually; they always did, especially from someone who spoke as much as she did. But for now, this small reprieve felt like a gift—a rare moment of peace amidst the chaos that had become my life.
She finally managed to wrestle the ladder into submission and propped it against the wall with a satisfied huff. For a moment, our eyes met across the room.
At that moment, my heart skipped a beat.
It was a brief, fleeting moment—a spark of something I couldn’t quite name.
Maybe it was the way she looked at me, a mixture of gratitude and curiosity that seemed to pierce through my defenses.
But I couldn't afford to let it grow into anything more.
I dismissed the feeling immediately, dousing it like a fire threatening to catch.
I had enough flames to deal with already; I didn't need another one burning me from within.
I took another bite of bacon, savoring its smoky flavor while Claire moved about the room with practiced efficiency. The ordinary sounds of breakfast—the clink of dishes, the soft hum of conversation from other guests—grounded me in the present moment.
It was strange how such mundane activities could offer solace when everything else seemed so uncertain.
I finished the last bite of my breakfast, pushing the plate away as I wiped my mouth with a napkin. The warmth from the food settled in my stomach. I nodded my thanks to Claire, who was now bustling about the kitchen, her movements quick and efficient.
The day stretched ahead of me like an uncharted map.
I had no real plans, just a vague sense of purpose that gnawed at the edges of my thoughts.
It had been years since I left the SAS, years of drifting from place to place without any clear direction.
But today felt different, as if the fog was beginning to lift.
I needed to focus, to find something tangible to anchor myself to. The nightmare from last night still lingered in my mind, its images hauntingly vivid. I knew I couldn't keep running forever; at some point, I'd have to face whatever it was that chased me.
First things first: a walk. Clear my head and shake off the remnants of sleep and terror.
Get used to this town. The crisp morning air would do me good, help me think straight.
I grabbed my jacket from the back of the chair and slipped it on, its weight familiar and reassuring, before heading out into the cold.