After The Rain (closed)

[zydrate]

It was over. At least she hoped it was.

Nicole lay on the ground of the empty warehouse, the rain falling hard outside.

Her breathing was fast and it seemed as her adrenaline wore down, the pain in her ribs increased. There were a few cracked but thankfully, none felt broken. The gash above her right eyebrow was starting to clot...leaving a drying out trail down the side of her face.

With a groan, she rolled onto her side, her weapon never leaving her hand. As she stood, she could see Carter laying in a heap not more than a few yards from her.

She wouldn't bother checking his pulse. The double tap had been center mass, the third had gone between the eyes. Carter wasn't getting back up.

That was why they called on her.

Was she bad?

Was she good?

Hell, she didn't know... the only thing she did know was that she was done. Done with this life. It had brought her good money but she was getting tired of it. And, although she didn't want to admit it, she was getting old.

Sure, 30 years old wasn't old to some but in this line of work... she was way past retirement. Her body couldn't do it anymore and, she didn't want to do it anymore.

As she thought that, she grabbed her phone and called the only number she had memorized. Her handler.

The other end only rang for half a second.. no greeting... just Nicole saying, "I'm done."

The reply "The job is done, you mean?"

She gasped silently, as a wave of pain vibrated through the side of her head.. fucking migraine, "Yes. And so am I."

They had discussed it before. But only in jest... at least that's what he thought. No, she was done. She heard him start to say something but Nicole ended the call. She quickly opened up the phone and took out the sim card, she flicked the SIM card into the darkness and tossed the phone into the air.

Bang.

Plastic exploded into glittering pieces before it ever hit the floor.

She watched the fragments scatter.

"Guess I can still shoot."

Was all this really done? The job.. yes. Her commitment to the agency? Who knew...

*****
Nicole disappeared.

For weeks, she kept moving. Cheap motels. Anonymous apartments rented by the night.

Small diners where no one asked questions. Every morning she expected to wake to a pounding on the door. Every night she slept lightly, a pistol within reach.

But no one came.

The silence was the hardest part.

No coded messages.

No burner phones.

No handler telling her where to be next.

For the first time in over a decade, every decision belonged to her.

She wasn't very good at it.

One evening, after wandering the city with no destination in mind, the smell of buffalo sauce and grilled food drifted from an old neighborhood bar. She stopped outside, staring through the rain-speckled window longer than she cared to admit.

She wasn't meeting anyone.

She wasn't watching anyone.

She wasn't there because of a mission.

She was just... hungry.

The realization almost made her laugh.

Nicole pushed open the door, found an empty stool near the end of the bar, and after a quick assessment of the bar, sat with her back to the wall out of habit.

"Can I get you something?" the bartender asked.

She glanced at the menu for barely a second.

"Twenty hot wings," she said. "Extra hot."

"And to drink?"

For a moment she almost answered with water.

Then she remembered.

There was no mission.

No call coming.

No one waiting to send her somewhere.

"A beer."

The bartender smiled and walked away.

Nicole sat in the unfamiliar quiet, realizing this was the first meal she'd chosen for herself in years.

 

[1Beachbum25]

Anthony Miller was a 31 year old journalist who struggled to keep a job. It wasn't that he was bad at his job. Actually, he was very good at his job. The problem was that he insisted on just dealing with the facts and telling the story. He did not editorialize. He did not choose a side to slant his stories to.

He believed that it was the job of a journalist to just report, and let the viewers/ readers make up their own minds. The problem was that the media changed. Every network... every newspaper had their own viewpoint that they wanted to promote. Anthony couldn't conform to that.

That was why Anthony had decided to go out and become an independent. He would report on situations, he would write stories and then he would try to sell them to a variety of news sources locally, nationwide and internationally.

It was not the easiest way to make a living, but he had to be true to himself. He truly believed in journalistic principals that he had learned in college and was going to hold true to what he believed.

It did not allow him to live the high life, but he was able to make a decent living.

Staying true to himself often left Anthony dreaming of that one big story that would put him over the top.. make him famous... and lead to news agencies around the world clamoring for his service. Of course, it was just a dream.

Due to his modest income, Anthony did not frequent fancy bars or restaurants. If he went out, he tended to stay rather lowkey and usually would find a nice corner bar to have a couple of beers and some bar food.

Tonight he found himself sitting just inside the front door of a small bar just down the street from his apartment. It had become his go-to bar if he was sitting at home and wanted a drink. There were never a lot of people there, but there was never any drama... no fights, no arguments.... just quiet.

Normally, it was just a regular crowd. In fact, when he walked into the bar a few months prior, he was one of the last "strangers" to enter. That was, until tonight.

Anthony was sitting with his beer and a pad of paper sketching out a few ideas he had for articles to write and jotting down the sources he would need to support those articles when the door opened and a woman entered.

He did not know everyone that frequented the bar, but when a regular entered someone said something to them. When this woman entered, the few people in the bar turned to look at her, but nobody said anything.

Watching as the woman moved to the far end of the bar, Anthony wondered what would bring her in here. She sat down and Anthony saw Pete, the bartender, approach her.

While watching, Anthony started making notes about her. He wasn't sure why, but he made note of her physical features, her demeanor, and he also noted that she made sure to sit with her back to the wall. On his notes he wrote, LEO?.... Military?.... Spy (lol)?

Picking up his beer, Anthony kept watching the woman. He wasn't sure why she had captured his interest, but there was something about her.

He was careful to not stare.. at least he thought he was. If he felt her looking in his direction, he would look down at his notpad, and he wouldn't look up until he felt certain she wasn't watching him.