Chris felt nervous jitters like the ones she felt on her first day as a teacher a year ago. She got off the train in the tube, also known as a subway. Someone here was supposed to be waiting for her. She had a mental picture of the person she had never met but was only given a description of. She took several calming breaths, praying God would help her out. She was someone else—someone called Kristal Thompson.

Apparently, the original fell "conveniently" ill while on vacation in Australia. Having studied the file about her, Chris learned that she had to do a severely good job playing her. Oh, how she sighed relief when the true Kristal decided to stay in Australia for the coming two months! CIA had been successful in coming forward to her with a deal. Chris had even gotten a message that she had Kristal's blessing. Oh, may she forgive her for any idiosyncrasies she couldn't fulfill. Chris would barf right there if she had to eat a slice of bacon dipped in cream cheese and dressed in black pepper.

As humanity flowed in different directions around her, she found herself unable to move. She knew she'd cry from the tightening in her chest if she were fifteen years younger. She forced herself to move, pulling her suitcase and shouldering a backpack. If she could at least just find directions to come back to the surface of the earth, she'd rejoice.

She looked up at the black sign with an arrow pointing in the direction of the staircase with the words exit in white and offered up a silent prayer of thanks. Things were getting better. She felt her hurried footsteps abruptly stop at the sight of a white board with the names Kristal Thompson in black marker. Relief knocked her, almost making her eyes water. What astounded her was the person holding it. She hadn't been expecting a guy. And this tall, puny guy with waist-length brown dreadlocks hardly looked like he was expecting someone on top of that. His head bent over his phone, and brief bored glances up plainly told all he was made to come here, and his crisp black suit didn't work on him somehow.

Chris hesitantly went up to him, suddenly feeling guilty for being the reason he was in this situation. She cleared her throat, reminding herself to use her new accent. "Are you waiting for someone?"

He frowned. "Yeah," he said—before his head dropped once more to his device.

What a teenage way to act for someone around my age. She took a deep calming breath. "Well, maybe I'm who you're waiting for—Kristal Thompson." she said in a kinder tone than she'd wanted to.

He frowned down at her, giving her a double-take. "Could I see some proof?"

Chris confidently pulled out her ID, internally proud that something so new could look several years old. She kept up a smile as he looked it over and handed it back to her. The way his eyes looked her over made her uncomfortable. His features looked so much like the infamous Greenwood's. What if he was working for him after somehow finding out something she didn't know—that she was busted?

No, Chris. You can't think like this, she told herself. She was going to be working on the Greenwood estate after all. Maybe he was just a relative—a clean relative. She extended her hand, in hopes to break his staring spell. "You can call me Kristal."

He blinked, as if awaking. He brushed his hand across hers—the lamest handshake in history. "I'm Thomas Greenwood."

She hoped he hadn't noticed her breath hitch at the mention of that last name. She fought to keep her mind from flying to dangerous possibilities. She had to stick to something—safer. "What an honor! Here I was thinking I was to be picked up by another employee!"

He gave her a skew, borderline of sinister grin. "You are being picked up by an employee." He turned on his heel before he could witness the death of her cheery smile. Fighting to keep up with his huge strides and carrying her luggage was easier than keeping her imagination under control. Employee. Should that give her a hint?

The ride in the black Mercedes was more agonizing. She experienced the same feelings she felt in her first copter ride with Michael. Maybe that was a good thing. Her crazy stomach lurches and queasiness weren't even present. But the feeling of a rigid ice wall was rubbing against her nerves. Maybe it was more than wacko to bank so much on her weird stomach problems that happened when real danger was present. She carefully checked if the tracker hooked on her belt was on—just in case. The tenseness radiating from this guy was working on her too.

He sucked in a long breath before he asked, "So are you excited about your new job?"

Chris couldn't help noticing he took extra care watching the road. "Nervous would be more like it."

He gave a short forced chuckle. The only sound that eased the awkward silence was the terribly faint hum of the engine.

After a strenuous thirty minutes had passed, Chris felt slightly at ease at the sight of English country all around. The estate in view, wonder knocked the breath out of her. The Victorian mansion seemed to be partly on a hill, isolated from the rest of civilization. Driving through the gates after checking in, she felt anxiety pile up in her chest. Everything was so perfect, it was scary! The dark green ivy creeping on the dark stone walls of the gothic-looking building and the perfectly manicured waist-high hedges and luscious green lawns made her feel as though she had been transported to another world, another time. Driving around the enormous house, Chris felt like a little girl, not wanting her eyes to miss a single thing. The huge garage around the back totally matched the size of the house but its modern look, Chris reasoned, was a pain to the eyes.

Chris took a deep settling breath in attempt to prepare herself to meet her new boss as the lights in the garage automatically went on. Another black Mercedes was parked beside the one she was in. She made a wild guess that these were staff cars or something. She smiled politely as Thomas helped her out of the car. She instinctively took in her surroundings. Of all places, even the garage was tidy—the wooden oak beams above her were even polished! Whoever ran this place was a total order freak.

With Thomas tapping his foot nervously as she stood by his lanky frame in the huge foyer, she had to wonder at the reason for his demeanor. "Oh, here she comes," he moaned under his breath as the austere-looking woman descended down the broad staircase.

"Thomas!" Evidently she wasn't in a great mood as she rigidly took hurried steps into their vicinity. She seemed to be in her late forties, her blonde hair streaked with white in a tight bun. "You are fourteen minutes late!" she scolded. She flashed icy blue eyes in Chris' direction. "So don't think I'll entertain your girlfriend!"

Chris felt her face burn crimson. "Oh, I'm afraid you are completely in error, Madam Greenwood!"

She gasped in disgust, a delicate hand showing off manicured nails flying to her chest. "Do not backchat your elders, girl!"

Chris opened her mouth to explain before Thomas cut her off. "Aunty Martha, this is Kristal Thompson, your new maid."

The woman scrunched up her face as she looked Chris over, arms crossed. "Good heavens! Her looks are worse than Pauline's!"

Chris glanced up at Thomas as if for an explanation of the comment uncalled for. The implication that she was ugly would have been an offence if she'd seen it that way. All she saw was a woman that would make her true reason for being here more challenging.

"I cannot possibly submit the care of me into her hands, Thomas! We all know what they say about blondes."

He cleared his throat and tugged a dreadlock out of his face. "I guess that implies you too, since you're a blonde."

Chris saw this as an opportunity to hopefully clear her books in the eyes of her boss. "Please don't talk to your aunt that way, Thomas."

The icy glare landed on her once more. "I did not ask for assistance, girl."

Thomas gave Chris an exaggerated bright smile. "Well, you'll have to get used to the fact that Aunt Martha gets off the wrong side of bed every morning." He strode away, his head held high, dreads swaying slightly—leaving Chris alone with her bags in the foyer—and his aunt.

Was this what abandonment felt like?

"Listen to me, girl."

Chris head snapped back to face the woman, her heart sinking lower and lower. "Yes, ma'am," she uttered weakly.

"Since I'm not satisfied with you, but I feel enough compassion to keep you, you'll not be my maid, but one of the housemaids. Am I understood?" She raised a brow, adding emphasis.

In a split second, so many things ran through her head. Maybe things would work out. "Yes, ma'am, I understand."

............................................................

Sucking in a sharp breath as he shot up from his pillow, Levi shuddered at the lingering feeling of his past memories set into horrific dreams. His mind rang with the air-splitting shatter of a bullet ripping through flesh and earth-rocking explosions separating a body into pieces. Every face of every man he'd ever seen die had risen to life—all just to be torn apart once more. He dug his fingers into his damp broad strip of hair, the sound of agony rumbling from deep inside him. Of all the fine men his dreams had brought to life, there was one who had endured the most agony—only this time it didn't only happen on the battlefield. Five different scenes in five different ways, Christopher Rodriguez would die, the latter way more horrifying than the previous. And the one who'd pull the trigger or plunge the knife was none other than his best friend.

Eyes burning with forbidden tears, his chest constricted, knowing full well his nightmare got one thing straight—he'd never been good enough for Christopher. He may have never pulled a trigger on him, but it didn't change a thing. Whether he wanted to face it or not, he knew he'd never be able to forget—no matter what he did. His hands felt bloodstained, knowing he had been the reason Chris had joined the military. If it hadn't been for him, Chris would still be alive and breathing. He could have run away from his body and finding temporary distraction—but he was not succeeding in running from his memory.

Author's note:

Here it is! I know I said Monday, but it was kinda difficult since I was feeling totally miserable. The flu's terrible.

Comments are appreciated!