Kaspar arrived at the last house on the list. This house was dramatically different from the others. Instead of a modest one story home, this was a gargantuan two story home on the rich side of town. This William Sullivan character must have been the man in charge. He easily made the most credits from any of the other Agents. Good, it was always better to save the best for last. He put the SUV in park then stepped out. Loud cracks of thunder filled his covered ears while he studied it. He moved himself across the wet front lawn to the porch. He reached for the golden handle of the front door and turned. To his amazement, the door was left unlocked. He drew one of the Glocks and moved in.
To his relief, the floors inside were brand new. There were no loose boards to alert those inside of his presence. The home was dark on the inside. He looked around and found the stairs to his right. He slowly walked up them with his pistol still drawn. When he reached the top, he saw a cracked door with light coming out of it. He moved towards it with deliberate steps. When he reached it, there was no hesitation. He had already killed two of the three. Kaspar just wanted to get this over with. He slammed his shoulder into the cracked door and ran inside.
He saw Sullivan sitting on the bed, his back propped up against the head board. Sullivan looked up from his picture album, tears in his eyes, and threw the album to the floor. Kaspar could see the sadness in his final target’s eyes. The only problem being that he didn’t give a shit what Sullivan cried over.
“William Sullivan?” Kaspar asked.
Sullivan raised both hands in the air. He nodded his head yes and began to look around the room. His bottom lip trembled. He moved his right hand to wipe the tears which prompted a warning from the intruder.
“Who are you?” Sullivan wondered.
“That’s not important.”
“You’ve just broken into my home. You’ve got a gun pointed at my head. I’d say it’s very important who you are.”
Kaspar kept the gun trained at the head. He thought for a moment. Perhaps it would be much better if he explained to Sullivan the exact reason why he was going to kill him. At least then, he would know that Mother’s death would not go unpunished.
“Does the name Jenna Kaspar mean anything to you?” Kaspar demanded.
“Jenna…who, you say?”
“Kaspar! Jenna Kaspar!”
In the heat of the moment, Sullivan’s mind went blank. He searched it but nothing came to it. Just then, a light bulb went off…Jenna Kaspar, suspected aid to the resistance…
“Who are you?” Sullivan asked once more.
“I’m the son…of the mother you killed.”
“Listen…”
“Did you really think you would get away with it?”
“It was part of my…”
Kaspar persisted. “Did you think nobody would come looking for you?”
“If I hadn’t done it…”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“They would have taken my family!” Sullivan cried out. “They would have killed me!”
“What do you think I’m going to do?”
Kaspar’s grip on the pistol grew tighter inside his gloved hands. He continued to look into the eyes of his enemy, unfazed by the fear he saw in them. There was no guilt or negative feeling about killing this man. He wondered if Mother had that same look of fear on her face before…
“You’re a member of the resistance aren’t you?” Sullivan asked, he noticed the American flag patch on Kaspar’s right arm.
No answer came.
Sullivan’s demeanor changed. “You guys must’ve thought I was getting really close, right?”
“What are you talking about?”
“That’s why you bastards poisoned my wife! Just tell me the poison was meant for me, okay?”
“You have no idea what’s really going on, do you?”
“I think I have a very clear idea…”
“That’s enough,” Kaspar interrupted. “No more talking now.”
Sullivan shut his eyes and awaited the gunshot that would ascend him to nothingness. No gunshot came.
Kaspar kept his gun trained on the head. Self-doubt started to creep in again. He knew that, deep down, he was not a killer. Was this really the right thing to do? He already killed two of Mother’s killers. Why not just let this one go? Sullivan had no idea who he was…he would get away scot free and escape with Krys.
He shook off the self-doubt and readied himself to shoot once more. His conscience would have to take the night off. Sullivan was high up in the ranks, Kaspar knew. He could not let him go. He must have been the leader behind the whole thing.
A sound came from behind. With his bloodied left arm, Kaspar quickly drew the second Glock and pointed it at the door. It was a little boy. No older than six from what he could tell. His mind raced back to the little girl who had died in his arms.
“You don’t point that gun at my son!” Sullivan yelled from the bed.
Kaspar shook his head and focused his attention back to Sullivan. Just pull the trigger…come on. Pull! Pull!
“Daddy!” Davie cried. He ran for the king sized bed and hopped on.
“No,” Sullivan ordered. Tears flowed free again. “You have to let Daddy deal with this man. Go back to your room and lock the door. Don’t come out for anything.”
“I’m scared…” Davie replied.
“I am too, son. But, you have to go to your room, okay?”
Davie looked up to Kaspar. “What did he do to you?”
Kaspar stared at the father and son on the bed. No answer came from his mouth. He looked straight into the little boy who looked straight into him. Kaspar kept his gun trained on Sullivan, awaiting the right moment to pull the trigger. The boy was not in line with the shot, but there could be no chances. The little boy had played no part in this madness. He should be in his room playing, not witnessing his father’s murder.
He could feel tears flow down his own eyes now. The moisture began to soak through his mask. He tried to shake away the thoughts inside that told him to leave now. Kaspar knew that he had to deliver justice. Sullivan could not be allowed to walk away free from what he had done…what he had taken away.
The trigger finger froze. He couldn’t do it. It was the little boy. Kaspar remembered how he felt when he saw Mother lying dead on the couch. The eyes that were wide open despite the owner of them being dead. Could he do that to Sullivan’s son? The kid would have to grow up, never forgetting his father being killed in front of him. He would never relinquish his blood lust to find the man who did it. What kind of justice would be brought by creating another fatherless son? Kaspar knew the feeling…only his father choose not to be around. He saw on that bed the kind of love Sullivan had for his son, the kind of love that was missing from Kaspar’s life.
He dropped one of the guns to the floor. The loud bang from the gun hitting the wooden floor caused his ears to ring. He raised his right index finger to his lips and started to lower the gun in his left hand down. He reached for the holster…
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Kasar could see the Agent reaching for something underneath his pillow. He fired the three shots as a warning. The rounds tore through the drywall behind Sullivan’s bed. Sullivan began to aim his .38 Special at the intruder. Kaspar turned and made a run for the door.
The Agent threw the covers off of himself and ran in pursuit. When he reached the bedroom door he made his way through the dark hallway. As he heard Sullivan making his move, Kaspar, three quarters down the steps, blind fired four more warning shots upward. Sullivan hit the deck and fired two rounds from his small revolver. He heard the man running and Sullivan tried to stand up. His son, with a loud cry that rang the ears, jumped on top of him.
The front door slammed shut behind Kaspar. Just in case his would be target made it there already, Kaspar fired three rounds into the door. He nearly stumbled on the porch steps as he ran for the
black SUV that still had the motor running. He jumped in, threw the vehicle’s automatic transmission into drive, and pressed his foot on the gas. The SUV rocketed forward.
There were tears in his eyes as he made his way out of the neighborhood and onto the freeway. He felt unable to breath, so he ripped the mask off of his face. He paid little attention to the road in front. His thoughts were squarely on Mother. He swore to her that he would avenge her death. He had failed because of the little boy. He hoped that she would forgive him. Somewhere, deep inside, he knew that she would.
That vision of her shaking her head “no” told him as much.