Why, hello again.
Yep, it's me! And this is your sequel. (Hopefully it'll be good!) Just letting you know now that I probably won't be updating much until around mid January or early February 'cause of Christmas and all. But I promise I'll be writing it down on paper and editing it
Anyway, please review and tell me what you like and don't like!
DISCLAIMER:: Hmm, I'm pretty sure I'm not Ally Carter… And because I'm not, I don't own anything. Officially disclaimed. (Or, as official as I get)
As I stand, leaning against a thick-trunked, shady tree, I can't quite grasp the weird feeling that accompanies watching my own funeral.
Many people wonder who would actually turn up to their funeral when they die. Now I know. Many people also wonder who would cry at their funeral. I know that now, too. And the answer is no one. Though, I think I might have known that for a while.
Why? Well, there are two reasons: Once, the people I know are spies. And spies don't cry, save when it's necessary.
The second reason is the simple fact that no one cares for me anymore. Maybe people used to, but that was before I completely messed up my life.
It's been six months since I wrote that letter and three months since I delivered it to Zach's apartment. Yeah, it took me a whole three months to psych myself up into potentially seeing Zach again. After all, I didn't want to make things worse (if that was even possible).
And, as I watch the gloomy proceedings and the eleven people that actually turned out, I remember the day, one week ago, that I 'died'.
The morning was frosty and bitter, just as unforgiving as any winter's day in Canada.
I sat on the window ledge, looking out over the small street where the house I was currently residing inside sat. I didn't stir as a person entered my room; I just kept my gaze on the serene surroundings.
"Hey," she said, in her delicate tone. "Are you ready?"
Only then did I turn and give her a weak smile. She was such a kindly person, and the similarities between us were quite scary, actually.
She had the same, forgettable blue eyes as me, the same dirty-blonde, long hair, and we were very nearly the same height. When wearing my clothes, she could easily pass as being Cameron Morgan. The only problem was our DNA; she was Melanie Hibbard and not Cameron Morgan.
But I knew ways around that. I had connections with people in the CIA morgue, who, whether or not they despised me, would do me favours because I have helped family of theirs.
Nodding slowly to her, I slid off the windowsill and landed silently on the dusty carpet.
Just proving her kindliness even further, Melanie had offered me a room, in exchange for a pitiful rent, at her father's apartment block.
As much as she hated him, his money came in handy to her.
But the one thing he couldn't buy back was her terminal illness diagnosis.
She had a brain aneurysm which neither medication nor any amount of surgery could make disappear.
I was always impressed by her ability to keep cool and collected, even when she knew her life would be cut short so soon.
But I suppose that's how it is for every single living being. Only most of their deaths weren't so imminent.
Even with this illness, she had agreed to help me take down a powerful mobster – unrelated to the Circle of Cavan – who was planning an attack on the CIA, who had rebuilt its HQ and upgraded its security tenfold.
However, not many people would survive the direct missile strike intended for them.
So, in order to save my friends, I was going to take him, and all his connections, out.
Giving Melanie a determined look, I nodded gently and she returned a slight grimace.
Only a couple of weeks ago, after I'd found out about the CIA attack, she had discovered who I was and what I did for a living. In a moment of weakness, I told her everything.
And Melanie had agreed to help me blow up the five top-secret headquarters.
Over the past few weeks, we'd infiltrated them and planted undetectable bombs which would detonate once the right digits were pressed into a gadget which hung around my neck.
The only problem was that we couldn't do it one by one. They all had to go off at the same time, lest another base realise what had happened and protect itself.
But we still hadn't place the last bomb.
Melanie walked forward and placed a warm hand on my shoulder. "We've got to do this. You can stay behind I you want, but someone has to stop them," she told me, her voice firm and understanding.
I shook my head. "No, I want to do this. I have to do this for my friends."
Melanie didn't back down. "I can handle it, you know. You've taught me well how to use a gun, and I know the digits. Besides, if only I go, only one of us can be killed!"
She was right, the bomb didn't have any guarantees on how long the delay was, but we estimated it would be about ten seconds.
I still wasn't chickening out of our plans.
"No, honestly, Mel, I really need to help. I owe them that much."
Melanie smiled, but unlike my smile, hers was gorgeous. I still couldn't believe she had something in her brain which was almost literally a ticking time bomb.
The drive to the fifth, and final, base was a silent one. We both knew the plan; we knew the layout, the security measures and how we were getting in.
But we weren't sure if we would come out.
Mel cut the ignition and we prepared ourselves for the cramped crawl through the ventilation shafts.
While I unscrewed the grating, which was hidden behind dying bushes, Melanie kept a watchful eye out for guards or anyone who might blow our cover.
With a sigh of relief, the last bolt fell to the dirt and I pulled away the metal grating and leaned it against the wall.
Making sure my gun was conveniently place in the waistband of my black pants, I squirmed into the shaft, thanking my lucky stars that I had barely eaten in months, and for that reason I was almost abnormally thin.
I heard Melanie follow after me, as I came up to the first fork in the shafts. Thankfully, we'd memorised the exact route to the centre of the building.
Left, straight, left, right, right, straight, left, right.
As we dropped down into a cluttered room, I honestly couldn't believe how pathetic this mobster's security was. Sure, it was one of their less important bases, but still. Although, we had heard rumours, also, that they were celebrating another successful 'mission' somewhere else.
Stupid gangs. They might've been good at doing actual hits, but they were awful at security.
I let Melanie do the honours of placing the bomb, all the time wondering how on earth we would escape the building in ten or so seconds.
Once the small – but incredibly powerful – bomb was ready, I pulled the device which would detonate it, and four others, from around my neck and flipped it in my hands.
"You should get out of here, Mel. We've got to hurry," I whispered to her, but she looked firm.
"If anyone must do it, it should be me."
Rolling my eyes, I hissed back, "Are we seriously arguing about this now?"
But our little disagreement was cut short by the sound of heavy footsteps coming from the other side of the door.
Taking advantage of my brief distraction, Melanie grabbed the detonator from my hands and shoved me to the door.
"Why don't we both run? That way we can activate it once we're both safe," I argued, resisting her.
Melanie began to get annoyed. "You know perfectly well that it works better in a ten foot radius, and we can't afford anything to go wrong. Plus, what if they caught us? Who'd detonate it then?"
Nodding sadly, I stopped struggling, but immediately tensed as the footsteps became very prominent outside the door.
Just as I drew my gun, it burst open and in flooded three armed men.
One aimed for Mel and fired. But I couldn't be sure where it hit because I was too busy dodging bullets myself.
I fired shot after shot, and two made contact, causing the recipients to fall down.
As I threw myself to the floor, I saw the detonator lying not 30 cm from my hand. I snatched it up and punched in the first three digits.
6 – 9 – 2
But I never got to the fourth, because someone dragged me upwards, causing me to scream in pain.
I saw Melanie stir slightly on the floor and felt a tiny bit relieved.
Kicking my attacker backwards, I made a scramble for the door, but the huge good stood in my way.
He raised his gun and pulled the trigger, the bullet hitting my arm, causing the detonator to spin away and land near Melanie.
Fighting against the immense pain of yet another bullet wound, I clambered up, aimed my own gun at the guy and shot him directly in the forehead.
From the floor, I heard a weak voice yell hoarsely, "Cam, run! I'll detonate it, just run! More are coming, please go, Cam, please!"
I gave her a desperate look, but I knew she was right. More guards and hit men were coming out way.
Mel had picked up the black device and was ready to press the last number. She gazed at me and whispered, "Run."
So I did. I ran through the headquarters, dodging, punching and shooting whenever necessary. Just as I jumped through a window, I knew that ten seconds were up; that Mel had pressed that little '6' and blown up five mobster bases.
An enormous explosion erupted behind me and heat and shattered glass scorched my back, but I remembered Mel's last words to me… run… and I did. I kept running.
Later that day, Alicia Burnell, CIA head of Body Identification and Assessment, received a phone call from a phone box in Austria. In this call, it was stated that she would write on her official report that Cameron Ann Morgan had been killed that morning in an explosion.
When Alicia asked why on earth she'd do that, she was told it was a favour being called in by none other than Cameron Morgan herself.
Alicia said no more. Her dearly beloved Grandmother was alive and well – not to mention her five-year-old niece – because of that woman.
She would do anything asked of her.
And so, Cameron Morgan was pronounced dead. Time: 6:28 am, place: Canada.
What alerts me to the fact that the funeral has finished is that the few people who actually came, are now chatting quietly amongst themselves as the priest makes his was back into the church.
Several black-clad figures subtly walk out of the cemetery and disappear back into the world.
But the most important five stand together, all looking tired and hurt.
Zach's back is turned to me, so I can't exactly see his expression, but I can see Liz's.
She's not crying, but her eyes are slightly red, as if she's been holding back from it.
But she's there; Liz is there, Macey's there, Zach's there, and Grant's there, heck, even Jonas is there.
Only, Bex isn't.
The one I've known the longest isn't there, and that hurts me deeply.
Although, neither is my mother, which is just like another blunt knife to the heart.
Liz and Macey drag Grant and Jonas over to a small, black car and pile inside, leaving Zach standing alone, gazing down at 'my' headstone.
For a second, I almost think I see him raise a hand to his face and wipe away something, but I'm probably imagining it.
As if instinct to reach for him kicks in, I step forward from my hiding spot by the thick trunk of the tree, but my foot lands on a twig and it cracks.
It may as well have been a gunshot.
Zach's head whips towards me and his eyes widen. I stumble backwards behind the tree again.
I can't bear it. I can't bear him seeing me again; it only brings back all the hurt. I can only hope that the shadows disguise me enough; that he doesn't recognise me.
And, once again, I follow the order of a dear, brave friend of mine and I run.
Good? Bad? Completely horrible?
Tell me, please. I would love to hear your opinions
So… Yeah that's chapter one all done.
I'm struggling a bit with chapter two, but it'll get done.
I'm leaving on holiday tomorrow or the day after (I can't remember) so chapters won't be that frequent. But I'm promising lots in the New Year.
Okay, so have a Merry Christmas, and keep safe! Oh and a Happy New Year.
(If you celebrate those sorts of things!)
Cya,
~Jenna