Killing Atlas

The tracker flashed across the road to the unmarked coffee shop on my GPS. My eyes were bugged as I stared at the screen, an undecipherable blabber uttering from my lips. Dad’s voice was on the line, questioning me through the phone pressed against my ear.

“Autumn, are you coming home?” he asked. “Autumn.”

“I, uh… I…” I stuttered. “He’s uh… dad he’s still alive.”

“What?”

I screwed my eyes shut, rubbing them quickly before I looked back at the GPS. He was still alive. Atlas King was alive and sitting in the coffee shop as if nothing had happened. But something had happened. He’d disappeared from the radar for the whole night. Long enough for me to announce my success. Only it wasn’t a success.

“I thought you said you completed the hit,” dad said.

“I did,” I answered quickly. “I got him with the Bee. It’s got to be a mis–”

“Autumn, don’t tell me you used the stinger.” His sigh of exasperation made me pause, biting down on my lip.

“What was I gonna do?” I huffed childishly. “Kill him at point blank range in the middle of a park.”

He gave another sigh. “Don’t get snippy with me,” he warned. “You know he’s immune to poison.”

“Actually, I didn’t,” I snapped. “Why isn’t that on his fucking file?”

Dad’s tone changed instantly when he replied. “I don’t know, honey,” he said. “I’ll speak to Jones about this later. For now, just finish the job and come home.”

With that, the conversation was over.

~

“You know, I was feeling a bit sick this morning, but I remembered we had plans,” John said when I sat before him with the sourest expression on my face. “Actually, you look a little bit sick yourself.”

I resisted the urge to stick him with a fork as he gave me a weary smile.

“Here, I got these for you,” he added.

Pulling out a rather pathetic collection of colourful flowers, he offered them to me with a sweet smile. I didn’t miss the small ooh’s and ahh’s from the women who sat around us. I eyed the flowers, making no move to accept them, much to Atlas’s disappointment. He frowned, awkwardly retreating.

“I thought maybe we could go to the movies today,” he suggested.

I stared blankly at him. He couldn’t be serious. Was he actually considering this a… date? The look in his eyes told me he did. His determination mixed with his uncertainty. Still, I didn’t miss the slight confidence that lurked behind his smile; a flicker of the Atlas I knew, snaking to the surface.

“You like the movies?” I asked sceptically. Atlas had never liked the movies.

John paused a moment, a frown gracing his lips in thought before he turned his attention back to me. It was the same look he’d given me before he left for his first hit. And I was just as confused now as I was back then. He almost looked sad, or regretful. I couldn’t tell which. But in that moment, he looked like the most vulnerable person in the world.

“There is one,” he replied slowly. “One that I like, in particular. I don’t remember why. It’s not really a good movie.” He gave me a sheepish smile as he scratched nervously at his mop of unkempt hair. “It just, I guess, kind of reminds me of you.”

I stiffened, my eyes narrowing in confusion. Vaguely, I was aware of a cup and saucer being placed in front of me, wafting off the scent of coffee.

“Do you know it?” John added quickly. “It’s called The Notebook.”

I couldn’t help myself. I was watching him so intently, expecting something so different. But I really should have known. I burst into a hiccupping laughter filled with snorts that hadn’t seen the light of day since I was eight.

Amusement flickered across his cheeks, possibly even relief that he’d perhaps said something right. Brushing the tears from my eyes, I composed myself enough to ask, “You remember that?”

Of course, he most likely didn’t. Sure, he had a recollection of the movie, and its connection to me. But I doubted he remembered the day that I’d forced him to sit through it. If he did, I was certain he wouldn’t be feeling the attachment that he did.

It was a few months before he disappeared. Dad had gone out on a job that weekend. Nothing out of the ordinary. Once I’d stared my training, he often spared his weekends for work. A fact that satisfied my mother. She enjoyed seeing him more frequently.

The weekend should have been the same as any other. I often spent them alone, catching up on studying in my room, or watching endless masses of movies that I’d managed to hack online. Mother would flutter downstairs in the kitchen, baking another batch of my father’s favourite cookies, with her young shadow close behind. And Atlas, well, I never quite knew what he got up to. But I suspected he unleashed his vanity unto the world.

That weekend, he didn’t.

I never really knew why he stumbled into my room, dishevelled and seemingly bored out of his mind. I’d asked him, quite viciously, what the hell he wanted. And it was then that he gave me that look. Sad, or lost. I couldn’t tell which. I remembered there was a lot of awkward, suspicious staring as we leaned against the foot of my bed, his fingers drumming against the carpet. The Notebook blared on the television screen after a half an hour of bickering over the fact that he didn’t want to watch it.

“Remember what?” John asked, snapping me out of my memory.

I dismissed his question with a shake of my head, finally looking down to see a coffee before me. I pushed it further from me, though the scent had me salivating. There was a hint of caramel in the latte. My favourite.

“Do you remember anything?” I countered.

John’s brows furrowed again. “Nothing solid,” he answered thoughtfully. “I remember bits and pieces. A colour. A voice. The sun. Nothing that ties me to an identity.”

I nodded then, a slight twist churning in my gut.

“Was I that much of an asshole?” he asked. “That nobody would come to claim me? And the only person who I remember, wants nothing to do with me.”

I stared at the latte, watching as the froth slowly deflated before I looked up at his expectant gaze. “You weren’t always bad,” I said and his brows rose in surprise. “There were moments when we actually talked.”

Moments when I thought he wasn’t so bad.

Atlas watched me carefully, almost doubting my words. “And you liked talking to me?” he asked.

I pursed my lips with a slow reluctant nod. It felt strange to admit the fact to John, but I couldn’t help but think of all the things I’d wanted to say to him. The last words that I’d regretted not being quick enough to think of in one of our numerous fights. The fights I wanted to start with him for being an arrogant prick. But most of all, I remembered the rare conversations we held. All the details I tried to squeeze from him. And the things I’d wanted to share.

Something changed in his eyes when I stood suddenly. I was mildly flustered. It was rare of me to talk about feelings. And I knew that the only reason I had admitted it to him, was the fact that I wasn’t talking to Atlas King. I was merely talking to John Doe. He knew nothing about me.

“So how about that movie?” John asked as he rose to his feet. He towered over me, arched in a way that looked somewhat protective.

I knew what I shouldn’t have done, but Atlas made me reckless.

So I did exactly what I shouldn’t have. I looked up at him, at his lips that curved into a mischievous smile and replied with a meek squeak. “Okay.”