Part 4?
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I feel as if I have had the wind knocked out of me. I can't breathe. Or talk. Or even move, for that matter. I know what I have to do but I don't think I will be able to do it. If only I were a heartless, cold-no. I don't want to be a heartless person. I just don't want to feel the remorse anymore! Why do I have to keep telling myself that, dammit? I continue to argue with myself inside my head while the pilot flies to the office building I had just left from only half an hour ago. I start to fear the consequences that Mr. Takatori will bestow upon me if I don't destroy the building, the effects of the explosion if I do...all those innocent lives ended... The helicopter is hovering in just the right spot now. High enough to escape damage from the explosion and yet close enough to be able to watch it. Which I don't want to do anymore. I fumble with the detonator and hestitate. My thumb hangs over the button and- "-Crawford! You have to load the file first." Schuderich brings me back to reality. "Remember?" he asks me in a worried tone. I avoid his gaze when I have turned around. He hands me the briefcase and I click it open. I pop the disk in the laptop's disk drive and load it-and I hesitate again. My thumb hovers above the little red button that is about to end so many innocent lives...can I push it? Suddenly I feel a tap on my shoulder. The sudden touch jolts me, and I jump a little- -and accidentally push the button. The explosion frightens me more than anything. I lock a scream behind my lips as I hear the blast. I don't want to watch the building explode and go up in flames, yet I can't turn my head away from it. I feel as if I'm under the will of a sadistic demon, as if the hellish inferno is hypnotizing me. And then I start to hear the screams, inside my head, start imagining the images of the victims, writhing in the flames. I see men with melting, bubbling, charred skin, women with flames consuming their hair. And their tortured screams echo in the deepest, darkest confines of my mind. I hold a hand over my mouth and I have to make a consious effort not to throw up at the sight. I don't understand what is wrong with me. For all the buildings we have destroyed, and all the people we have killed, this is the first time I have felt this way. Of course, the remorse always came later. But never while I set off an explosion, or shot some innocent person. I feel so disconnected from the rest of the world now. I vaguely hear Schuderich and Farfello laughing somewhere behind me, and I hear Nagi whimpering. But then I hear someone crying, and I feel something wet trail down my cheek. Everything seems so much clearer to me now. And then I realize that- -I'm the one that's crying. For the first time since I was a boy. The last time I cried was at my father's funeral. But now I put my glasses in the pocket of my blazer and bury my face in my hands. Schuderich and Farfello stop laughing abruptly. Schuderich puts a hand on my shoulder. I shrug it off. I want to say something, want to put him in his place, but I'm crying too hard. I swallow around the lump in my throat and try to speak, but all that comes out is another choked sob. I don't know what's going on behind me now and I don't care. For all I cared, Schuderich could have been loading a .44 Magnum and putting it to my head. It wouldn't have made a difference to me. As a matter of fact he'd be putting me out of my misery if he did that. The pilot looks at me like I've sprouted another head on my shoulder. Like I'm insane. And I wish for the umpteenth time that night that I had a stone heart-NO!!! I don't want that, dammit! All I want is to never feel the nagging remorse! Why do I keep wishing for a cold heart? I turn around once I have regained some composure. Farfello isn't paying much attention, thankfully, and little Nagi rocks back and forth in his seat, staring straight ahead and looking as if he is in a trance. I've seen that look on his face many times. But for some reason, this time it scares the hell out of me. And then I look at Schuderich. The look in his eyes is almost enough to set me off crying again. There is so much worry and concern in his dark eyes. He seems even less stone-hearted and cold than he did when he stopped me on the stairway back at the building. It seems as though he almost understands my anguish. But I ignore it. Because I know he doesn't understand. He never will.
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Part 4?
Return to the Reading Room?