McKENNA, james alistair

[JAMES ALISTAIR McKENNA]

TAKE WHAT IS LEFT OF ME

AND MAKE IT A BEAUTIFUL MELODY

JAMES ALISTAIR McKENNA
YOU'D BE MY REMEDY

twenty-five ,.,., fordham ,.,., spy ,.,., boyd holbrook
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Nathaniel,

Now that I have finally settled in at... Actually, I should probably leave that out, you wouldn't want to know. I have found some time, at last, to begin to write to you. I don't really know what purpose it will serve, if I'm honest, just notes to no one. Not that you're no one, I would be the last person to associate you as such. These papers... they're just going to be left hidden, with messy handwriting cluttering up their once neat lines. They wont get sent. Maybe one day, if I manage to find you, and some how convince you that we are in fact related, with out freaking you out completely, maybe then I'll give you this stack of pages. Hopefully you would read through these pages, because they will sort of spell out your history. That was my point. I'm writing to you, because I need to explain so many things to you.

I should probably start.

My name is James McKenna, and I'm your brother. Take a moment, breathe. Go ahead and crumple up the letter without reading the rest, burn if it you'd like. It doesn't change anything.

Our mother is Irish. Born in Ireland, Irish. She came to America shortly before I was born, and had to become an American citizen because of me. That's what I've been told, anyway. I hate to give you such a negative impression of someone you've never met, but she wasn't that great of a mother. Between her many jobs, and her new found love of drinking, she was barely aware of me. Then she met some guy who thought he was all that because he could throw change around and it didn't make a difference to him. I got a nanny, and she got married. The guy turned into a total jerk, mind you. Became really abusive with mother, and was pretty rough with me, as well. Not that the last bit mattered, because when I was six, she got pregnant with you.

J.



Nathaniel,

This is why we have different last names. Well, I don't know what yours is currently, if you're even alive, that is. McKenna was mother's maiden name, and Johnson was his name. You were born Nathaniel Johnson, and shortly after I turned seven, I started looking after you even more than our nanny did. I didn't let your father lay a finger on your. It didn't matter if that meant my punishment was doubled, as long as you were fine, and still had your childhood innocence, that was enough for me. I don't think the man ever expected me to put up a fight, seeing as before I had just gone along with whatever he had said. My little brother was a different situation completely. Born from two people who really didn't give a shit, and wouldn't be around or give a damn to raise him properly. I was going to make sure that changed.

Apparently I had given him quite the shock, because from what I remember he even left mother alone. Any anger he had was focused on me. Even if his problems had nothing to do with me, I became a punching bag. Mother didn't budge to help either, but that's to be expected. She clung so hard to the man, she wouldn't want to do anything to lose him. I suppose my bitterness slips out too easily when talking about this. It really can't be helped.

J.



Nathaniel,

As you started growing up, you became more aware of how things were, and how our situation was different from the normal. It didn't matter how much I attempted to protect you; it wouldn't matter if I locked you up, or took you away. You would have noticed eventually. I managed to keep you quiet though, so you wouldn't get in trouble, or possibly get your father pissed at you. Sometimes I had to skip school to make sure you were safe, but it didn't matter. School and I never really agreed to begin with, so skipping it didn't bother me in the slightest. I had higher priorities, you should understand. No one from the school really gave a damn either, because of where we lived. Once you started school, and weren't always left with the possibility of him coming after you, things started to get a bit dimplier. My school attendance got better, that's for sure. Though I still took anything your father wanted to dish out, because...

You were our chance of being normal.

Though, once you turned seven, that's when things got extremely complicated. Of course, this was only a couple weeks ago, but despite that... You would think this is fresh in my mind, but things are still blurry. I should explain, right. Someone picked you up. What on earth someone wants with a seven year old is beyond me, and I know it's hard to believe, but it happened. That started out what was probably the worst day of my life. My mind... I don't even know what exactly it was processing, or when I slipped into rage. I had been making us lunch at the time, when an agent had simply arrived, swept you up and left. They might have handed me some bullshit excuse but I didn't hear it. I thought someone was kidnapping my seven year old baby brother. That's where the kitchen knife came from. Then your father came home, and wasn't even bothered by the fact that you were gone. If anything he seemed relieved. I suppose when I saw the corner of his mouth twitch upwards is when my brain started shouting that it was his fault.

It wasn't long until he was on the floor, a red line traced across his neck, with a similar red color on the knife's blade and my hands.

J.



Nathaniel,

I really should apologize. It seems that I end off these letters in the worst points. It's either because I need to get to bed to be up early enough, or because I just can't handle going any further. Not that it matters, or … it won't matter. If you ever read these you'll be reading them all at once. Anyway.

Mother couldn't handle what had happened, what I did. She fled. I was stuck to the streets, until I was picked up days later. I guess that's why I didn't say where I was before. Fordham got a hold of me. Rivals. It took me a bit to get settled in, get adjusted to the sleep schedule and how things run around here. That's when I started writing. I'm still not sure if I'm able to handle all of what's happened, but the more I think about it, the more I know it's true. You just might be better off with a better family, having little to know memory of us. As for me, I'm a thirteen year old in a spy agency, getting trained up after killing my brother's father, after my little brother got taken. That's quite the summary, isn't it?

You're all caught up now. That's pretty much it. I mean, seven years isn't much to catch up on. But who knows how long it'll be before I find you. If I can find you. If you even remember me. I just... I want my brother back. The higher ups promised that if I behave and do what they ask, that they'll help me out in the long run. I guess we'll see how far that takes me, but I'm unlikely to trust anyone at this point.

J.



Nathaniel,

Happy eighth birthday. I hope you're safe, wherever you are.

J.



Nathaniel,

Training isn't that bad. It's not the worst thing ever. They're hard on us here, like we don't even matter. Probably because we really don't. Either we show promise, meet their expectations, or we die on the field and they never recall ever having you in their system. It sounds brutal, but I understand it. I should apologize if these letters become few, they like to keep us busy. Properly trained, in peak shape, and all that, I suppose.

I'm actually not the only one that can take more than a couple hits. From what I can tell, Fordham takes people off the streets that have a bad background. I see other kids like me, some that know how to throw a punch, some that can take hits like they're made of steel. One girl can lay you out flat on your back with her hand on your throat the moment you move threateningly towards her. I think I'll try to befriend her, pick up some tips.

J.



Nathaniel,

It's your ninth birthday, and I hope whoever your with is actually celebrating it. Remember when I used to wake you up shortly after midnight and sneak a cupcake? I think one year I even got you a candle. Or maybe I planned to do that. I can't really separate what actually happened with us from what I planned to do. Has it really been that long?

J.



Nate,

This has to be quick, I'm about to leave on my first field op. About time right? Happy birthday all the same. Finally in the double digits like the rest of us. Hope you're still doing okay, wherever you are.

J.



Nathaniel,

I just had my first kill.

I'm sitting in my room, staring at that sentence like it's suppose to be normal. Around here, it is. I just can't get my mind around it. I know what you're thinking; didn't I kill your father? Yeah, but no matter how many times I told them this, they insisted I had to do my 'first kill' with a gun. As soon as the mission was over and we got back to base, I just walked away from them, towards my room. Of course there was my trainer shouting at me, but I ignored him. Someone must have told him to give me time because he soon stopped. Then I sat down and started writing this.

It's a bit weird when you think about it. I'm writing to you, but not sending. I don't have an address to send these to, but even if I did, I wouldn't. I don't know where you are, who adopted you, how badly the system shifted you around. Or even if you're alive. I guess my kill today has me a bit off center. What if you were someone's first kill? Or someone's kill somewhere along the line. What if you're my assignment in the future? Maybe you get caught in a crossfire. Maybe your death has nothing to do with spies or anything of the sort. I'm still holding out that you're alive.

Oh, right, I guess it's after midnight now. Happy eleventh. Sorry this one is so off. Good thing I'm not sending these, right? What kind of eleven year old wants to hear about his supposed 'brother' shooting people down. Sorry, again.

J.



Nathaniel,

I met a … friend, today. Can I even call him that? I don't really have friends here, I don't think you're supposed to. You have partners and colleagues, but no friends. It was after they were testing our interrogation skills once again. It's a yearly thing, or at least it's only yearly for me. I have no issue with this bullshit. I guess after everything I went through with your father, I don't budge for anyone else. This guy though, he was having trouble.

He left his session, sat down, and he almost looked lost. Almost like they had managed to break him, as they always end up breaking these kids. Haven't gotten to me yet, though, I suppose that's because I was broken a long time ago. Anyway, I went over to the guy, and tried pointing out that his hands were shaking. Got a snap in return, so I warned him. He wasn't new, but I hardly saw him around if he didn't know not to snap at me. It's just not a wise thing to do, y'know? We had this small chat about the training, and how he seemed to always bomb it. Jace, that's his name. Seems nice enough, might request him as my future partner. I tend to work better with someone I know, and can trust. Then again, who wouldn't, right?

J.



Nathaniel,

Happy twelfth. In honor of your birthday, I snuck out of my room to use the resources that Fordham has just lying around. I tried my best, honest. I nearly busted a screen or two. You're not in the system. There is no trace that Nathaniel Johnson ever existed. Thinking back on it, it's probably because your last name changed. Adoption and all that, right? Well I know for sure that you're not dead, because there would be a record of that. Wouldn't there? There has to be a hint of where you are somewhere. I just need to keep hunting until I find it. Maybe I'll get lucky and catch a glimpse of you on a mission, or just randomly around the city. I've got to remember to keep an eye out.

J.



Nathaniel,

Got bitched out today. First from my partner Jace, then from our head officer. I didn't give a shit about either of them. They kept spewing some nonsense about how I was too distracted, and nearly got Jace killed. They were blubbering. I ended up saving his ass when he got found out by his own stupid mistake. Just because I'm on the look out for you, doesn't mean I can't do my job. Had to kill a group of guys to save him too, didn't bat an eye at them either.

J.



Nathaniel,

D'you know how amazing alcohol is? No probably not. You just turned thirteen after all. Happy belated. See, I went out and got wasted on your behalf, I promise. Its what fake ids are for, and since Fordham stupidly gives us them for when missions involve clubs, I got in no problem. Only two more years until it's legal, anyway.

I seem to always come up with the most amazing ideas when I have alcohol in my system. Sad bit is that by the time I get to a piece of paper, or the next morning, I never seem to remember them.

J.



Nathaniel,

I got into a fight with another Fordham member. Same rank as me. When you look at the situation, the fight was completely called for. Just... the man didn't know what he was getting into. Today's your fourteenth birthday, which makes it a very sensitive, and serious day. Not just because it's your birthday, but because today marks the half way point. You've spent half your life without me. I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't even remember your first seven years. If I were in your situation, I wouldn't want to either.

The guy... I don't know how he found out. I was too preoccupied with the thoughts in my mind, I happened to walk into him. Or maybe he purposely bumped into me to start something. He started yelling at me, telling me to give up searching for this 'long lost brother' who's mostly likely dead. Again, just like that time seven years ago, I slipped. I was on him before his sentence even finished, fists connecting with bone each hit. Pretty sure his nose is cracked in more than one place, and both his eyes will be black. Maybe the right one might even go purple. He also suffered a broken arm, after I tried to get up and he tripped me, and then attempted to punch me. His mistake really. I didn't even get punished for it. The higher ups seem to hate the man, and since I was 'provoked' according to the others around us, all was well. Sounds fine with me, I just know he's hurting more than my hands right now. That makes me a little happy.

J.



Nathaniel,

Do you know what it's like to freeze? I hope not, because it's the most horrible feeling I've felt yet. I was doing a solo op, because it only required one person, and my escape route failed due to someone's poor planning. This was all planned for me, so maybe I even got set up. In the end, I jumped out the window, landing face up in snow. I hit the ground pretty hard, too. Too winded to get up, along with a head hit that left me pretty out of it. So all I could really do was lie there until Fordham back up came and found me.

Until then, I got to feel the snow slowly melt onto my skin, and take over. In time the cold made its way through my clothes, too. So even when I recovered from being winded, my body was too cold to move. Everything slowed down. I couldn't even blink properly. I could hear my heart beat in my ears, and how slow it got with each passing minute. In order to not cause myself to panic, because I wasn't about to die lying in the snow, I thought about you. How easily I could make you smile by making faces, or getting messy while I was cooking. I guess that would be much different now, wouldn't it?

What do you even like? What music do you listen to? Do you even watch tv, I don't know these things. How old are you now? Fifteen, sixteen? Sixteen, I think, yes. The cold still has my mind fogged up a bit. This means I missed your fifteenth, didn't I? I really am starting to slip. Fordham has kept me so busy that I don't even know it's a summer month until I step outside into the heat. I blink and a year has passed. Feels like just two months ago I arrived here, shortly after losing you. Is this what Fordham does? Did they actually get into my head?

J.



Nathaniel,

I found you. After twelve, long years, I finally found you. Here's hoping you believe me.

J.





He signs the last letter with a cursive J that's more sloppy than his drunken letters. The paper gets placed upon the tall pile of many other letters, the bottom pages colored with age. After he missed Nate's fifteenth birthday, he made sure to write a long page worth every year after that. He rests his hand on the pile, with a small smile on his face. The pages beneath his hand cover the past twelve years. From two weeks after he lost Nathaniel, to the day he saw him again, and the moment his heart actually felt hope. To him, he saw a history, a progression of a man growing up. To anyone else reading the hundred something letters, they would see a man age, as his mind slowly slips into obsession. Into Fordham's training, and maybe, just maybe, into madness.

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rachel ,.,., twenty-three ,.,., adminapproved ,.,., azrael dmitri grey

lyrics from sing it out; switchfoot
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