A Rainy Day in Paris | Part 1.
Note: Timeline isnât linear, make sure to take a note of the dates. âĽ
December 23rd. Â Morning
âWeâve waited six years for this,â the excited snarl was followed by the sound of the fist colliding with Adrianâs cheekbones. âPersonally? Me, Iâm all for delayed gratification.â
He felt the taste of iron and salt in his mouth. The man in a collared shirt and khakis who delivered the blow was Philippe, and behind him stood three others: CÊdric, Agnès and Samir. All of them former GIGN operatives, all of them currently employed by the St. Clair Organization as enforcers and assassins.
Once upon a time, theyâd fought literal wars together. Not the mob kind â the real kind.
Now, they were going to kill him.
December 22nd. Late afternoon.
âA friend of mine will be waiting for you in Porto. You can trust him. Heâll drive you to doctorâs appointments and check up on you until Sophia flies out there, too.â
His mother was inconsolable, refusing to leave London, refusing to face the reality of the situation â in order for her daughter to be saved, his son had to give up his life. Perhaps it was merciful that Sophieâs choice wasnât hers to make â there was no version of the reality where Adrian let his sister suffer for his decisions.
âMom, I promise, Iâll bring her back.â
His words fell on deaf ears. Mother Castillo sat in the corner, hands clasped around a rosary, praying to the Mother to save both of her children. Tears streamed down her wrinkled face that had still retained its beauty though all the hardships and years sheâs been through.
Adrian tossed a few things in his overnight bag, but he knew the only thing heâd make use of would be his passport. He wouldnât be needing the rest for much longer. âItâs time to go to the airport, mom. We donât have much time. My plane has to be in Paris at 8.â
He spent the entirety of the car ride giving her last-minute instructions, making sure sheâd have everything she needed after he was gone. A part of him wished he had time to say a few goodbyes, but he didnât want to ruin anyoneâs upcoming Christmas, and time wasnât on his side.
Except Johnathan, whom he filled in with a quick phone call. The man had offered help, but there was nothing to be done. The instructions were clear â Adrian had to go alone, or else his sister would suffer.
"Alright ma, the planeâs leaving soon.â He hugged his mother as they stood in the middle of the Heathrow Airport. Pain stabbed at his heart to be the reason of those tears on her face, for making her say goodbye. Perhaps he shouldâve left without saying anything that put her through this agony. What was more cruel? Who could tell.
âHere,â she put the Notre Dame medallion over his neck. âSheâll protect you, son.â
Adrian kissed her on the forehead as his eyes traveled to the information board at the nearest gate that read âPARIS (CDG), boardingâ.
December 19th. Evening.
When his sister, Sophia first mentioned her upcoming trip to Paris, Adrian begged her to reconsider. Knowing how badly his former friends wanted him dead, especially after the events of last year, there was no doubt the loyalists would be on a lookout if he or his loved ones ever laid a foot in Paris.
Heâd tried to explain it to Sophia, but she wouldnât hear it.
âDo you know just how much Iâve sacrificed, Adrian? Ever since your former friends found out youâre alive, I havenât been able to go home. Not even once. I had a life there. Friends.â
âI know. I know. But itâs too risky, Sophia. You donât know what theyâre capable ââ
âNo, you donât know how important this invitation is. You have no idea how many scientists would kill to be part of this research, how much hard work Iâve poured into getting to where I am. I wonât let your murderer friends get in the way of my career ââ Sophiaâs voice rose with every next word.
âYour brother is the reason you have a career,â their mother, who had listened in silence up until now interrupted. âYou wouldâve never been able to afford your 12-year-long education if he hadnât supported us, and you know it.â
âIâve never asked for his blood money and I wish for once, for once, Â youâd pick my side over his,â Sophia threw the dish cloth on the table and stormed out of the room, frustrated. A minute or a few of angrily packing her suitcase, she barged in back again. âI refuse to pause my life because youâre the most hated man in France.â
âFor godâs sake, Sophia. Being a leading scientist at NodThera and living in London is hardly pausing your career...â Adrian groaned, his patience started to thin.
âItâs not about that, Adrian. The research theyâre doing at Sorbonne, itâs groundbreaking, I could only get a chance like this once. Why am I even explaining this to you,â she checked her passport and put on the coat, her right foot already in the hallway. âIâll be fine, itâs just a few months.â The door behind her closed with a thud.
Maybe she was right. Maybe she would be fine. Maybe no one would notice a Castillo had arrived in Paris, or if they did, they wouldnât do anything about it because that wasnât the Castillo they had been after.
December 22nd, Early morning.
The second Adrian heard his phone ring, he knew something was terribly wrong, and the unknown number with a France country code made his worst nightmares turn into a reality.
Person on the other end of the call was CĂŠdric. They had his sister, and if he didnât come to Paris by the end of the day, alone, the only research sheâd be good for would be her own autopsy.
There would be no outrunning this one. He had to face his fate, and accept the inevitable.
December 22nd, Evening.
Nostalgia itself had a utopian dimension, one that wasnât directed toward the future nor the past, but rather sideways. Adrian hadnât sat in a foot in Paris in six years, hadnât seen the streets he used to call home, a city he had loved. The country he dedicated his life to serve had become a forbidden Eden he was no longer allowed to enter.
Adrian had been cast out for his sins, and the prodigal sonâs return was not welcome. Still, if he had to die today, at least heâd be dying in one place he loved above all â Paris.
The address heâd gotten was somewhere near Gare du Nord, 30-minute-drive from the Charles De Gaulle airport, but heâd asked the driver to take the longer route and go through the 9th arrondissement. One last look...
As the car sped through familiar streets, leaving the familiar landmarks in the rearview mirror one by one, Paris felt strangely foreign, with foreign sounds, with foreign people and no hiding place. A sad realisation hit him all of a sudden â heâd always love Paris, but theyâd grown from lovers into strangers.
The destination soon appeared, centuries-old railway station rearing its head menacingly in the distace. He could hear the faint sounds of Vive le Vent coming from somewhere, muddy streets littered with Christmas decorations. Looked like there would be no white Christmas in Paris this year, just rain. Lots, and lots of rain. The streets around the Paris-North were as busy as he left them, people running around with a dash of holiday spirit sparkled on everything. Life would go on, and Adrian was nothing but a disappearing shadow in the city of lights.
He entered a derelict building north the station as instructed. He clocked Sophia right away. Chained to a chair, sweat and tears dripping down her face, scared and terrified. His fault.
âIâm here. Alone. Now let her go,â Adrian addressed the group, hoping Sophia wouldnât have to be there a minute longer. He raised his hands and took off the jacket. âNo guns, no back-up.â They may have been criminals and murderers, but they were military operatives once, too. They still had some moral code, and as expected once they saw Adrian, they cut her loose.
Sophia ran to her brotherâs arms. âItâs alright, itâs alright,â he hugged her, probably for the last time, âYouâll be okay. Momâs on her way to Porto, you should fly there right away.â
âIâm sorry, Adrian,â her voice was shaking, she could barely make her words sound audible, âIâll call the cops, Iâll-Iâll get the help, I ââ
âJust go, Sophia. Tell mom Iâm sorry,â he let her go and watched as she neared the door reluctantly, but knowing there was nothing to be done.
His eyes were still fixed on his sister when suddenly lights went out and a blunt object hit his head with full force, knocking him out.
December 23rd. Early Morning.
âWake up, putain,â the icy water and CĂŠdricâs voice jolted him back to consciousness with equal intensity.
âYouâre fucking dead, Castillo,â Philippe put a knife to his throat, he could practically smell whiskey on his breath, âlike you shouldâve been a long time ago.â
âI guess I just want some answers,â Agnes shrugged. Her curiosity couldnât have been mistaken for remorse. She was just as angry and resentful as the rest of them. They havenât been close friends the way Adrian and Laure were, but they had served together, at GIGN and at the French Organization. That had to mean something. Loyalty meant something.
Adrian remained silent.
What was he supposed to say? The truth was far too complicated, and there were simply too many factors at play to give them a short, clear answer. Not that it wouldâve made any difference. Theyâd branded him a traitor and there was no undoing that, no changing their minds, no mercy, no truce.
Not when they had another war to fight, but this time on the opposite sides.
