A Few Years Ago (The End – Chapter 3.5)

Author’s note: This chapter (yes, it is chapter 3.5) is quite unique in the sense that it’s both the oldest and the newest text I’ve published here. The first half was written more than 20 years ago (autumn 2004, if I remember correctly), while the second half is only a few weeks old.

This chapter also shows the limits of the silly idea of publishing the story before I’ve finished writing it. A few things in this chapter will probably have to be changed along the way (especially the chronology and certain details of the conversation) Oh well, if you’re reading this, you’re one of the lucky ones who got to read an early version. If I ever finish writing The End, you’ll be able to see the differences. In the meantime, enjoy.

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Part one – A few years ago

The crackling of the assault rifle bursts finally subsided. I would have liked to add something along the lines of “the only sounds that remained were the groans of pain from the last survivors”, except that everyone had stopped groaning. There were no survivors.

I checked my trousers to make sure there was no blood on them. My shoes were fine too.

“Bond? Are you… finished?”

He replied that he would have liked to go on a bit longer, but those stupid Kalashnikovs didn’t have enough ammunition, and the Soviets really were “a bunch of mofos”. His words.
I was not one to regret that regime (though it was worth many others), but even with the best of intentions I could not add to the list of grievances against the USSR the fact that they did not think to put bigger magazines in their AK-47s so that a few decades later my esteemed friend and colleague could spend more time shooting at fresh corpses.

As Bond wasn’t ready to leave yet, as he seemed to find it most important to splatter his Doc Martens with the previously internal fluids of his victims while testing the resistance of various parts of their bodies against the shells of his boots (and who would have to clean the carpets in the car afterwards? I’m asking you), I knew there was only one thing left to do: go outside and have a smoke.

fuming on the way back. When I start the car and he does not immediately start small talk, it is never a good sign. After about a minute of silence (do you know how long a minute feels when you are sitting next to a silent and angry Bond and you have to drive?) he handed me an American Express and finally opened his mouth.

“For the cleaning bill. You know, if there are any stains on the seats of the carpets because of me,” he said.
“Thank you, dear friend, that is very kind of you.” I was touched and surprised, do you know how rarely he apologises for anything? “But tell me, how long have you had an American Express card?”
“I don’t.”

Somehow I was not surprised that Bond thought it perfectly normal that one of the people whose blood stained my car should pay the bill, even post-mortem.
It was the first time he had made me smile that day. I think he smiled a little too. Even if I did not approve of everything that had happened in the warehouse, maybe he needed it.

 

******

 

I knocked on the door of the Taulier’s office.

“Come in.”

I opened the door slightly and peeked into the room.

“Hello boss, you wanted to see me?”
“Hi, Count. Yes. Please sit down.”

He showed me the large armchair in front of him. He was sitting on the sofa watching a Hong Kong gangster film on the projector screen. I entered the room and walked over to the chair. The policeman and the triad boss drew their guns at the same time. I never knew who fired first, the Taulier stopped the film. He had his usual benevolent smile on his face, but it was not as genuine as usual. He didn’t offer me a drink. Something was obviously bothering him.

“I read the report you wrote on your last mission.”
“Yes, sorry, I tried to stop Bond from killing all the henchmen, but…”
“It’s all right. These things happen. No, I wanted to ask you about Bond himself.”
“Oh, I see.”
“How is he?” the Taulier asked, not trying to hide his concern. That did not reassure me. It was best to be completely honest.
“Not so good, I’m afraid.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“I’m not sure. Have you spoken to him?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, since you are asking… Oh, wait, you are asking… Well, I’m afraid he’s not taking Sharon leaving him very well. It’s the only thing I can think of.”
“Not very well to the point of mass murdering a bunch of henchmen?”
“Some people might call that an overreaction, but – while it’s not something he’s going to do on a regular basis – it’s also not something I’d call surprising if you look at his behaviour and mood over the last two years.”
“Yes, that’s what I was afraid of.”
“What?”
“The last two years…”
“Oh dear! I see what you mean, Taulier! Next week is…”
The Taulier finished my sentence.
“…the second anniversary of Scaramouche’s death.”
“Merde, of course… Pardon my French.”

We looked at each other in silence for a few seconds. I spoke first.

“But why now? Why after two years? He seemed to have made his peace with it.”
“You know, grief sometimes takes unusual paths. Something could have happened that… Well… That’s why we’re talking now…”
“You want to know if something triggered it? Of course you do.” I paused, scratched the back of my head and sighed. “This is Bond we are talking about. Anger is his personal deadly sin… Deadly, especially to other people,” I added to myself, aloud.

The Taulier smiled. I spoke again.

“Did you talk with him about Scaramouche?”
“Of course. At length. Did you?”
“I mean, yes, but not in… Is there anything I should know that I don’t?” I wouldn’t say I was a little jealous that Bond talked more to the Taulier about Scaramouche’s death than he did with me, but I sort of was. The Taulier explained:
“You know Scaramouche was like a father to him, right? When Bond was new here, before the two of you met… Well, let’s just say he was very lonely during his first few months with us. As you know, he’s always had trouble getting along with a lot of the other agents. To tell you the truth, I’m actually surprised that the two of you got on so well and managed to stay close all these years. Well, when he was learning the ropes, Scaramouche was more than just an instructor. He really took him under his wing and helped him adapt to this new life. While many here see me as Bond’s mentor, the truth is the two of them were always much closer than I’ll ever be with him. But you probably already knew all that.

I nodded. I knew, but… I guess I never fully realised how close they were. And neither of them ever showed it publicly. Bond’s recent mood swings suddenly made more sense. No one reacts well to being dumped, and I thought he was overreacting a bit, especially because, if I have to be honest, it is not as if Bond has ever had a very stable love life. He has been dumped before, he will be dumped again. His violent outbursts being linked to Scaramouche’s death made more sense.

What I found difficult to understand was why Bond had never really been very open with me about how much Scaramouche meant to him. And also why the pain of his death seemed more intense than usual at the moment.

The Taulier just looked at me as I pondered. He was just waiting for me to be ready to listen so that he could speak again. I indulged him:

“Should I do something special? Should I talk to him?”
“Not for now. Just be who you are. His teammate. And his friend. Yes, more than ever I think he needs a good friend. I think you’re that for him. I don’t know if he’ll tell you any more about Scaramouche than he already has. But if he does… would you mind letting me know? And don’t get me wrong, there’s no need to hide this conversation from him if he asks. Not this one, nor any future ones.”

I nodded.

“Thank you, Taulier, for this talk.”
“And you too. Have a good day.”

I left Taulier’s office and went outside for a smoke. The air was getting warmer. Spring at last. Good. It had been a bloody awful winter. All that time, Bond had mourned Scaramouche even more than the rest of us. All alone. Not to mention being dumped. I just hoped he had told me about his grief for Scaramouche (and less about that girl, honestly, she was not a good match for him).

 

*****

 

When I got to the terrace overlooking the valley, Bond was there, looking into the distance and brooding. He turned when he heard me coming.

“You know, I’ve always envied you smokers a little.”
“Why is that?”
“I don’t know, when you’re alone and lost in your thoughts, y’all seem cool and mysterious. I’ve been told I sometimes look creepy when I start looking into the abyss.”

I giggled, not sure if he was joking or not.

“How do you…”

He interrupted me: “You know, I can’t go on like this. How many people have I killed in the last few years? Far more than I should have. And it’s not because they were evil, that’s no excuse. I have killed and killed and killed, and the truth is, the more I do it, the more I enjoy it. Yeah, sometimes it feels good to wipe those motherfuckers out. But even though it feels good, even though sometimes it’s the most effective way to accomplish our missions and make the planet a better place, is it really? I know you never chastise me for it, but I know deep down you disapprove. And I’m sorry, but it’s not even about your approval. What are the ramifications of all these deaths? The leaders, fine, I don’t care, but the henchmen, the foot soldiers. They must have families, children, friends who don’t know about their nasty activities, right? They’re not all fanatics and bastards. And even if they are, does that give me the right to get rid of them this way? And what about me? Have I become the proverbial monster fighting the monsters? And what if one day I lose control?”
“You’re not…”
He interrupted me again and continued his monologue: “You don’t know that! What if I lose control? What if I take this violence out on you, guys? What if the Order uses it against us? What if they manage to make me one of them? I can’t go on like this.”
He stopped talking and looked down the valley again.
“What are you going to do?” I asked. “Retire?”
“No, no.”
“You could ask the Taulier to take you off the field, to do things here or as a sleeper agent?”
He looked at me with that judgmental look that instantly makes you feel smaller.
“You’re right, not a good idea. What do you want to do?”
“Maybe I have an idea… maybe.”
“And you’re not going to tell me before you do it, are you?”
He replied with an apologetic smile.
“All right, do whatever you want, but don’t do anything stupid that makes me regret being your friend, okay?”

 

 

Part Two: Later, somewhere else

“Bond, are you sure? That’s pretty drastic.”
“I’m sure, Dionysus. I’ve gone through all the options, this is the only one left.”
“If you regret it, I’m not sure I can fix it.”
“I know.”
“Then let’s do it, but consider this payment for the favor I owe you, not something I’m happy to do. What would you like to drink before we start?”

 

 

(to be continued in chapter 4)

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