The lights were warm, painting the room a comforting golden, but the man's eyes were cold, piercing through the eyes of the small boy before him. The unappetising scent of old furniture and the dust suffocated the space, making the youth's eyes water. This place was very familiar to the boy, but the energy he was feeling in that moment reflected nothing he had ever felt before, and he shivered nervously, picking recklessly at the threads hanging aimlessly off the sofa cushions.
He let his eyes explore the room, and every spot he laid his eyes on had a vivid memory buried within it. Even the unpleasant ones. From the corner by the window where his family celebrated their first Christmas in their new home to the wine cabinet against the adjacent wall where the boy had accidentally dropped a bottle, a slight red stain still visible in the carpet. Despite the not-so-nice memories he kept in his mind, he would choose any one of those over the moment he was presently in.
His throat was parched, and with every gulp he swallowed, the scratching there became increasingly irritable, and he imagined opening his mouth to see hot red inflammation. But he was too afraid to say anything, whether it be about the tear-inducing news he had just heard or the fact that his throat was incredibly dry.
"Are you thirsty?"
The man's words were as cold and as hard as solid ice, slamming violently against the boy's eardrums, and for a moment, the boy couldn't believe that this man was his biological father. Tender and smooth fingers contrasted rough and hard-worked ones, and the booming and controlling voice juxtaposed the tiny and innocent one.
"No."
It was the first word the boy had spoken in more than two hours, and they felt unusual on his tongue, almost like the language was now completely foreign to him. He didn't understand why he had declined the offer — possibly to seem tough — but there was nothing tough about the tears that had long since developed in his eyes.
In the adjoining room the kettle came to the boil, the obnoxious squealing like needles dully pressed in the boy's skull. He was extremely uncomfortable, and the small girl beside him glanced at him as if sharing the same opinion.
With a sigh the man crossed the room, disappearing through the lit-up archway and returning with the boiling kettle, pouring scalding water into two mugs.
"Drink," the man instructed them. "I haven't finished speaking yet."
Two pairs of little hands reached forward to pick up the mugs, and the man watched intently as they drank, clinging to their drinks as if they were life sources. Once the siblings had drained half their tea, the man spoke again.
"I've been in the middle of this battle for years. Long before you two were born, and I've been very patient up until now."
The battle these children had listened to was indeed a long and depressing one, and the fact that their own father had experienced it made his true story so much more unbearable.
The man held up a small but dark vial. He shook it once, and something tinkled inside.
"Do you understand why I'm doing this?"
Both kids nodded.
"Do you understand why you will be helping?"
Another round of intense nods.
"You must never tell anyone."
The man paced the room before them, hands behind his back, eyes forward.
"You both understand that once you're in, there's no backing out, correct?"
The boy knew to nod immediately, but his sister hesitated a moment before following.
"Good," the man responded. "Good." Another few paces with two pairs of wide eyes staring at him. "I'm doing this for you."
They nodded.
For a moment, just a moment, the siblings saw warmth in the man's face. His hard eyes had softened, his lips had upturned, and his expression was tender, but the moment passed, and the hardness returned. While his words were that of an affectionate father, his kind demeanor had long since faded.
"All the decisions I have made have been for you. And every decision I make after today will continue to be for you. But you must be willing. And once this is all over, I know you'll both be safe and able to live a good life, without the burden of my business."
In that second, the fate of the siblings was confirmed, but little did they know that in a few years time they would be responsible for the death of a wealthy English woman, who's ambitious husband had unknowingly cued the irrational actions of a man destined for success.
Drip, drip, drip.
The cup of tea made by an innocent woman was now filled with a transparent and fatal liquid, and within the next twenty-four hours she would be unable to walk, and beyond that point, there would be no reversal of her inevitable death.
This merciless act shook her husband's world, and if he had lost anyone else, his world would be empty. In other words, the siblings' mission would've been complete. But years later they would be on the very same mission, this time to obliterate the only card that kept the man's house of cards up.
When the boy's mission became terrifyingly apparent to him, he reassured himself by asking the same questions he'd been asked by his father.
"Do you understand why I'm doing this?"
He nodded to himself.
"Do you understand why you will be helping?"
Another confident nod.
He pictured his father pacing the room before him, hands behind his back, and his eyes forward.
"You both understand that once you're in, there's no backing out, correct?"
Yes.