The Prior
Chapter 35: Life Ends in 2001

POV: Cassidy Abbot

“Maybe we should run through it once tonight? Like, there, in person,” Peter suggests after a few moments of silence.

I agree with him. Elliot and Max fall in line. I slip on my jacket. Elliot touches my waist. I glance up at him. He leans closely into me. My heart flutters.

“You look so good in those jeans,” he mutters, before stepping away, towards the door. I laugh, to myself, before glancing back up. Max and Peter already stand outside. Elliot holds the door for me.

Off we go. The night wind chills my bones. I looks towards Elliot, who anxiously glances around. I extend my hand and he takes it, pulling my entire body into his. We tuck our hands into his jacket pocket. Honking from a car nearby startles me.

Max approaches on my right, “Ok, love birds. You can’t just leave my alone with Peter, c’mon now.”

Elliot chuckles. I feel myself beaming. Love birds. Oh, Max. Maybe everything sucks, but this doesn’t. I take my hand out of Elliot’s pocket, and tuck my hair behind my ears.

“You know we love you, right, Max?” I say, now making eye contact with him.

“Who wouldn’t?” he says with a wink. From behind us, Peter marveles at his first sight of the towers. It’s weird seeing something that infamously was already destroyed before your birth. I remember the surreality from the Constitution and Lincoln’s assissination.

The area of the building is still bustling, to my surprise. I know the city never sleeps, but I was sure hoping this part of town would. We lead Peter towards the concourse area, as the three of us had explored the other day.

“Should we send someone outside to watch for the planes?” Peter asks.

Max rolls his eyes, “Yeah, and when they see it, they’ll just call us on the cellphones we don’t have.”

“We could get cellphones,” Peter says. My eyes widen. It’s 2001. Flip phones. I spin around, glancing around at the stores. A Sprint catches my eye in the corner of the mall.

I reach behind me and take Elliot’s hand. I push off the ground and sprint towards the store. We pass a bench on the way. A hot pink purse lays unattended. I clip it with my index and middle finger, not bothering to stop. Up an escalator and around the radius of the mall, we stumble into the store. Peter and Max trail just behind us. Elliot heaves, out of breath.

“We don’t have any money,” he says between pants.

I extend my arms out, revealing the stolen purse. Max, leaning against his knees, catching his breath, looks up and raises an eyebrow. I hastily unzip and dig. A wallet. I fight with the edge of the bag, as the wallet is obviously too big for the little purse. The sparkly wallet shines in the fluorescent mall lighting. I dig through the outer pocket, empty. I unzip it and go straight for the middle compartment. $50 in cash. Probably not enough for four phones. I shake my head and separate the walls of the wallet. Holy credit cards. I use my thumb to dig out an Amex credit card. That should do. I wave the card at my partners and we enter the store. Peter still catches his breath.

“I know you’re about to close, but can you please help us? I want to buy four smartphones. With service,” I say.

The Sprint employee raises an eyebrow, as if confused by my request. Elliot reappears on my other side, pointing towards a flip phone. The employee glances at me before nodding.

Peter puts his name on the account, claiming the cardholder is his wife. The employee hands us the devices, as his manager closes the gate behind us.

We slip back out into the newly empty mall.

“Ok, plan run through,” Elliot says. We discuss who is best to be inside versus outside.

“We really only need two people inside. The less possible harm to them, the better. Fastest runners?” Max suggests.

Peter nods, in agreement, “I’m fast.”

I glance over to my partners, they both fight back laughter. But, after a few moments, reality sets in. Who else to sacrifice? I swallow the lump in my throat. This could go so wrong so quickly.

“I think we should plan to be out of the building before the planes are even spotted,” I mutter. Max and Elliot agree with me. It’s great having a common enemy. “And, we only use the phone in case of emergency. You know, if a previous change causes the planes to come early or something,” I add. Peter nods, quietly.

Elliot volunteers to go in with Peter. I hold eye contact with him, shaking my head a little. He looks away. It should be him. He’s faster than Max or I. I can trust him with the plan. I know he’ll do anything to protect us and the mission. But, my heart tears at the thought of him being somewhere so unsafe.

Max and I discuss the logistics of our position, while Elliot and Peter have their own conversation. We’re going to separate, Max and I, so that we can view all directions. He’s going to take a balcony of a hotel on the southeast side of the towers. And, I, on a rooftop restaurant on the northwest side. I wait outside with Max, as Elliot and Peter praticing running from the inside of the stairwells to the exit. Max and I will also function as timekeepers.

The four of us walk home in silence. I can’t even look at Elliot. God, this hurts. We enter our rooms, still in silence. We give Peter time to settle in. The three of us sit in silence for at least 20 minutes.

“Is it go time?” I inquire after a moment. Elliot nods. Max unlocks the safe, pulling out the cans of spray paint.

We redress in our jackets, this time pulling the hoods over our heads. Max distributes the cans. We separate. I hop the subway and take it to the World Trade Center. I subway surf, from car to car, until I find an empty one. I glance to the cars beside me. The other soles in it don’t look my direction. Ok, perfect. I uncap my first can of paint, the others safely tucked in the stolen purse. I stay flush with the wall, first painting the ceiling of the car. I move around the car, painting it in three spaces. As the train comes to a stop, I hide the can and hop off. I wait in this station for 7 minutes, until another train arrives. I follow the same procedures as last time, but find more empty cars. I repeat the painting three times over. I alternate the paintings.

9/11 - Congressionalists

9/11 (Symbol)

AQ / (Symbol) - 911

I arrive, at last, at the World Trade Center station. I glance around and realize that I’m not alone. I allow the other passengers to pass by. I text Max, then Elliot: Subway cars done. Can #1 empty. I’m cautious with my words because texting on this stupid thing is not easy. The station clears out, but a few stragglers still remain. I give up on the train landing space and follow the hallways, as if I was switching trains. One of the blue line trains doesn’t run tonight. It’s landing space is empty. I ditch the first can in a nearby trash can and crack open the next one. I take advantage of the huge wall and create an intricate design. I draw the symbol largely from floor to ceiling. I add 911, Congressionalists, AQ, Al-Qaeda, 9/11, and ATTACK! in a circle around it. This uses at least half of my second can. I tuck the can into my purse and run back up the stairs. A NYPD officer stands, arm crossed, at the top. He looks at me. My heart sinks.

“Lost ma’am?” he barks. I tell myself to play it cool. And keep my paint-coated hands in my pocket.

I nod, “I think I got off at the wrong stop. I was just trying to get to see the towers all lit up. How do I get there? Is it another stop?”

He shakes his head, and grumbles, “Tourists. He points towards an obvious ‘this way to twin towers’ sign.” I thank him and run up the stairs. Thankfully, I’m two flights underground. I take advantage of the second set of stairs. I alternate on every other stair, between 9-11 and the symbol. The can runs out just before the last stair. I decide to skip it and toss the can away. One more.

I grip the third can in my bag, now approaching the subway exit. Another officer stairs at the gate. I leave casually. He pays no mind. I exit out into the New York air. My first outdoor vandalism victim is a trash can. I cautiously paint 9/11 (the easiest) into it. Then, I turn the corner towards the building itself.

Elliot has texted me, he was tasked with painting nearby sidewalks. He’s out of paint. I reply, and inform him that I’ll finish the job. I follow the path from subway to the buildings. Every three cement slabs, I artfully draw the symbol. On occasion, I add AQ or 9/11.

Halfway there, I meet Elliot. We talk towards the building together, waiting for Max. He had the hardest job. Painting inside the towers and mall. While this won’t necessarily be visible after the attack, our hope is that it’ll be noticed and recorded prior. Max jogs out of the building, panting.

“We got it,” he says. We ditch the cans and walk back together.

At the hotel, Max turns on the TV, reruns of Friends play. I keep my eyes fixated on the episode, distracted from my own reality. I lay down in bed next to Elliot, on my side. Both of his arms wrap around my waist. He plants a kiss on my cheek. A smile appears on my face, but I don’t say anything. Fear paralyzes me. His hands move up to my scalp. Pleasure soars through my body as he rubs. Why had I never asked him to do that before? This is better than sex. The tension melts out of my body. I allow myself to relax into his body. Another kiss is planted, this time on my neck. This time, I let out a small giggle.

“Cassidy, I love you more than anything,” he says. I slide my hand over his, where it rests on my side. I squeeze it, his skin seeping warmth onto mine.

“I love you so much,” I whisper back. This can’t be the end. We have to survive this. I close my eyes, appreciating his cuddles in a new way. I almost accept the fact that this may be the last time. He can’t die. But, he might. The quiet lull of the air conditioner pulls me to sleep.

––

I feel nauseous. In bed, I sit up straight and glance at the digital alarm clock beside my bed. It’s 4 a.m., 9.11.01. Anxiety pangs in the side of my chest. My hands are shaking. I look to my other side. Elliot lays peacefully beside me. Soft breaths escape his chest. I scrunch the blankets down and look to the bed on the other side of the room. Max is rolled on his side, faced away from my sight. I slip my feet out of the covers, as chills run up my legs. Cold or nervous or both? I pad to the bathroom. Quietly, I close the door before turning the light on. A loud fan runs, automatically with the light, as if to undo all the quietness I had just attempted. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

Elliot’s graphic ringer tee hangs over my body. A giant knot of hair rests on the nape of my neck. I tried to comb through it with my fingers, but ultimately fail. I turn my attention away from the mirror, to the shower. I turn the knob, turning the water on. It’s ice cold, of course. I slip my clothes off as the water slowly warms up. My hands still shake noticeably. I try to take a deep breath, but only release a shaky one. I open the glassdoor to our shower, the water immediately soaking me when I step in. I use the hotel-provided conditioner to soften the knot in my hair. I end up ripping chunks out with my fingers, as I work my way through the knot. I use a washcloth to suds up the rest of my body. I swipe across the back of my leg and catch sight of my tattoo. The symbol still bothers me. What does it mean?

A lump forms in my throat as I rinse the soap off my body. Some kind of cry escapes my mouth, unconsciously. The weight on my chest encourages me to sit down. The cool tile of the shower contrasts with my overly warm water. I’m unable to differentiate the shower water from my tears. All I can think, or mutter, is I want to go home. Why did I sign up for this? Fuck this entire thing.

The water begins to run cold. I must’ve been in here for a while. The cold water is uncomfortable enough that I’m distracted from the crying. My eyes dry up and I clear my throat. I quickly turn off the water and grasp my towel. I dry myself before realizing that my day clothes are outside the room. I fastem the towel tightly around my chest and turn the light off. Wouldn’t want to wake Elliot or Max. I’m certain it’s still before 6 a.m.. The crisp air of the bedroom space meetings my skin. I strain my eyes to identify the person sitting up on the bed. On Max’s bed. Max. I glance at the digital clock, 5:44 a.m.. I was in the shower for a while.

He stands up, and approaches me. I glance towards Elliot, who still lays completely peacefully.

Max smiles at me and whispers, “Early bird gets the worm, huh?”

I roll my eyes at his stupid comment. He’s next to me now. I look towards him, finally seeing his face in the dark.

“Oh, hey, what’s wrong?” he asks. The awakens all the emotions that I had just shoved down. My face wets again, stinging the skin of my cheeks. I can’t make the tears stop, so instead, I focus on keeping them quiet. I’ve always been a quiet crier. Wailing was never really my thing, even as a kid. When my dad died, I never wanted to worry my mom. I learned how to cry silently fairly quickly. And, when she died too, only five years later, the quiet crying became useful. I wouldn’t have wanted the CIA to think I was depressed or something. That’s the fastest way to get retired early.

I feel Max’s arm pull me in towards him. His skin is cold, likely from laying next to the air conditioner all night. Eventually, he guides me to his bed, where we sit and I cry into him. He pulls a blanket around his, warming up my chilled hair and skin.

“Cass?” he whispers. I pull myself off of him, just enough to look into his eyes. The darkness blurs his face, but I think he may be crying too. Upon my movement, he begins to pull away.

“I’m going to get Elliot, ok?” he whispers, before standing up.

My lip trembles. In an instant, Elliot sits down beside me. I would complain about Max interrupting his sleep, but he’s warm. Warmer than Max. He fastens the blanket the same way that Max had done. I keep my face buried in the side of his body. Elliot rubs my back for a while, as tears continue to flow from my eyes. His other hand reaches to the side of my towel. He retucks the edge in, securing it tight against my body again.

“Can you tell me what’s upsetting you?” Elliot asks. I don’t remove my face from his side, but I’m able to talk.

“What’s not wrong?” I cry out, louder than I intended to say it. He kisses the top of my head. His right arm squeezes my leg. “I wish wouldn’t have done this. Fuck the CIA. Fuck the Congressionalists. Fuck 9/11. Fuck my stupid dad for dying. I would’ve never signed up for all this shit if he didn’t die.”

Elliot’s muscles contract, he freezes a bit, “Tell me about your dad.”

“He died. Uh,” I say, coughing now. Muscus fly out of my throat, into my mouth. I clear it, “When I was 13. He was in the CIA, too. He died. On a mission. Or probably on some stupid Congressionalist expedition. I thought I owed it to him to finish what he couldn’t. I joined the second I was able. And, fuck my mom for dying too. She would’ve never allowed me to join. But, she died two days before my 18th birthday. Two days before I joined the CIA. I should have never fucking done this.”

Rage fills my chest. I heave. Elliot pushes his hand against my neck. He pushes out foreheads together. The bridge of my nose meets his.

“I couldn’t have done with without you, you know?” he whispers. I feel his breath on my lips. I would have never met him without this.

I pull away and wrap my arms around his neck. He accepts my hug, holding my back tightly. A glimpse of his tattoo catches my eye. Fuck.

“What if I don’t have you when we get back?” I ask.

He squeezes me, “Why would you not?”

I choke on more mucus, “What if we are far apart? We wake up in different places? If the congressionalists are still alive and they kill one of us? Hell, what if we can’t find Max? I can never leave you guys.” I think he’s crying now too. My suspicions are confirmed with his next statement.

His voice shakes, “Cassidy Abb- whatever the fuck you last name is–”

“Belyayev,” I whisper.

“Cassidy Belyayev. I will do anything to find you and spend the rest of my life with you. And right after I find you, we can find Max together. I promise,” he whispers holding me still.

“Okay,” I whisper.

He holds me like this for a while. Until the hotel door reopens. Footsteps approach.

“Okay. I have coffee, water, tea and hot chocolate. What do you want, Cass?” Max asks me.

I severe the hug with Elliot and spin around to face Max. He holds three hot cup and a bottle of water. I smile a little and begin to reach for the hot chocolate. Cold airs hits my chest, just as I do. I look down and realize that my towel has fallen to my waist. I still sit, thankfully, which preserves the dignity of my bottom half.

“Oh,” Max mutters, immediately staring up at the ceiling awkwardly.

Elliot looks down and instinctively wraps his arm around my chest, as if to cover them up. I pull up my towel and refasten it.

“You’re good Max,” I say after a minute. I stand up, gripping the towel as Max oogles at me. He extends the water and I take it.

“Really, Max?” Elliot scoffs, taking one of the hot cups from him.

His face flushes red, “I’m sorry-” he cringes, “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen boobs.” I glance down and realize what they’re talking about.

“Oh, go jack off in the shower, my god,” Elliot mutters. Max puts down the cups and walks towards the bathroom.

I glance over at Elliot, “Has it been a long time since you’ve seen boobs too?”

He smiles at me, “You can’t fault me, I touched them.”

I roll my eyes and pull him into a kiss. He kisses back passionately. His hand reaches down and squeezes my the back of my thigh. I reach back and push it up higher, into my towel.

“What about Max?” he whispers, grinning.

I pop off the towel, but quickly pull the blanket over myself.

“We’ll be quick. Don’t worry,” I whisper against his neck.

—

“Belyayev, huh? I thought you said your dad was English,” Elliot asks, slipping his boxers back on.

I laugh, “I switched that. My mom is British. My dad is Russian. Wanted Abbot to seem believable.”

“It was. Belyayev. Wow. I can’t believe I know that now,” Elliot says. A smile creeps onto my face. I fumble on my underwear and low-rise jeans. My aeropostle-style tee shirt fits perfectly.

Just as Max steps out of the bathroom, our morning alarm rings.

“Ahead of schedule!” he says, smiling. Elliot’s on the other side of the room, messing with the air conditioner. He pauses and heads towards the bathroom. I slam the alarm clock quiet, before going across the hall to awaken Peter.

The hallway is quiet at this hour. I rap my knuckles on the door. It takes three separate knocking occasions for it to be answered. Peter swings the door open, standing in just boxers himself.

“Awake,” he says, “See you in a few.”

I wander back into our room. Elliot’s in the shower now. Max sits up on his bed, fluffing his hair. I walk over and sit across from him.

“Sorry about earlier,” he stutters.

I chuckle, “It’s fine, Max.”

“I thought Elliot was going to murder me when you stepped out of the room,” he says, glancing towards the bathroom door.

I immediately shake my head, “Elliot loves you, even if he won’t admit it. I think there are very few things you could do to make him angry with you.”

Max raises his chin a little, “Right.”

Elliot steps out of the bathroom, steam flowing out of the doorway. He towel dries his hair. I smile a little at him. I guess if it wasn’t for all of this, I wouldn’t have him.

We all begin to set out the door. Max puts his shoes on. Elliot zips his jacket.

“Are you guys a little sad?” Elliot asks.

“Maybe. I’m going to miss working with you,” Max says.

“I think we already covered how sad I am. Group hug?” I say.

Elliot raises an eyebrow. Max walks towards us. I hook my arms around both of their necks. They both squeeze tightly.

“This is it,” Max mutters. I take a deep breath and pull away from the hug. Elliot closes it, patting Max on the back. Max turns to me and gives me a big squeeze. I spin on my toes and pull in Elliot. He plants a kiss on the side of my neck.

We collect Peter and head towards the hotel stairwell. We begin to walk, as the morning sun begins to warm up the air. The busy New York streets pay no mind to what’s about to happen. I can’t help but cringe thinking about it. The towers get larger and larger as we approach. I hear Elliot suck in a breath, as we arrive.

This is the point where we split up. I take in the faces of my partners. We have to survive this. We have to. Max bites his lip. A drop of sweat pours down Elliot’s face. Peter fidgets with something in his pocket.

“We should, uh, get ready,” I mutter. Max snaps out of his trace and nods. I step over to Peter and pull him into a hug. I’ve never been much of a hugger. But, god, do I need one right now. He accepts it awkwardly, which I’m thankful for. It burns a smile into my cheeks. I turn back to Max. We already hugged, but, I suppose, if this really is the last time, another couldn’t hurt. He squeezes me until the bones of his shoulder burn into my arms.

“Thank you for everything, Cass,” he whisper. I swallow and thank him.

I turn to Elliot. Elliot. Oh. My heart sinks as he stands there. No. No. No. No. He takes the initiative in our hug, picking me up off the ground. He spins me around, which makes me laugh. Once my feet are safely on the ground, he pulls me into a kiss. We lean over, his arm supporting my back.

“Woo!” Peter says.

“Oh, get a room!” Max adds, laughing.

Elliot pulls us back up. We separate, staring at each other.

“I love you,” I say.

“I’ll always love you,” he replies. My cheeks begin to hurt from smiling so hard.

Peter motions for us to get moving. He and Elliot turn towards the buildings. I glance over at Max, who takes a deep breath. As they cross the street, Elliot blows me a kiss. I dramatically accept it.

“Do great things, Cass,” Max says, saluting.

I laugh, “We got this, Max.”

The crisp September air stings on my cheeks. I walk towards my restaurant. The hostess greets me and I request a table for one: rooftop view, if possible.

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