79 A Chasm that Can't Be Filled

After asking that question, the man in front of her became so still that even his breath was barely discernible. Words stopped tumbling from his mouth and his eyes didn't blink. It was like the man had been turned into a statue.

After a long while had gone by with him in this state, Nastasia tried, cautiously, calling out to him. He didn't budge. She then moved her legs, scooting back, off from his lap. Though she tried to be as careful as could be when shifting away from him, there were still times when her feet knocked into him slightly.

Yet, he remained as still as he had from when he first fell into this state.

Seeing this, gaining a bit of confidence, Nastasia began to work on her escape. Her wrists had been tied separately before they were secured to the wall. This limited her ways of breaking free to one technique of the few she had been taught.

The high-quality material wrapped around her wrists was thick, but Nastasia was determined to make her plan work. Rubbing the cloth against the coarse stone wall in quick rough strokes, she prayed for the material to wear down enough for her strength to pull it apart.

As for the man in front of her, he was currently resting in the theater of his own memories. The emotions from the last viewing still ghosted his nerves, leaving faint vestiges of pained sadness, anger, and rushing adrenaline. The screen, the window into his remembrances of the past, gave no care for his unsettled being as it switched into another memory.

"HnnaaAAAH!"

A woman's pained shout sounded from the blurry screen. Along with the shout were the indiscernible sounds of machinery, clanking objects, and voices. Upon his hand was a heavy pressure, in his ears were quick breaths ending in a drawn-out breath that accompanied pained groans and screams.

"Hi hi huuu, hi hi huuu," the blurriness of screen suddenly sharpened as it zeroed in on a woman's face. Scrunched in pain and wreathed in sweaty red hair...

She was absolutely stunning.

He placed his left hand over the delicate one mangling his right as he encouraged with every discouraging word that fell from her pale lips. "Yes you can, you can do this Aoife. You're the strongest woman I know." Then, at other times he would respond with, "what are you talking about? You're doing great. Just a few more pushes, in just a few more we'll be holding our child."

Just like this, the excruciating process progressed until a shrill cry broke through the sudden silence. The hand holding his fell slack upon the final push as an exhausted peace replaced her pain filled visage. Mikhail caressed her face to displace the overwhelming emotion that filled his chest.

"It's a girl!" Someone cried out.

The doctors and nurses were blurry, but the squirming and crying infant in their grasp was beautifully clear. Although this wasn't the first time he had seen this scene, it filled him with just as much wonder and awe, just as much love and affection, as the first.

The feelings crossed over from the screen and echoed in his heart as he reached shaking fingers toward the crying face of the infant as her umbilical cord was cut and the body hastily wiped down. A clean receiving blanket was wrapped around the squirming baby girl before she was carefully placed in her waiting mother's arms.

Aoife glowed as she looked at her daughter. Mikhail took in the two, admiring the perfect scene, before reaching out to grab, with his forefinger and thumb, a small and delicate hand. It was so tiny and dainty that it could barely grasp his thumb.

"She's absolutely gorgeous, just like her mother."

Giving an amused laugh, Aoife denied it. "Aside from the red hair where do you see me in that face. Clearly, she looks more like her handsome father with her beautiful blue eyes and cute button nose."

As she paused to admire the darling infant, she slowly murmured, "so, I was thinking that we should name her Aowy-"

"Hey," he cried as he quickly interjected, "you promised I could name this one!"

Laughter followed that comment, but the laughter drowned out into the sounds of battle. The happy image shredded away and through the shredded pieces, the scene of a war raged. Mikhail was laid out flat on a rooftop, gun barrel aimed through a gap in the wall. The gap opened to the perfect view of the plaza below.

His marksmanship was topnotch, able to take down a target up to 1.8 miles away. Currently, he was equipped with the M110 Semi-Automatic sniper rifer, though he liked the feel of the M24 this newer model was admittedly more accurate.

"Okay," his spotter, two feet from left called, "take the shot."

"Why do you have to go!?"

The memory, the theater screen, it was shredded. Between the shreds was another memory playing out. Though it wasn't bloody or violent, it was no less blood-rushingly nerve-wracking.

A woman's face, framed by her long red hair, was scrunched up in anger as tears streamed down her cheeks, her chin, and then dropping to the floor. Mikhail reached out for her, but she pulled away with a sharp jerk as she glared at him for making the attempt.

A block of frustration was stuffing up his chest, causing him to yell out. "You know why I have to. You were there when I got the deployment order! While I'm doing this for my country its mostly because I want to protect you and our children. Bombings, running people down with cars, walking into buildings and streets to open fire on people just trying to live their lives... these terrorist are crazy and don't care for the innocent at all.

"The thought of you or our children walking into a situation like that terrifies me. This needs to be taken down at its root. If I can make this kill we'll be taking out a major part of their operation. After-"

"But you could die!"

Hearing that his fingers trembled, but that was a risk he was willing to take. Otherwise, he never would have followed in his father's footsteps to join the Marine Corps. Reaching forward, this time he was able to bring Aoife into his arms, hugging her tightly against him.

"I won't die, I promise." His lips brushed down her wet cheek as his hands began to soothingly roam her body. Lust wasn't what drove him, but comfort.

Yet, as this promise was being made, as they took comfort in each other, the other scene taking place on the shredded screen took a turn for the worse. He and his spotter, on a near equal level, could quickly calculate the distance and target size and make the proper adjustments for the shot. Each kill was within seconds before the next.

It needed to be this way. A sniper couldn't afford to take longer than that as they risked their location being found. After his spotter confirmed the final kill, Mikhail quickly tidied up his equipment. He took what needed to be taken and left behind what could be left behind.

However, before he fully made his exit, an explosion rocked the earth. A heat swallowed his form and melted his flesh. As the remembrance of that pain ghosted along his nerve endings, Mikhail was shocked by the excruciating feeling of it.

...ster...

Yet, that notice fell away as the screen in front of his vision began to fade, and with it, clear access to the memories lost in his mind. Seeing that face, that lovely and dear body wrapped in his passionate embrace, as it got more and more indistinct brought a rising level of distress to shake his limbs.

...aster...

He reached out to grasp the fading image. "Aoife!" He screamed desperately. "Don't leave me!" the memory, it was becoming lost again.

"Aoiiffee!"

"MASTER!"

Ah... the hand that was outstretched fell uselessly to his side. It was gone. Though there was a vague recollection of what transpired, it wasn't enough for him to really be bothered by it.

Even so, a massive hole opened up in his heart. A chasm that couldn't be filled.

It was devastatingly painful.