New Year's Resolution

 

I was woken up by a nightmare; one that recurred ever since gunmen took my mother’s life and made me an orphan. That day, new year’s eve, was the anniversary of my mother’s death. Every year, the nightmare came like clockwork—a reminder of what I had lost. My adoptive parents took me away from my country, but I still hadn't been able to move on. I simply couldn't, not until I had avenged my mother's death.

I started inquiring about the case and John, a former police officer turned private detective, promised to help me. He was angry because he was the one in charge of the case at the time and the killers got away on a technicality. One day, John informed me of their whereabouts, and I decided it was time: time to seek justice for my mother—time to give them what they deserved.

I booked a ticket last minute and flew to my homeland to find my mother's killers. John asked me not to go searching for them without him; he asked me to stay at his house so we could go together the next day as it was late. I agreed and went to bed early saying I was feeling jet-lagged. I stayed in my room until midnight and went downstairs to check on John. He was asleep.

I stole his gun and car keys and sneaked out of the house. I pushed his car out of the gate before getting in and driving off. I had to do it by myself. Being a former police officer, John was not going to break the law for me, but I knew I would do whatever it took to see that justice was done for my mother. When I arrived, the killers were drunk and asleep on the floor. I confronted them immediately, pointing the gun at them.

“No, please don't!” they screamed, begging for mercy. 

“Do you remember my mother begging for mercy, shielding me from your guns? Do you remember how she begged you to spare me? So tell me, why should I hear your pleas?”

He tried to open his mouth, but it was too late: I had already pulled the trigger. Afterwards, I turned the gun to the other man.

“Don't shoot! We were just doing our job!” he yelled.

“Doing your job? Do you mean to say you were hired to kill my mother? What could she have possibly done to deserve that?”

“We both got $2,000 each for the hit, but we were asked to keep you alive. That’s the truth!”

“Tell me who hired you.”

The man hesitated; he was trembling. But I was losing my patience.

“I haven’t got all day, and my trigger finger is itching to blow you to hell. Reply now or die!”

“Alvin Costa. His name’s Alvin Costa!”

I couldn’t believe what I had just heard. It was impossible.

“You dare weave such a lie?”

“I’m telling the truth.”

“No, you’re not!”

“I have proof with me right now.”

The man slowly reached into his drawer and pulled out a photograph and laid it on the table before me. I felt sick to my stomach, realising that one of the persons I had looked up to and respected all my life had betrayed me from the start. There were no words to express the ire that seethed within me at the time. I was caught off guard so much at the time that I almost didn’t notice the man reach for his gun.

I shot him dead where he stood without a moment’s hesitation and sat down for a moment, feeling nauseous after the latest revelation; but I had to hurry out moments later as I heard sirens looming in the distance. As I fled the scene, a car swerved and stooped next to me.

“You couldn't wait for me, could you? Now get in before you get arrested!” yelled John.

As we drove off, he continued to lecture me. “Nice work: you stole both my gun and car. I had to borrow one from a friend.”

John took me to his house first to get my things and then drove me to the airport. When I arrived home, I confronted Alvin Costa: my adoptive father.

“Why did you kill my mother?”

“I’m sorry, but I’m your biological father.”

“What?” 

“Your mother and I were in a relationship, but when she found out that I was married, she broke things off and barred me from seeing you. She threatened to inform my wife, your present mother, if I were to come anywhere near you. What I did was the only way…”

“Oh, no…” my adoptive mother said in shock.

“Please, forgive me. I had no other option,” he begged.

But it was too late for apologies; I pulled the trigger as the new year’s countdown ended. I dropped the gun to the floor and walked out as my adoptive mother called out to me. My mother's last words echoed in my head: “Please spare my child. You can kill me, but she's just a child!”

I fell to the floor in realization that I had just lost both my parents—that my life was nothing but a web of lies. There was nothing left for me in either country anymore, so I left it all behind. I needed to start over.