After getting the directions, I left the hospital and headed for the Academy.
I was now in the office of a stern-looking old man – standing over his desk.
Navy coat, black and beige pants.
His outfit had a colonial era vibe – something a historical figure could wear. It also carried similar features to Tom's uniform.
"You say you were sent here by Tony Scotts?"
From the description I gave him earlier, he figured I was talking about Tony Scotts.
"According to the brochure, I'm a bit old to be joining your Academy."
"So you want to pass on recommendation?"
I nodded.
"Can you handle combat?"
"Yes, I can."
"Are you strong?"
"I'm not sure how I compare to your people. But yes, I can handle myself."
He closed his eyes, leaned back, and pressed his fingers together, thinking. Then he looked at me.
"I have an idea. If you can fight the best this nation has to offer, I'll give you that recommendation."
"Thank you sir."
I bowed, showing my gratitude.
"Do I fight today?"
"No. I've been told you had severe injuries. Wouldn't want them opening again. So I suggest you rest for now."
"I understand."
"Be here tomorrow at noon."
Then the door slid open behind me – a blue-haired man in his late 20s walking through with urgency.
"Kyle, how may I help you?"
The old man asked.
"Sorry for the disturbance commander. I'm here for the boy."
Me? What business could I have with this stranger?
"Take it outside please."
"Kid follow me."
Kyle turned to walk out. I followed – leaving the old man as he pulled out a large stack of paper, to work on.
I was now in the elevated hall. Sunlight passed through the rows of windows fixed on the parallel walls. Sweat trickled down my neck.
"I think we can talk here."
Kyle said, stopping in front of me. The way he suddenly approached me, I couldn't help wondering if he was my father's murderer. No.
It's too soon. So I couldn't jump to conclusions. But I still kept my eye on him.
"Talk about what exactly?"
"Tom was a friend of mine. I heard you were the last person seen with him."
"Oh... I'm sorry."
"No don't be. I know you're not responsible. In fact I heard you tried saving him. So thank you for that."
I looked to the side. Regret seeming into me.
This man... he thought wrong... I killed Tom.
My head buzzed.
I felt myself going weak, when Kyle caught me.
"Sorry. I triggered your panic attacks."
"No, I'm cool."
He sat me down on the floor, and rushed to find a glass of water, which he brought back.
"Here."
I took the pills with the water – which worked their magic. I felt better.
"Tom..."
"Huh?"
He didn't stop me – selfishly listening to my voice.
"He said he loves you, as well as a boy named Mikey."
Kyle gave me a smile, holding back tears.
"Thank you. I really needed that. And the boy, Mikey, I think it would be better if he heard these words from you as well. Will you do it, please?"
I nodded, hesitantly. It hurt knowing that I would have to lie, again.
[The killer is lying to you too, is he not? So why are you worried?]
Thanks to the pills, I didn't panic much. But I couldn't help thinking regret was right.
We hurt people that don't deserve it. So why was I worried?