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Dear Fox,
There are things that must be told, secrets that I will no longer keep ... though their revealing may mean my death. Perhaps that will even be for the best. You will never know how hard this has been for me. It was never meant to be this way. It was only an assignment. I was supposed to play "watchdog" to a problem agent, temper his energies into the mainstream. I was not supposed to fall in love. I was not supposed to become entangled in his needs, to grow as close to him as I unwittingly became. I went from a not-so-innocent bystander, to a desperate player in a losing game ... and all for him. In my pride, and my arrogance, I thought that I could save him, this dark-haired love of mine. Save him from the devils without, and within. I thought myself strong enough to resist corruption, to play from within the system and come away with the brass ring, unscathed and laughing. So that night, when we lay together in the autumn morning and he whispered those sweet words, (I still remember how the breath of them warmed my chilled ear) I said yes. How could I not? I loved him, and I still do. And with my foolish, innocent, love; I delivered us both into Hell.
It began almost immediately. A few days after the ceremony I was visited by those I had hoped never to see again. They threatened me, Fox, they threatened to tell my new husband all the secrets his little wife had kept. Unless... I did something for them. Just a little assignment, and (I thought) a joyful one. I would have a child. It was easy to persuade myself that there was no harm in it, to blind myself to the fact that *everything* that they do has its own dark purpose. So, when out first child came, a beautiful baby boy, I pushed away the nagging unease, and basked in the light of my husband's love. When no one contacted me, the last of my apprehension died. I grew convinced that it had only been a power play, the kind of twisted games that my former associates thrived on. And so we had another child, in our time, a girl. She was the perfect companion to her brother, as strong in mind and spirit. Your father and I were so proud of the two of you, you will never know how much. We were happy, though our happiness was a house built of cards, judiciously slapped with wallpaper and decorated in the latest styles.
Then, as all houses build of cards must do, ours came tumbling around our ears. It began with my husband's new coworker. I was, at that time, the mother of two young children, and the wife of a man whose work took up more and more of his life. I was lonely, which is no great sin; but I was also guilty and resentful, and that led me to the first of my truly great transgressions. You asked me once a question, a question which I never answered to you satisfaction. Well, I answer it now: yes, I slept with him. But he was no your father, nor was he the father of your sister. If he tells you that he was, then it is only his gift for making truth from a lie, and lie from truth. I am even now not convinced that his seeming ardor had anything to do with desire ... he was as much a company man then as you find him now. In all probability, I was only an assignment. Or maybe I would simply prefer it that way?
At any rate, our affair ended as quickly as it had begun, with a large helping of rancor on all sides. Bill knew, although he never said anything. I still loved him, and I believe he loved me ... maybe we could have come to terms with the things I had done, and life would have been much different. Or is that is simply the wishful thinking of an old woman? I don't know.
What I do know, however, is that now you must be convinced that I knew about their plans for your sister. I swear that I never did. I was approached, I admit, by my former employers. They had pictures, and letters ... things that I had done that Bill would find inexcusable, things that would give him no choice but to leave me, things that would destroy the illusion of family- all that was left of my wedding hopes. "Silence for silence," they said. No more assignments. No more contacts with them ever again ... as long as I never told what little I knew to anyone. I kept that promise, through all that followed: Samantha's abduction, the divorce, her return, and your ever-present questions. I can admit now, that I hated you for bringing these things back. I hated my own son for being the voice of conscience that I never was. For holding strong when I was weak. Perversely, the only promise I ever kept was the one I made to the enemy. To remain silent.
And now, I break that vow. With this letter is every scrap of information I knew about the people you pursue. It is time, I believe, to give up what is left of my pride, in the cause of a greater truth. And even in this, I am a coward. I am dying, Fox, and I intend to hasten the process along. By the time you receive this, I will be where no one save God himself can past judgment on me. Don't mourn me, Fox. Let me leave with what little dignity I have left, I beg you. And remember: they are not to be trusted.
Love Always,
Mother.
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