Chapter 1

Chapter 1

My name is Alexandra Brooke Moore, Alex for short. All I ever knew as a child was that the world was a bad place. Nothing good ever happened in the world. Nothing good ever happened and if it does I know it would not last very long. Something would prevent it from staying good. For example, when I was 10 years old, my father had found me at my new foster parents house in New York. I was walking back to the house after school and a car pulled in front of me and I saw my father in the car. I turned around and started to run away. I ran as far as I could, but I could not out run a car. My father's friends got out of the car and chased me down and threw me into the car. They tied my hands behind my back and stuffed something big and soft into my mouth, probably socks. They covered my eyes and took me into the woods and tied me to a tree and proceed to throw rocks at me and hit me. After they got bored, they shoved me back into the car and apparently drove me to the hospital and threw me out of the car in front of the emergency room and drove off. At least that was what I was told happened to me. I don't remember much of that day, but my doctor told me that I had leaves, dirt, tree sap and other things consist with the woods on my body. My hands were bruised from tied behind my back and I had bruises all over my body and many broken bones. I was dehydrated and weak from not being fed very much.

As I have gotten older, I have realized that my brain blocks things out of my head so I don't remember how painful or bad an event was. My shrink says it is my brains way of protecting me from whatever happened and that brains only block out memories that are too painful to remember. She also told me that the brain will also try to remember an event differently to protect itself from the truth and that I will get the memories back when my brain thinks it is safe to remember it. I just hope that will never happen because when she told me that when I was 11 years old and I am 17 now and I only remember about half of my life. Which means, according to her, that half of my life was so bad that I don't remember it. All I remember from that day was that it was my 10th birthday and I was missing for 3 days. Pretty much, from what I remember, my birthday was never a pleasant one and I have never had any good memories from my birthday, which is why I hate my birthday. Even when on my birthday nothing bad happens, I still hate it because it reminds me of what could happen.

Now, I am a 17-year-old consultant for the FBI. I am 18, they told me I can become a real FBI agent and not just consult with the FBI. Which will just make everything official since I am pretty much an unofficial FBI agent already. I carry a gun, have a badge and credentials. I have passed every test the FBI has given me with flying colors. I had one of the fastest times ever, 4 minutes and 24 seconds on the 1.5-mile run. I am told I will have to go to basic training and everything like everyone else, but since I have done all of it already, it should be no problem for me.

Working at the FBI building in D.C. is great because I get to see all the action that happens behind the scene. I have been to many of the FBI buildings around the U.S.A. since they have had a hard time placing me with a team. Everyone seems to be scared of a 17-year-old field agent for some reason. I have no idea why. Maybe it is because I can take down someone 3 times my size in no time at all. Or it could be the fact that I speak 10 languages or can pass an arms exam with flying colors with any weapon they give me, but who knows the real reason they are scared of me. I can see that everyone talks about me behind my back, but I don't care because I am a good agent.