Chuck versus The Last Wish

Chapter 17 – Hero

The morning sun had already warmed the streets of Burbank by the time they stepped out of the apartment. The weekend market was bustling—kids darting between stalls, a guitar drifting over the ambient noise, and the air rich with the mingled scents of fresh bread and coffee.

Chuck balanced two paper cups of iced tea in his hands. “I know we’re officially on vacation, but I think this is the first time in years we haven’t been chasing a weapons dealer or a psychopath on a Saturday morning.”

Sarah gave him a faint smile. “Strange feeling.”

“Good strange?”

She thought about it for a moment. “Mm-hmm.”

Chuck nodded, satisfied. “Then we only have one important mission left.”

“And what would that be?”

“Find a peach that’s actually as good as every farmer claims it is.”

Sarah laughed. “That sounds like a more dangerous mission than any real operation.”

Chuck stopped at two different stands to sample the peaches while Sarah watched—drawn, as always, to the easy way he slipped into conversation and the enthusiasm that filled his every interaction.

Then, beyond the crowd, she caught sight of a tall man in a brown trench coat.

Sarah's steps faltered. Her heart gave a hard thump, and the cup of iced tea trembled slightly in her hand as the man turned to the side. The posture, the movement—it was all so familiar. But when he took off his sunglasses, a stranger's face looked out at the world. A moment later, the man smiled warmly, greeted an older woman, hugged her, and walked away with her in the opposite direction.

Sarah slowly let out the breath she'd been holding.

Chuck was already beside her. “Sarah? Do you want to get some blueberries, too?”

When she didn't answer right away, he studied her face. “Everything okay?”

“Of course.” The answer came too quickly.

Chuck didn't push; he simply reached out and gently touched her elbow. “Should we go?”

Sarah nodded.

A few stalls farther on, two women were talking. One of them laughed—a sharp, sudden sound—and Sarah turned instinctively. The woman looked to be in her forties, wearing a floral dress and smiling as she chatted. Nothing unusual.

And yet, Sarah's stomach tightened.

“Sarah? Sweetheart?”

“Did you hear that?” asked Sarah.

“Hear what?” Chuck looked around, curious.

“Nothing…”

Chuck didn't ask again. He simply moved a little closer, and they continued walking, their shoulders brushing against each other every few steps.

XXXXXXXXXXX

As they made their way out of the market, Chuck swung the canvas bag in one hand. “I think we just set a record.”

“For what?”

“Got around the whole market in twelve minutes.”

Sarah smiled faintly as the entrance to the parking garage greeted them with a rush of cool air. Bare concrete. Cold fluorescent lights. Somewhere nearby, the monotonous hum of a ventilation fan. Sarah slowed. Chuck was already searching for his keys when he realized she wasn't beside him and turned.

Sarah stood twenty yards behind him, perfectly still. Her eyes moved across the concrete pillars, taking in every shadow and every empty space. Somewhere, an engine started. The sound bounced off the walls. Sarah flinched.

Chuck immediately walked back to her. “Hey…”

Sarah slowly looked at him. “Everything okay?”

A long silence. “It's just…” She swallowed hard. “I have a bad feeling.”

Chuck didn't ask anything else. He simply reached for her hand, and Sarah instinctively laced her fingers through his. “Come on.”

They went home.

A few minutes later, in the car, Chuck finally spoke. “Could you do something for me?”

Sarah looked up at him. “Of course.”

XXXXXXXXXXX

The cold cut straight to her bones as Sarah ran through a narrow cobblestone alley, the wet stones glistening beneath the yellowish glow of streetlamps.

Somewhere nearby, water splashed steadily—a narrow canal or a hidden fountain.

Slow footsteps echoed behind her. He wasn't running—he never ran. He didn't need to. He always caught up.

Sarah turned into another alley, only to hit a dead end. She slowly backed away as the man's figure emerged from the shadows: a brown trench coat, a calm stare, that soft, almost satisfied smile.

“It’s over, Sarah. We’re leaving.” His voice was colder than the night air.

Sarah took another step backward until her spine hit the wall. There was nowhere left to go.

The man stepped closer.

Then, somewhere behind her, a door suddenly flew open.

“You can't do this!” The voice cut through the darkness.

A hand grabbed her wrist—gentle, but firm, promising safety. Sarah instinctively turned. The man was wearing a white shirt, a black vest, and a bow tie.

Gunshots rang out.

“Come on!”

And now she saw his face: Chuck.

Before she could say anything, he pulled her through the open doorway. The world around them began to blur—the alley, the cold, the cobblestones, the sound of running water.

The next moment, warm sunlight flooded the room as white curtains drifted in open balcony doors. A gentle breeze stirred them while the muted sounds of Paris filtered in from outside.

Sarah lay in a huge bed, the blanket warm against her.

Chuck sat beside her on the edge of the mattress, still wearing the waiter's uniform. He looked exhausted, but as their eyes met, a slow smile spread across his face. There was no triumph in that smile—only endless relief, as if he'd managed to retrieve something that mattered more than anything else in the world.

Sarah didn't understand why, but the fear that had been squeezing her chest vanished, replaced by a feeling she knew intimately: she was safe.

“You saved me…”

Chuck's smile was the last thing she saw before the dream dissolved.