by T. L Smith
It’s quiet, so quiet when I reach the empty parking lot. The only sounds come from me—my bike as I bring it to a stop, my case as I open it, and my boots as they hit the cement.
Tonight’s job is against someone in the government, someone who doesn’t want to get their hands dirty, but would hire lower level people to do what he couldn’t. Tonight that’s me.
I walk to the edge of the two-story parking lot and look across, my target sitting in his office, leaning over his computer and stuffing his face with a donut. He’s a large, pudgy, and very unattractive. But that doesn’t mean anything. He’s to be taken out as he’d been poking his head in where it doesn’t belong. I don’t usually ask for the reasons, I tend to do it easy, better to not know who your intended target is. This one, though, it was different. It was the government, so I wanted to know, needed to know why I was taking out someone so high up. His simple words were, “He’s interfering, causing drama. Kill him or I’ll find someone else.” He wired me half the payment that day to an untraceable account. One that could not be tracked back to either of us.
I’d been waiting on a location since a few weeks ago since I saw Rose.
I pull my gun from its case, lean on the cement wall and watch. I’m a clean shooter, I don’t need an audience. I don’t want an audience. He will be dead, and no one will ever see me. I’ve sat for hours sometimes, waiting for the right opportunity. It’s not a game of shoot and kill in what I do—it’s assess, carry out with no witnesses. It’s all about the right timing. I often wonder why I don’t have feelings for the person I kill. Wonder why I have no remorse, people usually have some sort of remorse. Maybe I am as evil as they say I am.
He picks up the phone and speaks into it. Shaking his head like he’s having an argument, my finger is on the trigger, waiting, wanting to get this done. He seems to sense me, or maybe he even knows that I’m there. He looks up, phone in one hand, donut in the other, and looks straight at me. At first I think he can see me, but there’s no light here, no way he can see me. But his eyes tell me otherwise. I don’t wait for the phone to disconnect, so I take aim and shoot.
Blood oozes from his chest, staining his white shirt crimson red. His head is back, the impact from the bullet slouching him in his chair, his eyes staying open.
The dead all seem to have the same look, like they’re glad—glad for it be over. It’s disturbing, but also comforting.
I pull my card from my pocket, my gloves still covering my hands. I drop it to the floor from where I shot him, watching as the splatter of black blood sticks to the floor. The card is white, covered with a splatter of black.
I don’t stand there any longer than necessary. I disassemble my gun, place it back in the case. Pick up the spent shells, wipe down any areas I touched, slide my gloves back on and walk back to my bike.
I usually dispose of the bodies I kill so nothing can be traced back to my clients or me. Except this client requested I not do so—he wanted this man to be found.
As a warning? I wasn’t sure.
Stella is standing at my truck when I make it back home. I cut the engine from the bike, stand and remove my case. She eyes it curiously. Then her eyes look back up to me. She doesn’t seem as pissed as she was when she left, her stance now more relaxed. I walk to her slowly, and stand directly in front of her. She drops her smoke to the ground and blows the remainder in my face.
“Stella.”
“I brought your car back,” she says, nodding to behind her.
“I see that.”
“I missed you.” Her hand touches my chest. I place mine on top of it, stopping it from moving further.
“You have to leave,” I tell her, my voice not raised. Her face contours like I’ve slapped her.
“Is she in the house now?” she snaps, snatching her hand back. I don’t feel the need to answer or even get into an argument about it. I grab my keys from the truck and walk off. I’m not allowing her to take it again.
“You can’t just leave me here!” she shouts after me.
“Call someone whose bed you frequent!” I yell. She swears at me and I choose to ignore her. Walking back into my house, I shut the door and lock it behind me.
Turning on the kitchen light, it illuminates the living room, where Rose is currently asleep.
She stirs like my presence is noticeable. She rolls into the couch, her face now tucked away. I want to stand there and learn more about her. I want to know why. But instead I walk to my room, shutting the door and lying down. Letting the demons take me away in my sleep.
He’s so familiar, and yet so foreign. I’m not quite sure how to understand him, or even read him. He seems cold, uncaring, and his actions dictate that.
Why did he help me?
Why did he feel the need to help me?
He doesn’t seem like the caring type.
He leans on the bench, dressed in his black suit, sipping his coffee. He doesn’t speak to me when I sit across from him, his beautiful eyes don’t even land on me. I stare at him longer than necessary, taking him in, drinking him in. He’s someone who’d turn heads, but you’d be afraid to walk up to. He looks me up and down, from my feet to my head, stopping there and staring at me. Assessing me maybe? It makes my whole body sing, his eyes on me.
“Do you want to know?” I manage to squeak out, trying to break whatever it is that’s happening here.
Twitching in my chair, I don’t want to tell him. I feel like I owe him an explanation as to why I’m the way I am, and that I’m not usually this way, never have been. Until him, until the man that destroyed me.
He continues to sip his coffee, reading the paper, totally ignoring me.
“I was in love once,” I whisper. At first I think he doesn’t hear me, or perhaps he’s continuing to ignore me, but when I look up his eyes are on me. Tight, zoning in on me. He seems angry, and then replaces it straight away that you would miss it if you weren’t looking closely. His straight demeanor is back.
“I met him when I was eighteen, and he was my world. He promised me things, gave me things. I believed everything he said. He was good…” I let that last word hang on the edge of my tongue. It feels odd to say that about Roger. He’s anything but good now.
“You became a druggie and a prostitute because of a man?” His lip twitches, like he thinks I’m being ridiculous. It makes me angry. How can he assume to have those thoughts of me? He has a right to, though, to say it to me like that. Hurts more than I will admit to.
“Thank you for everything you’ve done, I’m going to leave now.” I stand, placing on the shoes that his brunette left for me and walk to the door. I want to look back, to see those eyes, that beard, that hair, that body one last time. I choose not to and simply walk out.
He doesn’t say anything. I expected something, but got nothing. Not even a goodbye. I feel so angry at him, I just don’t understand why. I don’t know him, shouldn’t expect anything from him. He hasn’t been loving. He’s just cold, with a touch of soft. I walk past the house and start walking down the long driveway. A noise comes from behind me. It gets closer, and when it reaches me I see it’s Black sitting in his truck, looking at me with sunglasses covering his eyes. He nods his head to the passenger side of the car, so I walk around and climb in. I hide the smile, the smile that creeps up onto my face with the thought that maybe he cares more than he shows. His words don’t comfort me at all. They are the truth and they hurt. His actions, though, they are something entirely different.
I ask him where we’re going, but I get no answer. It’s like he chooses silence over company, and I wonder if there’s anyone he openly talks to.
He drives me to a train station and just sits. I look out the window and watch the trains moving, going either way. Some covered in graffiti, some newer. I open the door, turning back to him his hand slides over, dropping money next to me. I pick it up, knowing what I want to do with it, but knowing better. It’s time, it’s time I fight for me, for what’s mine. He helped me get
to this point.
I don’t know how he did it, or why he did it. Someone showing the slightest kindness has put power in me. I haven’t been shown kindness in such a long time and it’s taken me by surprise. Even if, at first, it was wrong. It worked, he worked.
His hands go back to the steering wheel and he looks straight ahead, his sunglasses covering his eyes. I grab the money, go to step out, and decide to thank him. I turn and words fall flat on my lips. I don’t know how to, so I lean up, placing my hands on the seat, and kiss his cheek. He flinches, and his head turns to me fast.
I give him a shy smile. My face is still very close, and he smells good, like the ocean, so refreshing. I could smell that scent forever and never get sick of it. I move back, open the door and climb out. I take a few steps to the tracks and turn to see if he’s still in the same position—he is. He hasn’t moved, he’s watching me, eyes still covered with his sunglasses. I lift my hand slightly, giving him a wave and continue walking away, away from a man who’s scary and dark, but so beautiful.
The train ride is long and I sleep for most of it. A man haunts my dreams—Black. It was a pleasant change. Usually my dreams are terribly bad memories. Ones that got me into the position I’m in, in the first place. The train announces my stop, and I stand to stretch my legs, looking down at my hands and cringe. I’m so skinny, everything about me is. I was never like this, always had meat on my body. I had curves and good sized breasts. But it all seems to have gone.
I catch a cab to his office. It’s still daylight. My best option is to stop in there, as people will be present and he can’t hurt me in the daylight hours.
The cab stops, and I look up at the tall building, my heart beating furiously out of my chest. I haven’t seen him for almost two years, two long years of getting lost in drugs and alcohol. I wasn’t always addicted. I do, however, have an addictive personality, meaning I can fall into addiction quicker and faster than others. He knew this, knew so much about me. Used it all against me.
Each step I take into the building is like a knife to the heart, each step as painful as the next. Will he even be here? Of course he will, he never misses work. It’s his top priority. Once I thought that was me. How stupid I was.
Arriving at the elevator, I push the twenty-fourth floor while I watch people step in. Some look me up and down. I’m not dressed to be in a building such as this. I don’t have on a suit or an expensive pair of shoes. We stop at the floor just before his, and a woman steps in. She’s beautiful, and she looks at me with sorrow. I don’t want her pitying look so I glance away, avoiding her stare. My dress is too big, the shoes I have on just fit me, and my hair’s up in a messy bun. I shouldn’t be here. I should have come when I was better prepared and had worked up enough courage to see him. To stand up to him.
The elevator dings, and the lady that looked at me smiles on her way out. She has on a business skirt which comes up to her waist. Her shirt is loose at the top and tucked in. Shoes are high, and her hair immaculate. I watch as she walks away, then I step off and just look around. There aren't many people working on this floor. Roger has three other workers—his two receptionists and his partner in crime who’s as evil as him.
I start toward his office. It’s the last one right at the back. The receptionist looks up at me and I turn my head to his office. I can see him… he’s kissing a woman, the woman from the elevator. His hands on her back, pulling her to him. I stop and take a look around. The receptionist is now standing, giving me an odd look. I manage a weak smile and run back to the elevator.
I can’t do this.
Not yet.
Not here.
I don’t know where to go, or what to do. I stand outside his building lost, unsure of my next step. I have a mother, she lives close by, but I’m too afraid to see her. Afraid of what she thinks of me. I haven’t spoken to her in years. Last time I did it wasn’t nice, it was anything but.
A hand touches my shoulder, so I jump and spin around. Casey stands there looking at me up and down. Casey was once my best friend, someone I thought I’d never lose, but I did. I lost everyone.
“Rose,” she whispers like she can’t believe she’s just uttered those words. I don’t confirm or say a word. She reaches for my hand, takes it and pulls me to her. It’s so unexpected, so unlike her. I stand there with my hands to my side, not touching her while she squeezes me tight.
She pulls back, still touching me. She looks much the same—long brown hair, brown eyes. She’s taller than I remember until I look down and see the high heels on her feet. So unlike the last time I saw her, the girl that was on a bar, swinging her hips, enticing the men. A catch a glimpse on her hand, there’s a large sparkling ring on it—she’s engaged.
She notices my stare and pulls her hand up. “I know, never expected it from me.” She laughs, but it’s not her usual laugh, it’s quite forced.
“Can we have lunch?” She looks across the street and points to a restaurant. I’m not sure if I want to, but my belly growls loudly, reminding me I need to eat. Why is it so hard to remember to eat?
“I take that as a yes. Come on, my treat.” She starts walking and I follow. Unsure of why, but the thought of food being the main reason I suspect.
She takes a seat in the small café and orders for us straight up. She orders me carbonara and herself a toasted sandwich. Drinks are put in front of us, and she leans forward on her hands and looks me over. It makes me uncomfortable. What’s she seeing? Someone who’s so down and broken? Or someone willing to fight for what they want?
“I still can’t believe it’s you.” Her smile picks up, but my face stays the same. “It’s been years, you just disappeared,” she continues, and my face scrunches up. She can’t be serious, can she? I told her about him, about Roger. No one believed me.
“Did you see Roger?”
“Yes.” I did see him but didn’t talk to him.
“Good, he was so worried after you left.” Her smile drops like she actually believes the bullshit she’s spewing from her mouth.
“Oh, I’m sure he was just distraught.” My voice is full of sarcasm and she picks it up. Her back straightens in her chair.
“He denies it all, you know…” she pauses when the food comes, “…I asked him, repeatedly. I know, for a fact, you’d have never just up and left like that.”
“Why do you sound like he’s the prince that walks on glass then? Because he isn’t, he is far from it…” My words are becoming meaner, I’m getting angrier as I trail off. I look to my food and start eating. She hasn’t touched hers. She just looks at me in shock.
“You didn’t give me much choice, you just left. He was the only one who knew where you went. Why would you leave and not tell anyone?” I place my fork in the bowl, sick of defending him like I used to, tired of making people think I was in the wrong and he was in the right.
“Because he got rid of me, made me run. He’s evil.”
“How, Rose? I don’t understand.” Her head shakes back and forth and I want to reach over and grab it and make her look, to make her see. My arm comes up, showing her the inside of my arm. She yelps, her eyes taking in all the track marks. Her hand flies up and covers her mouth.
“You’re a druggie?” Her eyes are wide in disbelief.
“Yes,” I spit at her. She looks at me properly now, noticing my sunken cheeks, my protruding bones.
“What does your drug problem have to do with Roger?” she asks, finally working things out.
“He held me down, inserted it into me for days, then weeks, then months. Until the point where I’d do anything for a hit.” I pull my arm back, touching the marks and hoping one day they’ll leave my body.
“How... how?” she stutters.
“I tried to tell you, that day you kicked me out of your house.”
“You wanted money, Rose. Money for that!” She points to my hidden arm.
“I needed help. Help which you didn’t want to give me.” I shake my head at her. She’s so
wrong.
“You were high every time I saw you?” she screeches. I choose not to answer that. I continue eating my food in silence, and she does the same. No words are spoken until we’re finished eating.
“Where are you staying?” Her voice is soft now. I shrug my shoulders. I haven’t worked that out yet, I didn’t get very far. “Stay with me.” My head shoots up at her. She can’t be serious. The last time I saw her she shut the door in my face and told me to never come back.
“Just one night,” I agree. I do need somewhere to sleep. The streets are cold at night, and I don’t want to try my luck with Roger. Who knows what he’ll do to me.
“As long as you want, Rose.”
Her house is much the same. It’s nightfall and I’m watching her make dinner as she talks about her mysterious man. Her home is a one story very basic house—white walls, cream sofas, no pictures on the walls.
“When is your fiancé due home?” We’ve been chatting about life, well, her life. Nothing much, just how she works now at an office in the same building as Roger. She doesn’t elaborate on that, she stopped when she mentioned his name, pausing looking at me then carrying on.
“Any minute now,” she beams with the thought of him.
“What does he do?” All I know is that she’s in love with this man and that he’s nothing like her previous relationships.
“He owns his own business, works odd hours, sometimes he’s gone nights. But he said he was excited to meet you. I told him all about you.” I cringe. I’ve known Casey for six years. I was never as bad as I was toward the end. I thought when she saw me in a place that was so wrong, that my spoken words she would have believed the truth. She didn’t, she slammed the door in my face, never wanting to see me again. She was my best friend, the only person I had left, and then the door slammed on that part of my life.