by Demi Vice
The photo was in black and white, giving it that retro and artistic feel that made me want to memorize every pixel. There was a bed on the right side of the wall with a window above the metal frame, a nightstand next to his bed stacked with books, a Polaroid camera, and a lonely goldfish inside a clear small bowl.
Jack was to the left, sitting inside a black bean bag chair in the corner in only his black briefs. His legs were long and wide as he read a thick book on his lap. Instead of his usual Marlboro, Jack was smoking a joint with a small grin at the corner of his mouth. Jack might have not had his wide smile, but his eyes said it all. His blissfully closed eyes as he took in every shitty part of his dream office, in his dream penthouse, in his dream hotel.
Jack was in heaven.
‘One day. Every day. A million times better.’
I smiled and held onto the photo. I placed all the other images where they belonged and the metal boxes back in the safe. I saved the ‘Age 33’ box for last because I knew it would be empty. I popped the lid open, and my heart came to a stop. There were three pictures, all of me, and a sim card.
There was a photo of me in the back of Maddy’s diner when I was on my music break.
‘The sunshine in the dark.’
The other photo in black and white. It was a close-up photo of my face when I was sleeping. This must have been the day Jack had caught me with Camera-Jack.
‘Underrated artwork.’
The final photo was the photo from the library where he caught my smile.
‘The stubborn little thief who stole my heart.’
My heart started up again, this time my blood jetted through my body, warming every part of me. I love Jack. I think I knew this for a while. Maybe even the first day when I did a double take on his face, and I wanted to just hear him talk for years on end. I still partially hate him for lying about the letter (since I knew he wasn’t lying about anything else), but I loved him.
I stared at the image for a while until I heard a knock on the closet door. My head snapped around toward the sound. It was Jack. He moved toward me with a smile on his slightly bruised face.
“Guess you found my little scavenger hunt?” Jack chuckled.
“Are you okay?”
Jack nodded and chuckled again. His eyes were tired as could be, but he looked at me like I was the most priceless thing in the room. He sat on the black ottoman a few feet in front of me as he scanned the silver boxes that held his life possessions.
A heavy sigh left his lips as he rubbed his sore neck. “256 rolls of film with 27 pictures on each of them. That’s over a grand total of 6912 photos in twenty years. From when I was six years old and got my first camera all the way till I got locked up.” Jack laughed and shook his head in disbelief.
“Where did you keep when you were in prison?” I spoke softly, sitting on the floor and looking at the massive safe full of Jack’s memories.
“Like a pirate, I buried my treasure. I started my dirty underground closet when I was thirteen. Each year I would add more to my collection. Even when I was in the East Coast, I would come back to Whole Park once a year in April, bring my treasure, and bury it. You could not believe how fucking happy I was when I went back there after seven years and everything was still there.” Jack grinned.
“So, you didn't lie to me about your name. Or Link. Or Guardian Ceifador. You didn’t lie to me about your memories.”
Jack shook his head. “I only lied about Fidget and prison. And finding a chef job. And being the apartment guy. But I promise that’s all. I'll tell you the truth about everything from now on. I promise.”
I nodded slowly. Putting away box ‘Age 33,’ but holding on to my favorite photo of Jack.
“So, then you’ll tell me about what happened after you left Chicago? About the Hollow Kingdom? How you became a hitman? About it all?”
Jack sighed and stood up. He walked over to the entrance of the closet and slid the door closed. I gulped. Jack pulled something out from the back of his pants when he made his way back to me. My body was covered in an ice storm when my hands made contact with my journal. And when I saw the blood on the cover, my adrenaline spiked.
“I’ll tell you everything.” Jacked grunted taking his seat on the ottoman again. “But the skeletons remain in this closet. Deal?”
JACK
Ahri sat on the white carpet, wearing my white shirt and looking like the definition of an angel. She stared at her journal for only a second until her eyes slashed to mine. Complete confusion and nothing more.
“Is-is this blood?” she muttered.
“Yeah, I couldn’t clean it off,” I said nonchalantly.
Ahri petted the cover and looked at my hands, a little swollen and red.
“Yours?”
“Nah.” I grunted as I squatted to the ground in front of my mini-safe. I went through the three forms of protections until the safe beeped and the door swung open. I took out a yellow legal pad notebook and went back to my seat on the ottoman, looking down at the blank first sheet of paper.
I cleared my throat. “Like you, Ahrianna, I wrote down my crimes. All my crimes.” I raised my eyebrows at the blank notebook cover and flipped it to reveal the first page. “After I left Chicago I went to New York. Like the black panther dressed in navy told me to go. I found the Hollow Kingdom…which doesn’t exist.”
Ahri tilted her head.
“It’s hard to explain, but…eh…the Hollow Kingdom is exactly that. Hollow, vacant, empty, non-existent, and never talked about. So, again, it doesn’t exist, but it does. It’s always in abandoned places. In New York, it was in a strip club, in Philadelphia, it was in a butcher shop, and in Boston, it was in a warehouse. All different locations, but all the same. There is no human interaction whatsoever, and everything's done via cameras, speakers, and a red and green light.”
“It took me a while to find the place since no one talked about it, but I managed. The set up was simple. You wait at the back door, a camera checks you out, and if you are welcomed, you get the green light, and the door opens. If you’re unlucky, you talk to the Robot Bitch, as I liked to call her. She plays twenty questions with you until she decides; green light or red light.”
“Once you go inside, it’s pitch black. All the places were dark, dusty, and deserted, and at the far end was a light that shone over a massive bulletin board were jobs were posted. Some jobs were assigned to specific people, and others were labeled, ‘First come. First served.’ The process was simple. Pick a job, show the camera, and let the Robot Bitch ask her questions. Afterwards, you get the green light for ‘approved’ or red for ‘denied.’ If you’re denied you have to leave and come back in another two weeks. You’re only allowed one job every two weeks.”
“So, the Hollow Kingdom is an underground organization?” Ahri tried to wrap her head around the concept.
I nodded and spoke clearly, “Yeah, in a way. But again, it doesn't exist.”
She looked down at her notebook and rubbed her fingers over the spine.
“Listen, I know it’s hard to believe. I found it hard to believe, but when there are millions of people living in three major cities, crazy shit’s bound to happen. You’re bound to have rich fuckers looking for ways to make their lives easier, which sometimes involves taking someone life.”
Ahri picked her head up and searched for more answers on my part.
“I wasn’t allowed to go inside the HK until I was sixteen, and when I did, I wasn’t allowed to take any hit jobs. Even non-existent organizations had rules: No hit’s until you’re eighteen. It was easier that way, being an ‘adult’ and all, in case you got caught mid-crime.”
I flipped the blank page of my legal pad. “Age: 16. $2,000: Hijacking a Mercedes-Benz with black exterior and red interior. I wasn’t allowed to take hit jobs, but I was allowed to steal cars. I did that for a year until I turned seventeen and I offered a service to Robot Bitch. A cleaning service. One in which I had to write up a proposal to convince Robot Bit
ch to let me offer it.”
“Age: 17. $1,000: Clean up a hit. $4,500: Clean up two hits. $500: Clean up a torture room. Cleanup, cleanup, cleanup…” I flipped the page. “More fucking cleanups. I had specific assignments made just for me every two weeks. I would go in before the crime happened, check out the place and remember where everything was before the struggle and blood happened. Then I’d come back when the body was gone, and I cleaned.”
I shook my head and let out a scoff. “I hate to admit it, but I was god-like at my job. Over the year, I earned my respect, and I made a name for myself. Jack…the Maid.” I lightly chuckled and so did Ahri. “I left the place spotless like no one was ever killed and I kept the hitters safe, even though I never met them. I’ve met a few people who I thought were in HK, but it was forbidden to talk about it, and everyone respected that rule. It’s how the Hollow Kingdom remains a secret and it’s how its members remain safe. Without a name or a face, there’s no threat to bite you in the ass, and everyone loved that.”
“So, no one’s after your head? You’re safe?” Ahri asked.
“Always. That’s how it worked. And if I wasn't safe, I could take care of myself. And you.” My smile was wide until it faded. I stared at the legal pad and cleared my throat. “Ahri? Are you sure you wanna know? Because, like I said, even if you don't like it I’m going to keep you. I’ll trap my princess in my tower with no mercy.”
Ahri let out a soft nervous laugh. “I don't care about the killings, Jack. I don't care who or how many people you’ve killed or hurt, as long as you don’t hurt me. Or the people I care about.”
“Selfish girl.” I grinned like an idiot and turned the page. “A month after I turned eighteen I went where the real money was. Age: 18. $5,000: Murder by brass knuckles and knife.”
I ground my teeth and looked at Ahri. She sat on her heels giving me those black button eyes that weren’t dipped in fear. They stayed calm and fearless.
“I took a hit every two weeks for six years, minus April. That was always my ‘No Work’ month. On top of having my hit job, I was still Jack the Maid. I was the first person to get one job a week from HK, or at least that’s what the Robot Bitch told me. One week was Maid Mondays. The other week was Hitman Thursdays. I got paid well, but not well enough. I wanted more money. I needed more money if I wanted to end up here. So, I had other ways to get money.” I flipped through the sheets. “Blood donations, fighting, torture threats, stealing/selling, pickpocketing, bodyguard, private investigator, and one time, a wedding photographer.”
Ahri placed her notebook on the carpet and crawled toward me. She sat in front of me with her legs crossed, waiting for more of my past stories.
“You know what my favorite jobs were?” I asked Ahri as she shook her head side to side.
“I loved being a private investigator. I was always a sucker for jobs that turned me into a sloth. Eating burgers in a car, looking through a camera, and waiting for the right moment to take a photo. Sadly, it didn’t pay well, and it took too much of my time. To make matters worse, unfortunately, I was a great killer. I say, ‘unfortunately’ because I started to get jobs meant just for me. Jack of all Trades. When the jobs had your name on it, and when you had a special section on the bulletin board in all three locations: New York, Philly, and Boston. That’s when you knew you’ve made it.”
“Word got around that Jack was good with a knife. That Jack was a loyal subject and followed the details in the description. That for the right price Jack could make all your problems go away with a touch of steel and a little bit of bleach.” I sighed. “I moved around the three cities and did my jobs. I didn’t give two shits about who I killed. They could’ve been the worst of the worst or an innocent man who saw something he shouldn't have. I didn’t care about their background stories. I still don’t care. In my eyes, those men were just dollar signs, paying for my dream. It’s fucked up, I know, but that was my job.”
“Until one day, I broke down because of what some people thought I would do for money. I know who I am and what I’ve done, but I’m no heartless monster.” I bit the inside of my cheek and shook my head as my leg shook with anger. “I might have thrown my morals and ethics out the window for money, but I had a huge weakness. No matter how much you fucking paid me, I could never, never, kill a woman or child. I would rather die before that happened.”
“Yet, some people thought I was a psychopath—which I might be—but at the very least I’m a sane one. I have a heart, one that beats. Some days it beats slower than most, but it beats, reminding me that I have a line between right and wrong.” I inhaled deeply. “There was this man who wanted his girlfriend dead. He wanted me to get rid of her because she was pregnant, and he didn’t want his wife to find out. He wanted me to get rid of his adultery with a full payment of half a million dollars, and I denied it in a heartbeat.”
Ahri’s jaw dropped.
“That wasn’t the worst one. The worst one was a man, who had a kid with special needs. He didn’t want to spend any more money on his nine-year-old son, so he wanted him gone at any cost. ‘Money is no issue.’ That’s what was typed in the payment description for that job: ‘Money. Is. No. Issue.’” I gritted.
“I hate men like that. Cowards. I was tempted to take both those jobs, to find the details about those men and get rid of them, but I knew better than to get my heart involved. I denied both jobs and was never assigned to that work ever again. I continued to work my maid shifts, hitman shifts, and small jobs until one day, I got an envelope in the mail. It was addressed to my shitty apartment in Philly with my full name and HK name: Jack Igor Baron. Jack of all Trades).”
I went to the last page of my legal pad, dedicated to Wallace.
“I got a yearlong contract from a man named Wallace Malt. I knew exactly who he was. I’d read about him in Forbes. Wallace Malt, CEO of Mexus Software and worth millions—a hundred million shy of turning into a billionaire. He was an old geezer with quite the reputation when he was younger. The stereotypical rich bad boy before he got fat and old.”
“I ignored the contracts, but they kept coming in every week for a month. Until one day I got another envelope, but it wasn’t a contract, it was a list of ALL the men I’d killed in the past six years. That’s when I decided to meet the privileged motherfuckering blackmailer for brunch. I was about to kill him, right then and there, in the restaurant until Wallace handed me a flash drive with the list of everyone I had killed. He promised me that it was the only copy and it was. He was a shitty liar when it came to me. I ended up ordering the whole damn menu in the private room at that five-star restaurant while I forced Wallace to tell me how he got my kill list.”
“How did he get it?” Ahri practically begged.
“Turns out the HK—which doesn’t exist—is a lot more complicated than I thought. One, HK only ‘existed’ on the East Coast and it’s divided into two parts: the Peasants and the Knights. I was a Peasant for many reasons. I had no military experience, no shooting experience, no nothing. And I looked like a punk, a troublemaker…a peasant. The Knights, on the other hand, were more low-key and trained. They all had some sort of military experience, gun experience—pro-level kind of shit—and they had no tattoos or distinguishing marks. If they did, it couldn’t go past their clothes. Usually their suits.”
“Two, the HK was ruled by a ruthless Queen, not a King. She had no name, but went by The Queen. No one had any idea what she looked like which, again, smart and safe. If you had control of a deadly kingdom, I think it would be best to remain in the shadows.”
“Three, The Queen owned us. It turns out that she took half of all her employee’s commissions, and once she’d made enough money on what she thought we were worth, she put us on the Hollow Kingdom market and sold us. She showed whoever was interested in our file and if you paid extra, they got to see the videos, hear the audio, and read the transcripts. Of course, The Queen was smart, and all the proof of us was deleted immediately after being read. A one-time view
.”
“Usually the Peasants either died or went to prison, while the Knights got offered to the rich. Mobs or businessmen. I, Jack of all Trades, was the first Peasant to be offered to the wealthy. I survived six years. I showed dedication and promise. And I was loyal, skilled, and fun as fuck. Once The Queen milked as much money as she could out of me, she sold me.”
“Wallace bought me the second he saw me which was how he got my kill list. All the dirt The Queen once had on me was now Wallace’s, that’s how it worked after you bought your HK property. From day one, Wallace was a good guy. He didn't have to give me a contract, but he did. He didn’t have to hand me all the proof that could send me to prion, but he did.”
“Why did Wallace trust you so much?” Ahri asked.
“Cause I’m fucking awesome.” I smirked while Ahri rolled her eyes. “He genuinely liked me. He told me about the time he laughed his ass off when he watched a video of me flirting with Robot Bitch for shits and giggles. Or another time where I snapped. Where I yelled at the top of my lungs at Robot Bitch and broke the fucking camera because I was commissioned to do a heartless job. He watched all six-years’ worth of videos, and I won him over. He liked my crude jokes, my attitude, and my small dose of morals and principals. My overall attitude on life.”
“From the start, I got a good feeling from Wallace. After he paid for my brunch, I signed the yearlong contract with him. My gut was telling me to do it, and so, I did. At age twenty-four I finally got a steady job. I was paid a million dollars, and I became Wallace’s hitman, bodyguard, bounty hunter, private investigator, and so on. Nothing I hadn’t done before.”
“I only killed five people that whole year, and I spent the majority of my time as Wallace’s bodyguard. A fancy way of saying, I was his entertainment when he got bored at company parties, clubs, or life. There were times he called me up to have dinner when he didn’t want to deal with his family or another time when we went to Target and shopped for dish soap and fucking condoms.”