by Rea Winters
“She’s doing well, sir. Much better these days.”
“The loss of her father was hard on us all. But business, like life, must go on.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
“When is the wedding?”
“This fall.”
The vultures in their black dresses and suits on both sides of the table exchanged glances, then their leader spoke for them, staring at Perry with narrowed calculating eyes and a conniving little grin.
“You may want to reconsider that. April is the month of cleansing and renewal. It’s as lovely a time as any for a wedding. And afterward, the girl can finally begin to participate more in the goings-on of her father’s empire – under your heavy guidance, of course. You won’t have the authority you need to make real change in the company without fulfilling the marriage clause.”
“Oh, I know, sir. I thought I had the timing worked out perfectly. Has something changed?”
“Let’s just say it would please our friends in Furst York very much to see our promises come to fruition sooner than previously discussed. If you get married now, then by the fall, you’ll see yourself emerge anew. As planned."
Perry gulped, her eyes shining like a kid in a candy store as she struggled to neutralize a goofy flattered grin. After a tug on the lapels of her blazer, she leaned back in her chair and raised a glass of scotch. The vultures raised their glasses to her in turn.
“Looking forward to it, sir.”
“As are we. We will discuss this more on our next trip. Meet us at the airport tonight. My assistant will send you the details.”
“I’ll be there with bells.”
They toasted again to their future endeavors and ordered another round.
In the backseat of their town car, Perry informed Rosie that the date of their wedding would be moved up to next weekend. She said so with such casualty, as if informing her it was going to rain, that Rosie almost didn’t hear her.
“I’ll handle the arrangements myself,” she continued without looking up from her phone. “Just be ready to go when I get back.”
“Wait, why so soon? You said we could wait until the fall because it’s my favorite season.”
“We’ve been engaged long enough, Rose. Being mugged and beaten, it just reminded me how short life truly is. We shouldn’t let another second go to waste. You’ve had your time to grieve, I’ve had my time to recover. It’s time to put the past behind us and start the newest chapter of our lives. You’ll be a lot happier, trust me.”
For the remainder of the long ride home, Rosie’s heart sank like an anchor into the pit of herself. This time, she didn’t bother to stop her tears from falling as she fixed her gaze out the window, staring ahead at the center of nothing.
12.
“X.”
“I’m at your place. Where are you?”
“Watching Pryce.”
It wasn’t a lie. Not completely.
She was on the roof of a skyscraper, staring through the scope of a sniper rifle at another skyscraper across the street. A sophisticated little restaurant took up the top floor. All decked out in marble pillars, white table cloths, and framed abstract art on its baby blue walls, it was a go-to spot for old and new money.
Through the scope, Xara scanned the windows until it landed on Pryce escorting Rosie to her seat at a table of flamboyantly dressed men and women. Across from them was a table occupied by their darkly clothed spouses, Pryce’s business associates. The assassin zoomed in on Pryce as she comfortingly rubbed Rosie's shoulder before taking her leave to their table. Xara’s smirk of satisfaction at the sight of the asshole's arm in a sling quickly melted into a dark grimace once she caught the way Rosie hid pained winces behind a bright grin.
“What for?”
“What?” she responded, only half-listening to the comm in her ear.
“What are you watching Pryce for? We have the schedule already. It’s time to plan the execution. I got the fruit, now meet me at yours.”
Hanson hung up first. Sensing the man’s impatience like a leash tugging at her neck, Xara smacked her lips, knowing she needed to leave. But she couldn’t yet. Not without one more glance at her Rosie. To her surprise, the lady was staring out the window right in her direction. The longer she stared, looking up just so with her brows slightly furrowed, the more Xara's heart raced. There was no way she could see her yet in some abstract way, the assassin believed she did.
If Rosie somehow knew she was there, it had to be their souls calling to one another. But as the job pushed ahead, she wondered if it was too late to truly answer.
∞ ∞ ∞
“You know, this job would’ve been over a lot sooner if her Highness would just let you snuff her out in the middle of the night with a quick slice across the throat. We could put the lady-lad’s prints on the bloody knife, knock her out with a cocktail of party drugs, she wakes up covered in blood, coppers pull up and it’s done.”
They were sitting at the kitchen table on metal stools. Xara remained silent with a proper broody look shadowing her features, absent-mindedly smudging her sleeveless undershirt with polish and other oils as she cleaned the array of guns and knives neatly laid out before them. Between big bites of his turkey sub, Hanson noticed Xara’s eyes flit to the box of poisoned fruit at the end of the table every three seconds. The little sigh that followed didn’t go unheard, either.
He scoffed. “Let me guess, you divvent want to kill her.”
“I don’t think she should die.”
“Well, we’re not paid to have opinions, are we? Those are for—”
“For the Contacts, yes I know.”
“Just saying, the judgement call’s already been made here, ladda. I didn’t think it’d pan out quite this way, either, but it’s for a good cause anyhow. Bastards like this Pryce fella should suffer.”
“I can make her suffer.”
“I think the hook—er, the mark—or whatever, I think she’s thinking more in the long-term. Besides, it were risky, that stunt you pulled out on the street. I’m never one to knock down a good beating, but you’ve acted out enough for one job. Not saying you didn’t do well at keeping your trail cold, but it took a good amount of grease – from me own personal stash, mind ya – to keep certain palms over the blue line from digging around after the mystery mugger of one Ms. Perry Pryce. Best believe that’ll be coming out of your cut when this job’s done. And you’re lucky none of the neighbors pulled out a cellphone and plastered you all over the internet. No amount of favors would’ve put out that bush fire.”
Xara snorted in contempt. “As if they would. Too busy clutching their own pearls. I could’ve killed her right there…”
Hanson noted the faraway look in her eyes and tapped the table with his palm to shake her out of it.
“Oy, hey. That’s not. The job. Understand?”
Xara sighed again, accompanied by a nod.
After a sip of his beer, Hanson rubbed the back of his neck, watching Xara through a narrow gaze. He knew about Xara’s ‘special circumstances’ with the heiress every Thursday, how much she’d shown and told her. He only let these indulgences slide because she wasn’t just the hook - someone who might at least require fear of blackmail or deadly repercussions to keep their mouths shut. She was also the mark – the one the hook paid to be made dead. So, it didn’t matter too much what she knew, just how long she knew it. Rosie Hayden was a loose end that would existentially tie itself, but only if a certain someone didn’t interfere.
“You know what? Maybe we ought to pass this one on. Get another contractor out here—”
“No! No. I can do it.”
He shrugged. “Well, there’s no shame in having personal objections, kid. We’ve all got different lines. So long as The Order isn’t compromised and we still receive our righteous donation for a job done, it doesn’t matter who pulls the trigger.”
The payments for these jobs worked as funding for the underground organization, which kept all th
eir vigilantes clothed, shelter, fed, and able to travel all over the world without a proper income.
“I can do it,” Xara declared with a hint of defensiveness.
Hanson took to the fridge for another beer, saw the half-eaten homemade turnovers, and let out a gravelly sigh with the shake of his head.
“I get it. She’s cute, she’s rich, she bakes you sweeties, and she’s not afraid to look you in the eyes. I mean, what’s not to like? Oh, that’s right, just the wee fact that she’s suicidal and you’re technically a serial killer.”
He returned to his seat on the other side of the table and began to help with the weapon maintenance.
“You know, I can see all the silly ideas swimming around under that mop of hair you’ve got. And I can tell you right now, it’s best to flush ‘em right out. I’ve known you for a decade, Xar. Brought you in myself, you and your sister. You’re not the settling type.”
“You said the same thing about Breya.”
“Brey’s situation was different. We didn’t give her a choice there. Point is, just like her, you like the hunt too much to give it up willingly.”
“Maybe.” Or maybe the hunt’s just been the next best thing to whatever’s been missing inside her since they lost their big sister.
“What? What’re you thinking now?”
“This job, this mark, Rosie…” She stopped wiping down the blade in her hand and looked Hanson in the eyes. “I feel less empty when I’m with her, Han. Every week a little fuller and it doesn’t go away when she’s gone. It builds. She makes me…she makes me feel like I’m not just here to chase my demons in an endless spiral, that I can do more, that I’m meant for more.”
“A pull like that just can’t be helped, can it? Except you’re pulling one way and she’s letting go of the ropes. Or did you forget the whole point of why you met in the first place?"
"I don't buy it. I think she wants revenge against this asshole more than she wants to die herself and she knows it, deep down. Don't know why, it's just a feeling I have."
"Yeah sure, and I bet I can guess where it's coming from." Hanson glanced down at her crotch before the next sip of his beer. Xara scoffed and started sharpening the blades without further reply.
"Why don’t you do us both a favor, kid, and just a hire hooker.”
“What?”
“Just to get this little birdie out of your head. Because she's not leaving the nest and there's no world I can see where it's a good idea that you join her in it.”
"Yeah…yeah, maybe you’re right. It’s nice to think about, though.”
“Sure. Just don’t let all that thinking get you into trouble.”
Xara conceded with a nod, though it was plain as day on her face that she wasn’t completely convinced. She put her tools down and gestured to the box. “All right, show me.”
Hanson slid over the box of poisoned fruit and opened it up. “The vial of blue juice here is an antidote. Enough for one person, that would be you. It’s just in case of any incidental exposure. The poison’s already been injected into all of these freakish little things. It only takes one bite to kick things off, though she’s free to go to town on the whole box, if she likes. You’ll tell her all this, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. The frame-up’s half way through, as well. I’ve forged enough of Pryce’s bank statements to make it look like she’s the one gone shopping on the black market over the past few months. But I shan’t press them until we’re close to death day. Any idea when that’ll be, by the way?”
“Not yet. She hasn’t decided.”
“Then you’ll want to get a move on that.”
“Right, got it.”
“Just focus on the job, boyo. Then you can shut down this artsy fartsy cave and we’ll move on to the next, ey?"
Though she gave an affirming nod, the young assassin only half retained her handler’s warnings. The practical part of herself acknowledged that this story only had one ending that made sense and it wouldn’t be a happy one, but her heart just wouldn’t untether from the foolish hope that their story could be different.
13.
Friday – Week Five
A raging storm dominated the streets by evening. Rosie had missed another Thursday meeting, likely still tied up with Perry and her pathetic plans.
In an effort to resist hunting down her true target, Xara spent the night and early day finishing up a project she’d started after developing last week’s photos. She wore a white sleeveless undershirt, black sweatpants, and thick gloves to spare herself the mess from the industrial paste. A black bandana tied around her nose, covering her mouth, guarded her lungs from the worst of its fumes.
She made collages on six enlarged canvases, a celebration of her fleeting moments of joy with Rosie Hayden. It was her way of making peace with the temporariness of their time together, suspending their happiness in time.
After setting the last canvas on a stand to dry, she removed the bandana and took a step back to admire the subject of her work. As if the hollow ache rippling through her chest had called out to her, Rosie herself walked through the cracked open door just a few seconds later and walked tepidly to the open space on the other side of the kitchen.
“What’s all this?”
Xara startled and froze. “Rosie…I…What are you doing here?”
Rather than answer her, the heiress walked through the aisle of canvases. Her wide gaze roamed over the blown-up images of them entwined in each other’s arms and of herself in moments of unabashed glee and pleasant calm. Moments that would live on long after she was gone, moments that she’d never see again even if she lived. A spiky panic stabbed her already shaky resolve, turning her breath shallow as tears fell down her cheek.
“Rosie…what is it? Did something happen?”
Xara approached and she recoiled, shaking her head. “Nothing. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come today. I’ll just go.”
She dropped her umbrella and hurried for the door, but Xara was swift; cut in front of her with her hands held up.
“Wait—”
“I-I need to go, I can’t stay here.”
A sharp pounding in her head blurred her vision, a panic attack stealing her balance. As she began to faint, Xara caught her before she could hit the floor and carried her to the bed.
∞ ∞ ∞
A black night sky and chillier air fell over the city in the hours that Rosie fitfully slept. When she began to wake, Xara sat by her side, dabbing the sweat from her forehead with a cool damp towel. Though the assassin’s touch remained tender, her brows furrowed and jaw tightened. She sighed through her nose, relief washing over her as Rosie woke, though she was still clearly angered.
“I’m sorry,” Rosie whispered.
Xara shook her head and put the towel away, avoiding the girl’s gaze. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I shouldn’t have put the pictures up.”
Realizing she was angry at herself, Rosie held her hand and tugged, a silent beg to look at her.
“No, I…” She trailed off with a sigh and sat up against the brick behind the bed.
“Why did you come today?”
“To tell you that I was ready. To choose a day, that is. For the—you know, for the plan. I brought the money. It’s in my purse.”
“Oh.”
Rosie felt that spiky panic swell within her again, but took a deep breath to keep it bay. “Perry…She moved up the date for the wedding. She said it needs to happen this weekend. I’m supposed to be ready to go to the hotel with her tonight after she returns from a business trip. But I can’t…I don’t want to marry her. I know we said it would help the frame-up if it looked like she waited until after we were married to be rid of me, but I just…can’t. Not even for pretend.” A wave of fresh tears pelted her cheek. “I can’t play my role in her fantasy…nor mine anymore.”
“Your fantasy? What’s that?”
"Calling off the plan. I can't do that, either.”
Xara palmed Rosie’s jaw, swiping tears with her thumb. "Why not?"
"Because I'd be doing so for all the wrong reasons."
Their gazes locked and in the following moment of silence, the tether between their hearts strengthened. She could see in her eyes what she meant and Rosie could see in hers that she understood.
"Experiences I've never had, feelings never felt, I used to dream them. Escape to them in my mind knowing they'd never be real. But now, I'm afraid to do that much. I'm afraid to want those things, even for pretend.”
"Why?"
"Because of you. You make me believe. The happiness I feel with you, that I carry back with me when I'm alone, you make me believe it can be real. That there's a chance I don't have to die to know peace."
Xara’s fury flared like a tidal wave, darkening her eyes. "Just say the word and I'll end everything tonight—"
"And then you'll leave. Disappear. And this place we’ve shared will be abandoned, go cold like we were never in it. Because those are the rules, right? I wanted to meet Sir Vengeance because the thought of getting revenge made me feel free. But every day since we met, I find myself caring less and less what happens to the person who imprisoned me in the first place. She’s been the object of my hate for so long, yet I… I find myself having to fight to stay enraged at her because it keeps me from wanting you. From wanting to stay on this earth for a future I know I can't have. Do you think I want to die? Because I don’t. Living…it just doesn’t feel like the wisest choice when every day of it would be spent either broken or alone.”
Just then it clicked. Fell into place. Xara’s missing piece and hers, the cause of their deepest suffering. It wasn’t the people who had hurt them, scarred them. It was an essential lacking, the lacking responsible for the hollow part in their hearts. It was loneliness. An enemy Rosie had battled since she was a sickly little girl stuck in a bed in dark rooms with no one to hold her hand at night. An enemy Xara would only empower once she walked out of her life or let Rosie disappear from her own.
The assassin told herself that she would be able to look back on their moments fondly, to keep the idea of what they could’ve been alive purely through sense memory. But the truth was, her heart tore to pieces at the thought of being without the strange little heiress and no homage – no celebration of their ‘if onlys’ in ink, paint, or stone – could ever compare to the dream of a shared reality.