Copyright 2011 by T. M. Nienaber
ISBN-13:
978-1463770518
ISBN-10:
1463770510
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
The Price of Life
By T. M. Nienaber
For Wichman, your memory will be with me. Always and Forever.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 --- Five Years Before the War
Chapter 2 --- Four Years Before the War
Chapter 3 --- Three Years Before the War
Chapter 4 --- Three Years Before the War (Miriel)
Chapter 5 --- Three Years Before the War (Lucian)
Chapter 6 --- Three Years Before the War (Kristopher)
Chapter 7 --- Miriel and Kristopher
Chapter 8 --- Miriel and Lucian
Chapter 9 --- Miriel And William
Chapter 10 - Lucian and Kristopher
Chapter 11 - Miriel And William
Chapter 12 -- Two Years Before the War (Lucian and Kristopher)
Chapter 13 -- Two Years Before the War (Miriel and William)
Chapter 14 -- The Year Before the War (Lucian and Kristopher)
Chapter 15 -- The Year Before the War (Miriel and William)
Chapter 16 -- Lucian and Kristopher
Chapter 17 -- Miriel and William
Chapter 18 -- Kristopher and Lucian
Chapter 19 -- Miriel and William
Chapter 20 -- Lucian and Kristopher
Chapter 21 -- The War Begins (Miriel and William)
Chapter 22 -- The War Begins (Lucian and Kristopher)
Chapter 23 -- Miriel and William
Chapter 24 -- Lucian and Kristopher
Chapter 25 -- Miriel And William
Chapter 26 -- Alexander and Kristopher
Chapter 27 -- Miriel and William
Chapter 28 -- Lucian and Kristopher
Chapter 29 -- Miriel And William
Chapter 30 -- Kristopher And Alexander
Chapter 31 -- Lucian
Chapter 32 -- Miriel and William
Chapter 33 -- Three Years Into the War (Lucian)
Chapter 34 -- Three Years Into the War (Alexander and Kristopher)
Chapter 35-- Three Years Into the War (Miriel and William)
Chapter 36 -- Lucian and Miriel
Chapter 37 -- Alexander and Kristopher
Chapter 38 -- Lucian, Miriel, and William
Chapter 39 -- Kristopher and Lucian
1. Five Years Before the War
“Mi, darling, could we hurry it up a little? It’ll be tomorrow before we get there!” Lucian called to a closed bedroom door. There wasn’t an answer and by the looks of things there wasn’t going to be one any time soon. Lucian threw himself back onto the couch and picked up a book sitting on the coffee table. “Mi!” He called, half-heartedly this time, leafing through the book and making no real attempt to get up. The book was a classic coffee table book, pictures with no particular theme, something to do with food or decorative icing or possibly kitchen designs. Lucian tossed the book back on the table and looked for something else to do within arm’s reach. “Mi!” He called again, throwing his hands in the air and sighing a little.
“What!” a woman finally hissed through a crack in the door.
Lucian gestured to the clock.
“We’ll get there when we get there.” She slammed the door and left Lucian to go back to the coffee table book.
Lucian started to tap his foot impatiently, which made as much of a difference as yelling did. After a few minutes of aggravated foot tapping, he got up and started pacing around the new apartment. This wasn’t very productive either, but the change of scenery did something to ease the frustration. The view overlooking the fire escape was charming in an urban-bohemia kind of way.
“Really, dear. Please don’t gawk. We need to leave. We’ll be late as it is!”
Lucian turned around, speechless, as Mi stood in the doorway tapping her foot. It wouldn’t do any good to try to set things straight. He’d learned that a long time ago. Instead, he just nodded and headed for the door, which was quickly slammed shut behind him.
Miriel double-checked the door was locked before heading down the stairs. The apartment building wasn’t cheap, but that was about the only description you could give. Living there was like living in a hotel chain. Every hallway looked clean and exactly the same as the ones above and below. Every door was the same, except for the numbers, and you just imagined every unit looked the same inside. Mi and Lucian walked down three flights of stairs. Mi making better time than anyone would expect from a woman wearing heels and a little black dress. She looked stunning in the same way the complex looked ordinary. You could describe her as beautiful, but you’d never be able to come up with details more descriptive than that. Lucian was different. He was memorable. Something about him was ancient even though he didn’t look much older than the woman next to him. He was built out of old world materials and there was no way he could be confused with anyone else.
Once outside the woman seemed to blend in with the night, moving as smoothly as the shadows from the streetlights. Lucian stood out even more. He seemed more powerful. He was master of the shadows, the night, the dark, everything around them. The two somehow made the perfect pair. The man walking with enough command to part cars, the woman blending in so well with her surroundings even the noise of her heels on cement seemed to blend in with the world. They stopped outside a rather pretentious looking art gallery filled with people doing their best to stand out in the most bizarre ways possible. They entered through a side door. The man carefully tossing the remainder of a cigarette to the ground even though he didn’t smoke, while the woman grabbed the nearest full glass of champagne. The crowd glanced at them without much interest and went back to studying art and bringing up conversations that could somehow be steered towards their personal issues.
“So, who’s this guy you’re looking for?” Lucian whispered into Mi’s ear, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close.
“In the corner, by the photos of the Lego sculptures. Suit coat, red t-shirt,” Mi tilted her head up and whispered back.
Lucian nodded and let her go, becoming very interested in a group of paintings ˗ subject unidentified. He examined the paintings at several different angles and settled on the one that allowed him to keep an eye on ‘suit coat-red shirt.’ Mi walked over to the man and smiled, eyes cast at a slant that forced him to notice and smirk back. She led him on a silent chase, moving from piece to piece without ever letting him forget she noticed whether or not he followed. Lucian alternated his view of the paintings to keep her in his sight.
Finally, ‘suit coat-red shirt’ put his hand on Mi’s arm, and nodded in the direction of a back door. Mi followed him and Lucian followed her. ‘Suit coat-red shirt’ and Mi ended up in the bathroom. Lucian stood casually outside, looking at another unidentifiable piece of artwork.
“You obviously noticed me, I’m glad.” ‘Suit coat-red shirt’ stood close, hands on her forearms.
“Of course,” Mi leaned in and whispered in his ear. His breath was hot and sticky with more than a hint of alcohol and she had to struggle not to vi
sibly cringe. Mi straightened back up and grabbed his wrists, leading him further away from the door.
‘Suit coat-red shirt’ grinned and followed willingly enough.
Mi gave a different kind of smirk in response, one that would have made his blood turn to ice if he’d been thinking with his head. Mi leaned in closer, her grip moving from his wrists to shoulders. “Your wife sends her love,” she whispered quickly before slamming his head against the edge of the sink as Lucian sauntered through the door. Methodically he filled the sink with water and submerged the now unconscious man’s head.
‘Suit coat-red shirt’ hadn’t put up much of a fight.
Mi and Lucian walked out the side door. No one noticed them or took a head count. It was almost too easy, too perfect. It wasn’t surprising, they’d had a lot of practice.
“What did he do?” Lucian asked in a tone normally reserved for the most basic of small talk, such as ‘how’d you like the weather’.
Mi shrugged. “I never listen anymore. You can trust the client about as much as you can trust the target. In most cases the only difference is who got the idea first.”
Lucian nodded sympathetically.
“Are you off for the rest of the night?”
“Service. But I’ll walk you home. Most people won’t think twice about taking advantage of a woman out alone.”
“I can survive on my own. I’ve done it before.”
“I know, but there’s nothing wrong with taking the easy way every now and then.”
Mi nodded in concession. “You’re off to church then? What a combination of events,” she teased.
“I wouldn’t really call it a church, but I guess that’s the closest comparison. You’re always welcome.”
“We’ve had this out before, Lu.” Mi turned down the side street that led to her apartment. “I don’t want anything to do with any kind of unseen superior being that wants something to do with me.” She reached her door, putting an end to what could have been an argument.
“Fair enough. Not sure what that’s supposed to say about me, but fair enough.” Lucian bowed as Mi disappeared up the stairs and then turned back out to the dark.
2. Four Years Before the War
Mi, now Elle, looked at the man sitting across from her through the bottom of a now empty glass. The glass itself was far from clean and she was starting to regret not just getting a bottle of something. God only knew how many years worth of dust, dirt, and unidentified particles she just swallowed along with the poor excuse for beer. She set the glass down and looked directly at the man politely waiting for her to say something. He was the kind of guy who looked like he spent every free second at the gym but never got into any real fights. Sure, he’d pick one at a bar every now and then, but it would be a classy bar, nothing like the one he was in now. His suit seemed to be strategically planned to make his biceps look like they just couldn’t help but bulge out. He had to have known his dress shirt was a few sizes too small, although it made his abs stand out. His was easily in his early-fifties and when not at the gym spent his time trying to rekindle the last remaining flame of his youth by having affairs with women less than half his age. After several more seconds he cleared his throat and licked his lips, looking at Elle impatiently. If he’d been a little more sure how she’d react he’d have started tapping his fingers on the table or stomping his foot to get his point across.
“Something else you need to say?” Elle smiled sweetly, her eyes daring him to challenge her silence. Now Elle was a woman who knew how to get into fights and she very rarely lost. In fact, she never lost. That was what made her the best. People who crossed her ended up dead, although to her credit their deaths were relatively painless.
“Well, I mean, uh,” he paused, afraid of what the woman across from him could do if he got on her bad side. Then he decided he had the right to keep going. He was the man here after all. “Shouldn’t I be able to say how it’s done? I am the one paying for it.”
“Of course not.” It was a statement that left no room for argument, but Elle’s friend didn’t seem to realize the finality of her tone. He was off in his own world where he was king and she was serving him for the day.
“That doesn’t seem fair.” The man was gaining confidence now. “I mean, after all, it’s my money and my mistress. I should be the one in charge here!” He almost slammed his fist down on the table but thought better of it in mid motion and set his hand down. He was finally coming out of his macho-man trance and realizing Elle was far from amused or compliant.
Elle laughed in his face before she stood up. “If that’s what you want, get rid of the problem yourself. You’re paying me to come in and do a job. You don’t tell an exterminator how to kill rats. Well, maybe you do.” She eyed his perfectly pressed three piece suit with briefcase to match, wondering how much pain it put him in to have to put the expensive leather on the floor of a sleazy bar. “But don’t tell me how to kill your bitch. This happens to be a specialty of mine and if I wasn’t the best you wouldn’t be here.” Elle smirked again and attempted to head towards the door, knowing he’d stop her before she made it even a foot away from the table.
“You walk out on me and I’ll report you!” The man sneered and his face finally seemed to fit his designer suit, going to the gym every day ego, and the ‘I obviously have more money than you’ clip on the wad of bills he was starting to take off the table. He tucked the bills back into his wallet then concealed in his jacket pocket.
“Ha. Think you’ll live that long?” Elle sat back down, swung her legs onto the table, raised an eyebrow, and sneered right back.
The wad of bills made it back to Elle’s side of the table where she slipped it into her left boot. For whatever reason she’d found that boots made a very good hiding place, usually because people don’t think to check them for anything but knives, or occasionally bombs if you made it to the right airport. In Elle’s case, even if someone did manage to check her boots for something and find the money they were usually so relieved it wasn’t a weapon they just let her go. Elle nodded to her client and then looked intently at her nails to show the meeting was over and talking to her would be a waste of his time. The man seemed to hesitate, on the verge of saying something again. This time he made the smarter choice, kept his mouth shut, and walked away.
Elle chuckled to herself then turned her attention to one of the bar’s several TVs. Even though it was on mute she could tell what the news would be. It was always the same. Another innocent civilian killed in another battle of another war that didn’t seem to have a good side or a bad side, just a lot of egos trying to prove who was bigger. The briefest of moments went by when Elle felt sorry she was bringing more death into an already morbid world but she shrugged it off. It was hard enough to find work, why second-guess the one job she already had. Not to mention she was good at it. People were calling this the second Great War, others said it was WWIII, but none of that seemed to change things here. Names were names, in most cases the casualties were faceless, and life went on as normal for the majority of people the majority of the time. The rich seemed to be immune for now, the very poor were either silent or dead, and Elle was killing off everyone in the middle class one at a time. It wouldn’t be long until it became a real war, and that war would breach the walls of foreign territories and find its way home. People don’t like to think about bad things until they’ve already happened, so everyone ignored the signs, silently waiting for all hell to break loose and looking for someone to blame it on.
“Well, they told me I could find an Elle here. You’re not really going by Elle now are you? It’s too common. Beneath you. Mi, my darling, you can do so much better.”
“You’re right, Lucian, let’s draw attention to the assassin for hire in the corner by insulting her alias. I really wanted to run from martial law today, however did you know.” She tried to glare furiously but found the whole encounter too amusing to keep a straight face.
“And giving up your accomp
lice’s name? That can’t possibly be in good form, Miriel,” he said her name extra loud just for effect. “You’re starting to slip up.” Lucian drew a chair up next to hers and turned his attention to one of the muted TVs. More news footage, a list of the day’s dead, and then cut to a chirpy commercial about cars.
“All that blood. They keep killing people like that and we’ll have to find a more original line of work.”
“Give it time, Lucian. Wait long enough and we’ll be the closest thing to a justice system these people have. I wouldn’t worry about unemployment until after that.” Miriel faced Lucian, turning her back to the TV. “How are you feeling about this latest business proposition? Sound like your kind of fun?”
“I hate political assassinations. They make me feel so corporate. It’s disgusting. But it does make for good fun, watching their minions try to clean things up and get whatever campaign you’ve just destroyed back to being all shiny and new.”
“You’re in?”
“Let me wait to make a decision until after we’ve meet with this client of yours. I can’t work with someone I don’t like the looks of.”
“And don’t you trust my judgment?” Miriel teased.
“Of course not. You’re too nice for my taste if you must know. You never can trust someone who looks like they’re capable of empathy if they get it into their heads to try. Not to mention I’d never go to the funerals. That right there is an example of damned empathy. How many times has that gotten you almost killed or recognized and stalked by someone calling themselves a fan?”
“I haven’t done anything that stupid in years. You know that. We have a deal, Lucian,” her eyes narrowed as she spoke. “I work and you try to keep your mouth shut on the few days I let you tag along.” Miriel turned back to the TV, not watching it this time just ignoring her company. Lucian muttered something under his breath about being too sensitive for a hired killer and looked around at the bar patrons.
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