by Lucy Wild
"That is not something that can be easily answered," he replied. "But I will keep you no longer than is necessary to complete your training. Then you are free to do as you wish."
NINE - JOHN
I lost track of the days. They all blurred into one until the day everything changed. I was mindful of the vow I'd given William. I would not go to London until he told me I was ready. He knew about Rebecca. We'd talked for a long time on the night I'd signed the oath.
"You realise he might not even live there anymore," he said when I finished my story.
"If not, I'll track him down."
"You will fail to take him down if you don't get faster when I do this."
A kick aimed at my head. I caught it with the back of my hand just in time. "I saw that coming," I said.
"What about this?"
I looked down. There was a knife pressing lightly on my stomach. "I might not have seen that."
"Because your emotions get in the way. Tell me something, John. What did you do when she was taken?"
"I ran away from home. Went looking for her."
"Which lead to five years on the streets, correct?"
"Correct."
"You could have kept a roof over your head for five years while you looked. Did that not occur to you?"
"I couldn't stay home, not after that."
He looked at me closely for a moment before speaking. "You need to learn to turn your emotions off. Look only at the situation, nothing beyond it. Do not let your feelings get in the way of the job. If you'd done that back then, you would have followed him quietly, taken the number plate of the car, then tracked it down and maybe gotten her back."
"I was ten years old."
"And now you're fifteen and you're still letting me rile you. I can feel you getting angry already. Look at me. Do I ever look angry?"
"No," I admitted.
"Because I switch off my feelings. If you want any chance of getting her back. You need to do the same. Now go get changed, we're going to get some food."
They were waiting for us as soon as we stepped out of the door. I knew something was off but as usual, William was faster than me. As soon as we set foot outside, he shifted to the right, giving me a shove to the left. A quiet shot thudded into the wooden door behind us. "Move," William hissed, making a signal to me to take the left side.
I learned just how much the training had done for me that night. There were five of them. Only one came for me, the other four going for William. They clearly didn't factor me as a threat.
The man who came for me was dressed all in black, a balaclava over his face, a gun in his hand, silencer on the end. I saw him hiding in the bushes, the barrel of the gun pointed at me. I made as if I hadn't spotted him and walked on, jolting right just at the right moment. The shot went where he thought I'd be but he missed. I was already halfway to the bush.
He went to fire again and as he did so, I rolled forwards, catching his ankles and yanking, sending him to the ground. He tried to rise but I was already on him, grabbing his head and slamming it into the ground under him. Before he was able to react, I got the gun from his hand and pointed it at his chest, pulling the trigger while he went to grab it. His grip slackened on my wrist as the shot hit home.
I didn't pause to think about what I'd done. Instead, I got up and ran over to William. The four were working him hard but he had got some telling blows in. I pointed the gun but couldn't fire without risking hitting him. One of the men spotted me watching and turned, sprinting towards me. I fired twice and he went down.
William had hold of two of them and brought their heads crunching together. That left one man who looked between us before turning and sprinting away. William took the gun from me and pointed it, firing once. The man fell.
"I'm guessing Mr Sharp found me," I said, leaning on a wall and panting heavily.
William shook his head. "They came for me, not you, kid."
"How do you know?"
"Men like that are expensive. Five to get one fifteen year old is overkill. But they know not to come onto Juniper Place. They broke the rules. I think I'm going to have to have a talk with Carl."
"What should I do?"
"Well, we can't stay here."
"The police?"
"I have a contact who can straighten them out. The problem is they sent five here this time. Next time it'll be ten."
"Who sent them?"
"That's what I'm going to find out."
We got on the train together that night. I thought I was going back to London with William but when we pulled into York, he told me to get off. "I need you to stay here," he said. "Just in case anything happens to me. Book yourself in a hotel and wait for me."
"How will you know where I am?"
"Don't worry, I'll find you."
I didn't argue. I had learned not to. There was clearly a lot he wasn't telling me but I could only wait to find out what was going on. I took a room at a quiet guesthouse and waited. I couldn't get the image of the dead man out of my head. I'd killed someone. I was a murderer. The thought of it made me feel sick.
It was two days before William appeared, standing in the corner of the room when I woke up from my dream of Rebecca and the car driving away.
"You need to be more alert," he said as I sat up in the darkness. "If I'd wanted you dead, would you even have known it was happening?"
I lifted the duvet to reveal the gun pointed at him.
"You're getting better at this," he said with a smile before walking over to the armchair and sinking into it.
"What happened?" I asked, putting the gun down and sitting up in bed.
"Carl's dead."
"What? How?"
"I killed him."
I waited. He was clearly working out how to word things.
"Delaney went down to sign the building over to him. They ended up working together. Decided to make a fresh start as partners. Delaney persuaded him to tie up the loose ends first."
"You mean us?"
"Exactly. Carl talked to someone and paid for five of the best he could get to deal with us. Delaney called it restoring his honour like he was part of the mafia or something. I showed him the error of his ways."
"So now what do we do?"
"We stay here for now. Continue your training."
"But if Carl's dead, who are we working for?"
"You're working for me and I'm working for whoever can afford me."
"Doing what?"
"Doing what I used to do. Killing people."
TEN - JOHN
Ten years later...
Paris...
I arrived at the hotel just before nine in the evening. The flight had been delayed which cut down on my preparation time but I had the layout of the building fresh in my mind. I should be in and out quickly.
Every hotel was the same. Walk in as if you're meant to be there and no one bats an eyelid. I went straight past reception to the first stairwell. From there, I made my way up to five and then crossed the main corridor to the far stairs. I was in a standard business suit, blending in perfectly with the other guests. I needed to get up to the ninth. I made it two minutes later. My heart rate was as calm as if I was strolling along a riverside somewhere.
The room was the furthest on the left, next to the laundry closet. The carpet muffled my footsteps. I knocked on the door and stepped back, invisible to the spyhole.
"Who is it?" a voice shouted from the other side.
"Room service."
The click of the lock and then I was in. I shoved the door which hit him in the face. He staggered back, holding his nose which was already bleeding. In the time it took him to realise what was going on, I'd already scanned the room. No sound of anyone else, no one in the corners. The TV on in the bedroom. He'd been in there. No female clothes on the floor. He was alone.
"What do you want?" he asked, the fear evident in his voice. "Is it money? I've got money. Who sent you? How much did they pay you?"
; I didn't answer. Instead, I pulled the gun from my pocket and pulled the trigger. The job was done. He slumped to the ground, red blooming across his shirt.
What I'd been trained to do was to get out as fast as possible without drawing any attention to myself. I was already two steps towards the door when I stopped. Something had caught my eye.
There was a desk near the door and on it were piles of papers and forms. What had I seen?
I crossed quickly to the desk and there it was. A letter detailing off shore banking arrangements for one of the man's clients. The letter didn't interest me. The name at the bottom did.
I knew the seconds were ticking away. The door was still open. I was taking a huge risk. Anyone could walk past and then I was sunk. But I didn't move. I couldn't move. Mr Sharp. It couldn't be a coincidence. It had to be him.
At once I was back in time. Falling from the window again. My fingers slipping through hers.
It had been ten years since then. I was a different person. I was trained. I was efficient. I was a killer. So move!
I took the paper with me. There would be time to think about it later. I crossed to the door and closed it behind me. I was outside five minutes later, vanishing into the crowd.
I didn't look at the paper until I was in the air, flying back to England. There was no address but that was his name. How did he know the dead man?
If I'd found the paper first, I could have interrogated him, use the friendly technique William had shown me. So much better than torture, make them think you're their mate, that you can help them as long as they help you. But he was dead. He could tell me nothing.
I didn't know much about the dead man. I was paid by William to carry out the jobs he gave me. He was given them by someone else, someone I never met. I didn't ask too many questions. I only needed to know where I was going and who I was going after.
Ten years.
I folded the paper and put it back in my pocket, looking out of the window at the twinkling lights far below. Another minute and we'd be over the channel, heading home once more.
Ten years. I was still waiting for my shot at revenge. I'd not been given permission yet by William to go after Mr Sharp. Each time I mentioned it, he told me to be patient. Sometimes, I wondered if it would ever happen. Maybe I needed to just do it. But then another job turned up and I'd be travelling around the world to carry it out.
I was not the person I was when I signed the oath. I had become adept at turning my emotions off just like he wanted. I'd done it so well, there were times when I didn't even think about revenge. But I couldn't control my dreams. She still filled them, thoughts of her, of the past, of the one I lost.
Killing made it easier. Each victim made me colder than the last. It felt strange to think back about that first man I'd killed, laid under me in the bushes. I never even saw his face, just those blazing eyes inside the balaclava. I had felt sick with torment after that night. But now, I'd just murdered a man in his hotel room and I felt nothing.
Ten years. Such a long time and yet it had gone by in the blink of an eye. I'd gone from watching William to assisting to working my own jobs. He had done a good job of training me up. There was over one and a half million in my accounts. It was more than anyone ever needed and it was all mine. I'd worked hard for it. The money meant nothing other than ensuring I could pay my few bills. I never bought places, I always rented. I had a number of I.Ds in different names. On this flight I was Stephen Premmell. Tomorrow I would be someone else.
By the time I landed I'd made a decision. When I got to William, I told him. He didn't look surprised.
"I knew you'd want to sooner or later. Tell me why though."
I showed him the paper. "Will you do it?"
"Tell you who hires us? I suppose so but I have to warn you, John. Once you start down this path, you might not be able to come back."
"I need to know."
"So be it. His name's George Naylor and you'll find him in the cafe next to The Shambles."
"He's here in York?"
"Be polite."
I went to the cafe the next morning. There was no one sat at the tables but behind the counter a man was stood drying mugs with a stained teatowel. "Can I help you?" he asked.
"I'm looking for George."
"That's me."
"I'm John."
His eyes narrowed momentarily before the smile returned to his face. "Sit yourself down. I'll make some tea."
I sat, watching him as he worked. He was in his late fifties, didn't look like much of anything, balding, an apron that had seen better days. But then William had taught me that the best place to hide anything was in plain sight. He brought two mugs over and took the seat opposite mine. "Sugar?"
"I'm good."
"What do you want to know?"
I passed him the piece of paper. "Who hired us for this job?"
"A businessman, same as the gentleman you visited."
"What's his name?"
"I'll give it to you on one condition. It did not come from me. You found it in the papers in the hotel, right? I don't know what you're showing me this for and I don't care. You got secrets, fine. But don't involve me."
"Deal."
"I'm only doing this as a professional courtesy to William and yourself. You've done good work for me over the years, best of anyone I've known. So you've earned this but don't go thinking it means we're friends. We're not friends, clear?"
"Clear."
"Benjamin Hartman."
"Where is he?"
"That's for you to find out. I'm not your errand boy, John."
"Thank you."
I stood up and nodded before heading out the door. Now I had a name. Time to find out what he knew about Mr Sharp.
ELEVEN - REBECCA
France was no different to England. Same with the other countries we went to. It was ten years before I came back. The more time passed, the more Sharp started to think we were safe.
At first he was terrified of whoever it was he'd seen on the bodycam footage. We moved from one country to another, never staying in one place for more than a year. I only knew we were going when it happened. He kept me locked up in each location. I only ever saw one house, never a country. One house then another house somewhere else, the abuse the same wherever we went.
He relaxed after five years of my own personal hell. I only stayed alive because I knew John was out there somewhere. I never lost hope that he would come back for me. I doubted it would happen, Sharp was good at covering his tracks. But if I didn't hold onto the hope, I'd have killed myself without a moment's hesitation.
My world consisted of being the sex slave to the most sadistic monster on the planet. Not only was I his to use when he wanted, I had to do the most menial chores for him, he seemed to gain even more pleasure from ordering me about than from fucking me.
I spent longer and longer outside myself, eventually separating what he was doing from myself, the only way I could cope without sobbing all day and all night.
I would think of John when I was alone, of our childhood together. I would compare it to life at home in the flat. When I was in the stairwells and corridors with him, I was happy. At home I had two drug addicted parents who only noticed me when I was in their way, or when they barked a command at me. That was my life. No school, no friends other than John. I didn't even get to leave the block of flats where we lived. I couldn't run away, I had nowhere to go. Then they sold me. Louis turning up, John trying to stop him, running at him and being beaten for his efforts.
I winced when I thought of the conversation that had led up to it. My father happy, telling me I was helpful at last, a way to clear his debts. Then Louis appearing, smiling at me in that sleazy horrible way of his.
John was the only good thing in my life and I had no idea if I'd ever see him again. I hoped I would. It was the only thing I could do. Hope amongst the sheer grinding relentless misery that was my life. Ten years of hoping and waiting and just as I was starting to
give up, something truly unexpected happened.
Sharp took me back to England.
TWELVE - JOHN
It took an hour of searching the Internet to find Benjamin Hartman. He lived near the hospital in a house set back in its own grounds. I scoped the place out a couple of times, strolling past without a care in the world. Wrought iron gates, seven foot high, CCTV either side pointing down. More cameras along the length of the railings that bordered the property. But there was a dead space towards the back.
It was only a couple of feet wide but it was enough. I took a step back and watched to see if anyone had noticed me. I had a fluorescent jacket on, I.D card on a lanyard around my neck and clipboard in my hand, the uniform of the invisible.
So many times a fluorescent jacket had got me where a suit would not. The workman, the to be ignored workman. Even as I ran up and over the railings, no one looked my way.
I landed on the grass on the other side. Taking my time, I crossed the lawn to the side of the house. I was making for the open window. If anyone stopped me, I was looking for a leaking drain, I even had the paperwork to prove it.
I was close to the window when someone appeared. He was dressed like a butler but I could tell by his build that his uniform was as fake as mine. I knew a bodyguard when I saw one.
"Can I help you?" he asked, walking across to me, standing between me and the window.
"Sure you can," I said in the thickest Irish accent I could manage. "I get sent out here without a single bloody blueprint for the entire street and told to just find the sodding thing as if I haven't got anything better to do. You don't know the layout of the pipes do you?"
"The what?"
I twisted the clipboard in my hand. "Have a look at this, would you?"
He lowered his head just enough for me to swing my arm and connect clipboard to his neck. He went down in an instant. Not dead but he wouldn't be moving for a while.
Stepping through the window, I listened. TV playing somewhere to the left. I headed that way.