The situation had finally become truly desperate.
Snow had fallen overnight. I had only my...
Snow had fallen overnight. I had only my...
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Execute (Original)
- Thread starter TotalAbsolutism
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User Total TotalAbsolutism 7
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The situation had finally become truly desperate.
Snow had fallen overnight. I had only my school jacket on me and it wasn't nearly warm enough to keep me warm. If I was careful I could hide out in the library during the day but I'd run out of food over the weekend and there was no way I could go to one of the city's soup kitchens without drawing… questions.
Which meant I needed money. I regretted not buying a blanket when I'd still had funds. Maybe I should have invested in some preserved food, too. My last note had been wasted on a bowl of hot noodles which was, while delicious, not nearly worth the amount I'd so unwisely spent on it.
I'd already sold my phone and laptop at two different pawnbrokers with no intention of buying them back. Unlike other girls my age I hadn't had any jewellery to trade in, as mother didn't approve of it, but my backpack had been a designer brand good for another little bit of cash. I'd bought a cheaper replacement for it but had sold that too when I'd run out of things to keep in it.
All that I had left was my uniform and shoes. Not much. The shoes weren't nice enough to sell. I couldn't exactly go around without something on my feet and whatever amount I got wouldn't be enough to trade down and get food. For obvious reasons the uniform was right out. There wasn't much left to me.
On the one hand, I could go home. Or I could sit in the snowed-out cardboard box that I'd slept in overnight until I passed out from exhaustion, hunger and cold. The latter sounded like the more attractive option by far. Alternatively… well, I wasn't naive. I knew what the only thing of value I had left was.
It took me the better part of a day to make my way to the 'right' part of town. Some of the other girls at school had spoken about it once in hushed towns; gossiping about an upperclassman who'd supposedly been seen there with an older man. I had to keep an eye out for anyone I recognised, but hopefully they'd just see the uniform and not me.
By the time I worked up the courage to approach someone it was already dusk. The man I picked was moving in all the right ways. His steps were nervous, he halted now and then, scanned the streets, eyed up the various women plying their wares and had a hand pressed to where his wallet probably was.
"H-hey, mister…" I swallowed heavily as the man looked at me. His eyes lit up in a manner I'd seen a few times since I'd come on to the streets. This time, however, it wasn't a sign that I had to cut and run. "You, um… want some… company?" As I said that I pulled my jacket open a little bit to show off my uniform underneath.
He quickly glanced from side to side and then jerked his head towards the side street near us. Dark. Secluded. Exactly where I didn't want to go. But… who knew how long it might be before I got a taker, otherwise? He probably just didn't want to… to be seen with me, given…
Once we were off the street he looked me up and down. Even though I was dirty I'd done my best with what I could. There were places a girl could get a shower for free, if she could look pitiful enough, but I hadn't been able to wash my clothes. Even so it seemed he liked what he saw.
"How, ah… old are you?" He practically whispered the question. The tone in his voice made me feel sick to my stomach.
"Eighteen… obviously…" I lied through my teeth and hoped he wouldn't ask for any ID, while simultaneously wishing that he would. But I'd been able to tell from his reaction that it wasn't going to happen.
"Right… obviously… how much…?" I bit my lip. This was the moment of truth.
"Fifty for… a blow. Hundred for it all. T-two hundred for the night." He looked hesitant, so I gritted my teeth and played my final card. "I'm offering it discounted 'cause it's my… my first time." The look on his face genuinely made me want to vomit. He yanked his wallet out immediately and pulled a fifty off from the wad of bills there.
"Well let's, ah… start with this, then, and see how we g-" He stopped at the sound of running feet and then turned just in time to take a fist straight to his face. The man caught himself on his hands and cried out in pain as he skinned them on the concrete.
"Get the fuck out of here, creep!" My 'saviour' kicked the downed guy and then grabbed my hand suddenly. I was pulled away without even the chance to grab the note that had fluttered out of the buyer's hand.
It wasn't until we stopped a few streets over that I was able to catch my breath and get a good look at the person who had 'rescued' me. They were… they were… shit, they were handsome. Like, really, really handsome.
I'd never encountered someone who I'd call a 'pretty boy' before, but if this guy didn't fit that definition than nobody did. He had gorgeously maintained black hair, delicate features and beautiful grey eyes that were stared back into mine. I could feel my heart start to pound faster.
"Hey? Hello?" He snapped his fingers near my ear and I almost jumped out of my skin. "I said, are you alright? That creep didn't hurt you, did he?" I frowned immediately, but couldn't exactly explain that he hadn't been… accosting me, so I just shook my head. "You shouldn't be out here this late anyway. Do you want me to call your parents?"
"No!" I shouted that just a bit too quickly and his expression became suddenly concerned. "I… I mean… you don't have to…" He sighed and looked away.
"Runaway, huh. Is there anyone you can go to?" Again I shook my head and he rolled his eyes. That hurt, just a bit.
"Okay. Well… ugh, why don't you come home with me? I'll give you a good meal, a warm bed, and in the morning I can introduce you to some people who can probably help with… whatever situation you've got going on at home." The offer sounded good. Way too good. That was even with what I had been… about to do.
"I… shouldn't. I don't know who you are." I tried not to sound sheepish but clearly failed given the disbelieving eyebrow he raised at me. Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet and held something out to me. I read it nervously.
"Malcolm Rook… registered social worker? You, uh… you don't look like a 'Malcolm'." He let out a little snort which turned into a chuckle.
"I don't…? Okay then. Here, this too." The card he handed to me, after taking back his other ID, was his driver's license. It stared at the age listed on the card and then looked back up at him.
"Twenty-nine? You're joking." That got me another chuckle and a shrug as he took the card back. "Alright. I guess… I can trust you." Even if I couldn't, it's not like things could get much worse for me. If I considered what I'd been willing to do for money then even the worst case scenario… didn't seem all that bad.
Malcolm took me back to his car. I didn't know anything about brands or models but it didn't look that fancy. Made sense, for a social worker. We drove in silence together for nearly half an hour before he pulled into a house that looked a bit upmarket from what I'd expected. Nothing like my family's penthouse apartment but still… maybe he'd invested well.
He showed me to the guest bedroom, which I noted had a lock on the door, and left me to have a shower while he went down to the kitchen. When I'd finished there were some other clothes laid out for me. Thankfully they were men's; I'm not sure what I'd have done if he'd had teen girl clothes just… lying around.
I found him in the kitchen where he was rummaging through the drawers and pulling out various bits of cookware. It was a nice spot, actually; there were high seats at the island counter I could sit on to watch him cook.
"So. How about we start with your name?" Being addressed was unexpected, as he hadn't turned around from the stove since I'd come in, but I'd prepared for this while I was getting changed.
"Jane." Malcolm turned to stare at me over his shoulder with an incredulous expression. I turned red when he held the look until finally I broke down and mumbled something else. "... Mira. It's… it's short for… for 'Miracle'." When he didn't laugh I dared to look up at him and found he was maintaining a calm, even gaze.
"Okay. I checked for missing persons, but nothing matching your description. Either you just ran away from home today… or nobody's reported you missing." That… stung. Of course I hadn't expected her to be anything other than happy that I was gone, but even so…
"Figures. My… I won't be missed." He shrugged and turned back to break an egg into the pan.
"I hear that a lot in my line of work. But I find that people are usually wrong. Would you like to talk about it?" I bit back my initial response, which would have been just a sharp 'no', and thought about it for a moment. Ever since this had all started, I'd never really spoken to anyone about… what had happened. He was a stranger, so he wasn't likely to end up telling me I was wrong, or had to be imagining things, right?
"... my mother never wanted me. She made that clear my whole life. And my father… he was rich. Capital 'R'; Rich. So she never had to have anything to do with me. But she did… when she wanted to… 'work out some frustrations'. I was a punching bag, rather than a daughter."
Now that I'd started the words just tumbled out of me. It was like a weight had been lifted.
"Father never… never did anything to stop her. In public we were the perfect happy family. She was… very good at seeming like a kind, loving mother. But as soon as we were home I'd be having strips torn off me for something. Didn't smile enough. 'Backtalk'. Embarrassing her in front of her friends."
I grabbed my left arm and squeezed it as hard as I could just to stop the trembling. My rubber bands had finally broken days ago and I hadn't been able to justify buying more to myself but right now I wished I had one.
"My grades were never good enough. I didn't have any talents. She didn't even like my face."
There were streaks in my hair still, as the natural colour grew out. I'd inherited red hair from my father's side of the family, but mother had always dyed it brown so I looked like her. The only time I could recall my father standing up to her was when he'd refused to pay for a nose job for me. She hadn't liked that I didn't have her nose.
"Then… maybe three weeks ago… I was told at school that my father had died. Food allergy. Cross-contamination in the kitchen. When I thought about going home to just her, I… I couldn't take it. So I ran away."
Malcolm finally took the pan off the heat and put it aside. Then he turned to look at me. His expression was… I wasn't entirely sure, actually. Pity was something I knew, as was disgust. This wasn't either of those, but felt similar somehow. He sighed and began to search through the cupboards again. With each new one he opened he swore quietly.
"Where are the damn plates in this stupid house…" I blinked a few times and looked over at him, feeling rather confused.
"Shouldn't you know that? It's your house." He shook his head and I froze.
"No, it's not." Another cupboard opened and closed.
"House-sitting?" He shook his head again. The knife block was on the island. I reached over to it and drew out one of the longer ones as quietly as I could.
"Nope. I, aha! There they are." At last he'd located plates. He pulled out one and dished up the omelette he'd made on to it, then turned to me. The knife was sitting gently in my lap, just out of view. "Anyway, owners died in a plane crash a few days ago. Pulled some strings, made some people sit on the paperwork, so it'll take at least a week before next of kin are notified and someone comes for the house."
Malcolm smiled, put some cutlery on the plate, slid it across the island, and then sat down opposite me. His hand dipped into his jacket pocket and came out holding a small black pistol with an elongated barrel that he pointed directly at my chest.
"It's a nice story, Miss Stirling. Now, why don't you have a bite to eat and you can tell me the rest of it. But this time, make sure to explain exactly how you poisoned your father. And why, come to think of it. Because I have just been dying to know."
Snow had fallen overnight. I had only my school jacket on me and it wasn't nearly warm enough to keep me warm. If I was careful I could hide out in the library during the day but I'd run out of food over the weekend and there was no way I could go to one of the city's soup kitchens without drawing… questions.
Which meant I needed money. I regretted not buying a blanket when I'd still had funds. Maybe I should have invested in some preserved food, too. My last note had been wasted on a bowl of hot noodles which was, while delicious, not nearly worth the amount I'd so unwisely spent on it.
I'd already sold my phone and laptop at two different pawnbrokers with no intention of buying them back. Unlike other girls my age I hadn't had any jewellery to trade in, as mother didn't approve of it, but my backpack had been a designer brand good for another little bit of cash. I'd bought a cheaper replacement for it but had sold that too when I'd run out of things to keep in it.
All that I had left was my uniform and shoes. Not much. The shoes weren't nice enough to sell. I couldn't exactly go around without something on my feet and whatever amount I got wouldn't be enough to trade down and get food. For obvious reasons the uniform was right out. There wasn't much left to me.
On the one hand, I could go home. Or I could sit in the snowed-out cardboard box that I'd slept in overnight until I passed out from exhaustion, hunger and cold. The latter sounded like the more attractive option by far. Alternatively… well, I wasn't naive. I knew what the only thing of value I had left was.
It took me the better part of a day to make my way to the 'right' part of town. Some of the other girls at school had spoken about it once in hushed towns; gossiping about an upperclassman who'd supposedly been seen there with an older man. I had to keep an eye out for anyone I recognised, but hopefully they'd just see the uniform and not me.
By the time I worked up the courage to approach someone it was already dusk. The man I picked was moving in all the right ways. His steps were nervous, he halted now and then, scanned the streets, eyed up the various women plying their wares and had a hand pressed to where his wallet probably was.
"H-hey, mister…" I swallowed heavily as the man looked at me. His eyes lit up in a manner I'd seen a few times since I'd come on to the streets. This time, however, it wasn't a sign that I had to cut and run. "You, um… want some… company?" As I said that I pulled my jacket open a little bit to show off my uniform underneath.
He quickly glanced from side to side and then jerked his head towards the side street near us. Dark. Secluded. Exactly where I didn't want to go. But… who knew how long it might be before I got a taker, otherwise? He probably just didn't want to… to be seen with me, given…
Once we were off the street he looked me up and down. Even though I was dirty I'd done my best with what I could. There were places a girl could get a shower for free, if she could look pitiful enough, but I hadn't been able to wash my clothes. Even so it seemed he liked what he saw.
"How, ah… old are you?" He practically whispered the question. The tone in his voice made me feel sick to my stomach.
"Eighteen… obviously…" I lied through my teeth and hoped he wouldn't ask for any ID, while simultaneously wishing that he would. But I'd been able to tell from his reaction that it wasn't going to happen.
"Right… obviously… how much…?" I bit my lip. This was the moment of truth.
"Fifty for… a blow. Hundred for it all. T-two hundred for the night." He looked hesitant, so I gritted my teeth and played my final card. "I'm offering it discounted 'cause it's my… my first time." The look on his face genuinely made me want to vomit. He yanked his wallet out immediately and pulled a fifty off from the wad of bills there.
"Well let's, ah… start with this, then, and see how we g-" He stopped at the sound of running feet and then turned just in time to take a fist straight to his face. The man caught himself on his hands and cried out in pain as he skinned them on the concrete.
"Get the fuck out of here, creep!" My 'saviour' kicked the downed guy and then grabbed my hand suddenly. I was pulled away without even the chance to grab the note that had fluttered out of the buyer's hand.
It wasn't until we stopped a few streets over that I was able to catch my breath and get a good look at the person who had 'rescued' me. They were… they were… shit, they were handsome. Like, really, really handsome.
I'd never encountered someone who I'd call a 'pretty boy' before, but if this guy didn't fit that definition than nobody did. He had gorgeously maintained black hair, delicate features and beautiful grey eyes that were stared back into mine. I could feel my heart start to pound faster.
"Hey? Hello?" He snapped his fingers near my ear and I almost jumped out of my skin. "I said, are you alright? That creep didn't hurt you, did he?" I frowned immediately, but couldn't exactly explain that he hadn't been… accosting me, so I just shook my head. "You shouldn't be out here this late anyway. Do you want me to call your parents?"
"No!" I shouted that just a bit too quickly and his expression became suddenly concerned. "I… I mean… you don't have to…" He sighed and looked away.
"Runaway, huh. Is there anyone you can go to?" Again I shook my head and he rolled his eyes. That hurt, just a bit.
"Okay. Well… ugh, why don't you come home with me? I'll give you a good meal, a warm bed, and in the morning I can introduce you to some people who can probably help with… whatever situation you've got going on at home." The offer sounded good. Way too good. That was even with what I had been… about to do.
"I… shouldn't. I don't know who you are." I tried not to sound sheepish but clearly failed given the disbelieving eyebrow he raised at me. Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet and held something out to me. I read it nervously.
"Malcolm Rook… registered social worker? You, uh… you don't look like a 'Malcolm'." He let out a little snort which turned into a chuckle.
"I don't…? Okay then. Here, this too." The card he handed to me, after taking back his other ID, was his driver's license. It stared at the age listed on the card and then looked back up at him.
"Twenty-nine? You're joking." That got me another chuckle and a shrug as he took the card back. "Alright. I guess… I can trust you." Even if I couldn't, it's not like things could get much worse for me. If I considered what I'd been willing to do for money then even the worst case scenario… didn't seem all that bad.
Malcolm took me back to his car. I didn't know anything about brands or models but it didn't look that fancy. Made sense, for a social worker. We drove in silence together for nearly half an hour before he pulled into a house that looked a bit upmarket from what I'd expected. Nothing like my family's penthouse apartment but still… maybe he'd invested well.
He showed me to the guest bedroom, which I noted had a lock on the door, and left me to have a shower while he went down to the kitchen. When I'd finished there were some other clothes laid out for me. Thankfully they were men's; I'm not sure what I'd have done if he'd had teen girl clothes just… lying around.
I found him in the kitchen where he was rummaging through the drawers and pulling out various bits of cookware. It was a nice spot, actually; there were high seats at the island counter I could sit on to watch him cook.
"So. How about we start with your name?" Being addressed was unexpected, as he hadn't turned around from the stove since I'd come in, but I'd prepared for this while I was getting changed.
"Jane." Malcolm turned to stare at me over his shoulder with an incredulous expression. I turned red when he held the look until finally I broke down and mumbled something else. "... Mira. It's… it's short for… for 'Miracle'." When he didn't laugh I dared to look up at him and found he was maintaining a calm, even gaze.
"Okay. I checked for missing persons, but nothing matching your description. Either you just ran away from home today… or nobody's reported you missing." That… stung. Of course I hadn't expected her to be anything other than happy that I was gone, but even so…
"Figures. My… I won't be missed." He shrugged and turned back to break an egg into the pan.
"I hear that a lot in my line of work. But I find that people are usually wrong. Would you like to talk about it?" I bit back my initial response, which would have been just a sharp 'no', and thought about it for a moment. Ever since this had all started, I'd never really spoken to anyone about… what had happened. He was a stranger, so he wasn't likely to end up telling me I was wrong, or had to be imagining things, right?
"... my mother never wanted me. She made that clear my whole life. And my father… he was rich. Capital 'R'; Rich. So she never had to have anything to do with me. But she did… when she wanted to… 'work out some frustrations'. I was a punching bag, rather than a daughter."
Now that I'd started the words just tumbled out of me. It was like a weight had been lifted.
"Father never… never did anything to stop her. In public we were the perfect happy family. She was… very good at seeming like a kind, loving mother. But as soon as we were home I'd be having strips torn off me for something. Didn't smile enough. 'Backtalk'. Embarrassing her in front of her friends."
I grabbed my left arm and squeezed it as hard as I could just to stop the trembling. My rubber bands had finally broken days ago and I hadn't been able to justify buying more to myself but right now I wished I had one.
"My grades were never good enough. I didn't have any talents. She didn't even like my face."
There were streaks in my hair still, as the natural colour grew out. I'd inherited red hair from my father's side of the family, but mother had always dyed it brown so I looked like her. The only time I could recall my father standing up to her was when he'd refused to pay for a nose job for me. She hadn't liked that I didn't have her nose.
"Then… maybe three weeks ago… I was told at school that my father had died. Food allergy. Cross-contamination in the kitchen. When I thought about going home to just her, I… I couldn't take it. So I ran away."
Malcolm finally took the pan off the heat and put it aside. Then he turned to look at me. His expression was… I wasn't entirely sure, actually. Pity was something I knew, as was disgust. This wasn't either of those, but felt similar somehow. He sighed and began to search through the cupboards again. With each new one he opened he swore quietly.
"Where are the damn plates in this stupid house…" I blinked a few times and looked over at him, feeling rather confused.
"Shouldn't you know that? It's your house." He shook his head and I froze.
"No, it's not." Another cupboard opened and closed.
"House-sitting?" He shook his head again. The knife block was on the island. I reached over to it and drew out one of the longer ones as quietly as I could.
"Nope. I, aha! There they are." At last he'd located plates. He pulled out one and dished up the omelette he'd made on to it, then turned to me. The knife was sitting gently in my lap, just out of view. "Anyway, owners died in a plane crash a few days ago. Pulled some strings, made some people sit on the paperwork, so it'll take at least a week before next of kin are notified and someone comes for the house."
Malcolm smiled, put some cutlery on the plate, slid it across the island, and then sat down opposite me. His hand dipped into his jacket pocket and came out holding a small black pistol with an elongated barrel that he pointed directly at my chest.
"It's a nice story, Miss Stirling. Now, why don't you have a bite to eat and you can tell me the rest of it. But this time, make sure to explain exactly how you poisoned your father. And why, come to think of it. Because I have just been dying to know."
vladspellbinder
Odd and obscure vampiric panther
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Hum, well, this looks like it'll be a fun ride... I wonder where he got the idea that Mira poisoned her own father. Since this was told from her point of view and it is obvious she is desperate for cash I'm sure she didn't actually do what she is being accused of. I'm guessing her mother put out the contract for this? Spun her own tale on matters. That does leave the question of if he was actually poisoned or if it was just an accident as well...
Humm. anyways, i'll be following this story as well TotalAbsolutism, so thanks for something else to read.
I'm still working on the back log of other things you've got. Finished Puce and am debating on Ten Percent or Reclaim, or going back to Rebellion...but I've been playing a lot more RLCraft than reading the past few days...
Anyways, keep up the great work! It's a blast to read.
Humm. anyways, i'll be following this story as well TotalAbsolutism, so thanks for something else to read.
I'm still working on the back log of other things you've got. Finished Puce and am debating on Ten Percent or Reclaim, or going back to Rebellion...but I've been playing a lot more RLCraft than reading the past few days...
Anyways, keep up the great work! It's a blast to read.
Secret Secretion
Hi!
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Alright, ya got me.
NuclearBirb
A mysterious birb.
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Man youre seriously good at writing misery, arent you
Winged One
Not the Simurgh
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I'm thinking her mom decided to have this person frame her for poisoning her dad. Whether the mom poisoned him for insurance money or he just died of natural causes seems ambiguous to me. But if the protagonist was going to murder someone, why wouldn't she pick the abusive mother herself at least to start with?
Generic_Generica
Verified kōhai
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TotalAbsolutism, you diseased maniac, you actually did it.
The entire point of this is that TA's parodying shitty YA novels in the worst possible ways.
Because he's despicable like that.
The entire point of this is that TA's parodying shitty YA novels in the worst possible ways.
Because he's despicable like that.
heralding_bubble
Liar and Hypocrite
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Didn't expect that.
Nice.
Nice.
da3monh0st3d
Эскапист
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He sure seems like a trustworthy fellow⸮
Second
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My head felt like it was going to explode.
Every heartbeat was agony. An excruciating wave of pressure throbbed through my body as I desperately tried to wrack my brain for a way out of this situation. Everything seemed to fade away as reality distilled itself down to me and the barrel of that gun. If I… if I could just get him to turn away for a moment…
"Oh, and please put the knife on the table and slide it over to me. Slowly. I'm interested in your story, but not so much so that I won't just shoot you if I have to." He kept his aim steady and watched my eyes instead of my hands. I swallowed hard and carefully lifted the knife off my lap and put it on the counter between us, then pushed. The blade spun a few times on the smooth surface before he reached out and stopped it by pressing one finger to the top.
"You're insane. Why would I-" Before I could finish he snorted and twitched his hand up and to the left. There was a startlingly loud 'pop' and smoke poured forth from the barrel. I'd heard the shot buzz past my head and even felt the shockwave against my face; though perhaps I had imagined that.
"The story, Miss Stirling. From the beginning." I stared at him as I tried to think of something else. Throw the plate? He'd fire straight away, though. Maybe if I got him to look away, but his situational awareness seemed too… and even then, what after?
"And… and then what? Will you… let me go?" His subsequent smirk said it all and I sagged in my seat. This was it, then. I was going to die. In which case… I might as well tell someone.
"It started… I'm not sure when… but I only really noticed it when I was around ten…"
At that time I hadn't understood all of it, of course. It wasn't until a few years after that when I realised what my mother had truly wanted me to be. The reason I had that stupid, stupid name. I was her 'Miracle', after all.
Doctors had told her and my father that they'd almost certainly never be able to have children. I was never told why, but it was definitely a problem with her and not him. Anyone could tell I was my father's daughter at a glance. Similarities between me and her took longer to discern. Something in the cheek bones, perhaps, or around the set of our eyes. It was there but… vague. Not enough.
Mother had wanted two things. First, she'd hoped for me to be an obedient little doll. I'd be dressed up in all the fine things she'd never been able to afford before she'd married my father. Signed up for all the fancy activities that the child her hadn't been allowed to have. Ballet lessons, piano tutoring, horse riding and lacrosse, synchronised swimming… all of that and an expectation that my schoolwork be flawless.
Before I had realised what was going on I'd been excited for the moments of success. When my mother would smile and look so very happy. Then I'd come to understand why she was only happy with me when I succeeded at something she'd chosen. My creative writing project, or my art piece, or my school record for the hundred metre dash; all were met with disdain.
Because the second thing my mother wanted was for me to be her. Every time I did well she could lose herself in the fantasy of her success. Failure was like popping that little bubble of insane self-delusion that she'd built for herself. Her endless refrains demanding that I be grateful, that I not squander these opportunities she'd never had… they still went around in the back of my mind even now.
"... I had to escape." I'd sagged well into the seat. At some point he'd pushed the plate closer and I'd started to eat almost reflexively. It was good. Not what I'd have chosen for a last meal but the mixture of egg and cheese with diced sausages had a pleasant taste that was belied by its simplicity.
"Child services couldn't have gotten me away from them. No evidence of abuse, public record of exemplary behaviour, and my father was… rich, and powerful. When I finally found a way out… I took it." The last bit of the meal vanished and I finally looked back up at him. He blinked a few times and then his grin widened. I wondered what my face must look like to him, now that I'd given up all pretense of hiding how I felt.
"Beautiful. I've not seen eyes like that on someone so young in a long time. It explains a lot." His fingers drummed a little tune into the countertop that I didn't recognise. The same set of beats repeated over and over. "That's the bit I don't get, though. Why not your mother?"
"She didn't have a lethal allergy. Father did." My tone was so neutral that I even surprised myself. I'd expected that when I finally admitted it my voice would have broken. That some emotion would have overwhelmed me. Any emotion. But I felt nothing. "Shellfish allergy. Our cook makes… made him a meal every day that he took to work. It's left unattended in the fridge for maybe two, three minutes…"
Of course there wasn't even any shellfish in the entire kitchen. The cook was a professional who knew their client's needs. Father's meals had their own cooking station and equipment as well to avoid any possible risk of cross-contamination even if, somehow, a shellfish dish had made it into the kitchen.
"While I was getting my own lunchbox I opened his and added oyster sauce to the rice. That was that. He always kept an epinephrine injector in his bag, but I'd swapped it out for an expired one that I'd 'borrowed' from my school." Once I'd decided to do it everything had been surprisingly… easy. This explanation seemed to dissatisfy 'Malcolm', though, and he frowned at me.
"No, no, no. You exploited his allergen, made it impossible for him to get treatment in time; that's good. I'm impressed, really. But why not just get something actually poisonous, and feed it to your mother?" The way he said it made it sound so obvious that I couldn't help but scoff. Fear gripped me a moment later when I realised what I'd just done but he didn't seem to care. After taking a moment to soothe my nerves I continued.
"Father would have tried to find me. Succeeded. He'd have applied his resources to the problem until I appeared. Even if he wasn't… responsible… he still just let it happen. I didn't want to see him again. But mother... " I dug my nails into my forearm to stop my voice from breaking. Why was it that saying this hurt? After everything she'd done to me? "... she'd have been upset about losing her toy… but too happy about gaining father's entire fortune to care."
This time 'Malcolm' slowly nodded as my reasoning was laid out. There were probably… other solutions. Things I hadn't been able to see. Poisoning my father had been rather extreme, but at the time… what else could I have done? That woman wouldn't have been happy with anything less than my total submission. I had felt myself breaking down day by day.
"Well. Thank you. Now there's just one last thing. By chance, do you happen to have twenty million dollars?" The question came more or less out of nowhere and I became a deer in headlights as I stared blankly at the man who still had me held at gunpoint.
"I… no? I don't… I don't have anything. Any money my father might have left me I wouldn't get until I was eighteen, and I don't think he did leave me anything." 'Malcolm' sighed and began to tap his fingers again.
"Pity. Because I don't have twenty million dollars right now, either. Only the difference is that I don't have my money… because of you." I didn't know what I could possibly say to that, so I stayed silent. His smile was gone now and an inscrutable emptiness had taken its place. Was that how I looked, now? "You see, Miss Stirling, my business, my actual line of work, is death. Murder, if you wish to be pedantic. I am an assassin. I kill for money.
And just like that it all clicked. I'd wondered if this man had been somehow sent by my mother to tidy up. Arguably, this was worse. "Twenty million dollars sitting in escrow, waiting for your father to die in a particular way at a particular time; all agreed upon in advance. The purpose of which would have been to allow certain people to take advantage of the chaos and seize control of his company. But then he died early, and none of them were ready. So my money… poof."
I finally noticed that his tapping had taken on the rhythm of my heartbeat. Or perhaps my heartbeat had synchronised with his tapping. Ba-dum. Ba-DUM. Over and over. I awaited the moment, now. When both would stop. I could feel it hanging there like a sword over my neck.
The tapping ceased.
My arms, resting heavily on the countertop, very nearly gave way from shock. While I reeled from the sudden destabilising of my psyche he calmly put the gun back into his inner pocket and rested his chin on his steepled hands.
"Now… Let us discuss how you're going to pay me back."
Every heartbeat was agony. An excruciating wave of pressure throbbed through my body as I desperately tried to wrack my brain for a way out of this situation. Everything seemed to fade away as reality distilled itself down to me and the barrel of that gun. If I… if I could just get him to turn away for a moment…
"Oh, and please put the knife on the table and slide it over to me. Slowly. I'm interested in your story, but not so much so that I won't just shoot you if I have to." He kept his aim steady and watched my eyes instead of my hands. I swallowed hard and carefully lifted the knife off my lap and put it on the counter between us, then pushed. The blade spun a few times on the smooth surface before he reached out and stopped it by pressing one finger to the top.
"You're insane. Why would I-" Before I could finish he snorted and twitched his hand up and to the left. There was a startlingly loud 'pop' and smoke poured forth from the barrel. I'd heard the shot buzz past my head and even felt the shockwave against my face; though perhaps I had imagined that.
"The story, Miss Stirling. From the beginning." I stared at him as I tried to think of something else. Throw the plate? He'd fire straight away, though. Maybe if I got him to look away, but his situational awareness seemed too… and even then, what after?
"And… and then what? Will you… let me go?" His subsequent smirk said it all and I sagged in my seat. This was it, then. I was going to die. In which case… I might as well tell someone.
"It started… I'm not sure when… but I only really noticed it when I was around ten…"
At that time I hadn't understood all of it, of course. It wasn't until a few years after that when I realised what my mother had truly wanted me to be. The reason I had that stupid, stupid name. I was her 'Miracle', after all.
Doctors had told her and my father that they'd almost certainly never be able to have children. I was never told why, but it was definitely a problem with her and not him. Anyone could tell I was my father's daughter at a glance. Similarities between me and her took longer to discern. Something in the cheek bones, perhaps, or around the set of our eyes. It was there but… vague. Not enough.
Mother had wanted two things. First, she'd hoped for me to be an obedient little doll. I'd be dressed up in all the fine things she'd never been able to afford before she'd married my father. Signed up for all the fancy activities that the child her hadn't been allowed to have. Ballet lessons, piano tutoring, horse riding and lacrosse, synchronised swimming… all of that and an expectation that my schoolwork be flawless.
Before I had realised what was going on I'd been excited for the moments of success. When my mother would smile and look so very happy. Then I'd come to understand why she was only happy with me when I succeeded at something she'd chosen. My creative writing project, or my art piece, or my school record for the hundred metre dash; all were met with disdain.
Because the second thing my mother wanted was for me to be her. Every time I did well she could lose herself in the fantasy of her success. Failure was like popping that little bubble of insane self-delusion that she'd built for herself. Her endless refrains demanding that I be grateful, that I not squander these opportunities she'd never had… they still went around in the back of my mind even now.
"... I had to escape." I'd sagged well into the seat. At some point he'd pushed the plate closer and I'd started to eat almost reflexively. It was good. Not what I'd have chosen for a last meal but the mixture of egg and cheese with diced sausages had a pleasant taste that was belied by its simplicity.
"Child services couldn't have gotten me away from them. No evidence of abuse, public record of exemplary behaviour, and my father was… rich, and powerful. When I finally found a way out… I took it." The last bit of the meal vanished and I finally looked back up at him. He blinked a few times and then his grin widened. I wondered what my face must look like to him, now that I'd given up all pretense of hiding how I felt.
"Beautiful. I've not seen eyes like that on someone so young in a long time. It explains a lot." His fingers drummed a little tune into the countertop that I didn't recognise. The same set of beats repeated over and over. "That's the bit I don't get, though. Why not your mother?"
"She didn't have a lethal allergy. Father did." My tone was so neutral that I even surprised myself. I'd expected that when I finally admitted it my voice would have broken. That some emotion would have overwhelmed me. Any emotion. But I felt nothing. "Shellfish allergy. Our cook makes… made him a meal every day that he took to work. It's left unattended in the fridge for maybe two, three minutes…"
Of course there wasn't even any shellfish in the entire kitchen. The cook was a professional who knew their client's needs. Father's meals had their own cooking station and equipment as well to avoid any possible risk of cross-contamination even if, somehow, a shellfish dish had made it into the kitchen.
"While I was getting my own lunchbox I opened his and added oyster sauce to the rice. That was that. He always kept an epinephrine injector in his bag, but I'd swapped it out for an expired one that I'd 'borrowed' from my school." Once I'd decided to do it everything had been surprisingly… easy. This explanation seemed to dissatisfy 'Malcolm', though, and he frowned at me.
"No, no, no. You exploited his allergen, made it impossible for him to get treatment in time; that's good. I'm impressed, really. But why not just get something actually poisonous, and feed it to your mother?" The way he said it made it sound so obvious that I couldn't help but scoff. Fear gripped me a moment later when I realised what I'd just done but he didn't seem to care. After taking a moment to soothe my nerves I continued.
"Father would have tried to find me. Succeeded. He'd have applied his resources to the problem until I appeared. Even if he wasn't… responsible… he still just let it happen. I didn't want to see him again. But mother... " I dug my nails into my forearm to stop my voice from breaking. Why was it that saying this hurt? After everything she'd done to me? "... she'd have been upset about losing her toy… but too happy about gaining father's entire fortune to care."
This time 'Malcolm' slowly nodded as my reasoning was laid out. There were probably… other solutions. Things I hadn't been able to see. Poisoning my father had been rather extreme, but at the time… what else could I have done? That woman wouldn't have been happy with anything less than my total submission. I had felt myself breaking down day by day.
"Well. Thank you. Now there's just one last thing. By chance, do you happen to have twenty million dollars?" The question came more or less out of nowhere and I became a deer in headlights as I stared blankly at the man who still had me held at gunpoint.
"I… no? I don't… I don't have anything. Any money my father might have left me I wouldn't get until I was eighteen, and I don't think he did leave me anything." 'Malcolm' sighed and began to tap his fingers again.
"Pity. Because I don't have twenty million dollars right now, either. Only the difference is that I don't have my money… because of you." I didn't know what I could possibly say to that, so I stayed silent. His smile was gone now and an inscrutable emptiness had taken its place. Was that how I looked, now? "You see, Miss Stirling, my business, my actual line of work, is death. Murder, if you wish to be pedantic. I am an assassin. I kill for money.
And just like that it all clicked. I'd wondered if this man had been somehow sent by my mother to tidy up. Arguably, this was worse. "Twenty million dollars sitting in escrow, waiting for your father to die in a particular way at a particular time; all agreed upon in advance. The purpose of which would have been to allow certain people to take advantage of the chaos and seize control of his company. But then he died early, and none of them were ready. So my money… poof."
I finally noticed that his tapping had taken on the rhythm of my heartbeat. Or perhaps my heartbeat had synchronised with his tapping. Ba-dum. Ba-DUM. Over and over. I awaited the moment, now. When both would stop. I could feel it hanging there like a sword over my neck.
The tapping ceased.
My arms, resting heavily on the countertop, very nearly gave way from shock. While I reeled from the sudden destabilising of my psyche he calmly put the gun back into his inner pocket and rested his chin on his steepled hands.
"Now… Let us discuss how you're going to pay me back."
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After one more update of this to finish the setup, I'll switching to alternate updates with Unnamed/Unbound.
Winged One
Not the Simurgh
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*nihilistic Joker laughter*
This is just so hilarious.
This is just so hilarious.
Sionnach
Impish Smile
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Soo, like that silly movie / book plot with A. Jolie and Morgan Freeman as assassins that can get bullets to magically bend around corners.
The main character is going to be come an assassin.
Or, or, like that other movie where that assassin dude adopts the girl, and starts training her as an assassin.
..
Or Monty Python interrupt, something completely different.
The main character is going to be come an assassin.
Or, or, like that other movie where that assassin dude adopts the girl, and starts training her as an assassin.
..
Or Monty Python interrupt, something completely different.
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I credit as my two main inspirations "Arachnid" and "Lucky Number Slevin".
Melmar
Should probly stop sayin' words
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>giant foot stomps Mira to death
>perspective switch to Malcolm, who shrugs it off and goes on assassinating until he's seen hiding in a bush during a job
>Malcolm explodes
>perspective switch to his potential victim, who wonders what that was all about until he's dragged off by the cops for doing other crimes
>it's a fair cop
>perspective switch to- *is smashed by a giant hammer*
So, it's a parody of YA novels, is it? Isn't that redundant? Oh well, a YA protagonist as assassin makes some sense what with them being soulless automatons and all.
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Parody requires self-awareness for it to be satirical as opposed to merely farcical. Likewise, many parodies choose to forego the 'also make it a good story in its own right' step. Compare the latter installments of the "Noun Movie" series with almost any book by Terry Pratchett.So, it's a parody of YA novels, is it? Isn't that redundant? Oh well, a YA protagonist as assassin makes some sense what with them being soulless automatons and all.
vladspellbinder
Odd and obscure vampiric panther
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I was thinking he was indeed sent by the mother but him having had a contract on the father also makes sense. That's got to really suck, you're all set to kill this guy and he just up and dies on his own. So rude.
Thanks for the chapter TotalAbsolutism.
Thanks for the chapter TotalAbsolutism.
heralding_bubble
Liar and Hypocrite
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Good taste, good taste.
Gonna be interesting to see what comes of this.
GoldenCookie
Know what you're doing yet?
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Arachnid was pretty good. Considering that it's a YA parody, will she have a rival boy assassin who isn't super hot because that would be incredibly noticeable?
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Being incredibly noticeable can make you just as invisible as being completely unnoticeable as well. It just depends on how one applies it.
Third
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It surprised me how little impact that statement had. Maybe if it had been a smaller amount it would be something I could have imagined myself actually repaying with sufficient effort, but… twenty million was an amount that I just couldn't visualise. My father had been wealthy, obscenely so, but I hadn't been.
This was an excuse. He wanted something from me. If I could figure out what, then maybe I could… do what, exactly? Outsmart the assassin who found me, intervened when I was most vulnerable, brought me to a secluded location and then made me confess to murdering my father?
"I already told you, I don't have anything." Only my uniform, my jacket, and the clothes I had on now. Plus their contents, I supposed. Anything I'd had in the pockets I'd swapped over when I'd changed, but there was nothing there that would help me against him.
"In point of fact, you have two things of value to me. Firstly, your body." I recoiled from him instantly and he raised one eyebrow at me. "What? Ah… ugh! No, fuck no; I like women my own age, thank you. Not little girls." That came as a relief, certainly, and I resisted the urge to insist that I wasn't a 'little girl'. It felt like it wouldn't help.
He began to tap out a new rhythm and I did my best to ignore it. When he continued it was with a smug air that was somehow frustrating. "And, actually, that commodity isn't quite as hot as you seem to think. Even if I was willing to deal in that sort of thing, and I'm not, I could get maybe one to two thousand a pop from the right buyers at most. Whereas…"
The knife that had been left in front of him spun into the air suddenly and he caught it with one hand. He pointed the tip at my heart and then began to twist it around in slicing motions. "Hundred fifty thousand for each kidney. Liver goes cheaper, maybe fifty, but the lungs would be a decent enough commodity. Half a million for your heart easily. With those sorts of prices I'd be a fool to waste my time renting."
'Malcolm' twirled the knife over the top of his hand and then balanced it precariously on one knuckle. Even without the gun he was showing just how confident he was. My life was in his hands and we both knew it. "But no. We'll call that 'Plan B'. See, poisoning your father? Pedestrian effort, though I give you points for trying to make it look like an accident. Would have been better to do it at a restaurant though; bit suspicious for your personal cook to make that sort of mistake."
"... w-wait, I… if you killed my mother, then I'd, I'd inherit, right? So you could, uh, still complete your other contract, a-and-" The blade flashed and was buried into the wooden counter between us an instant later. I stared at where the point had split the wood; shocked into silence.
"First intelligent thing you've said all evening, Miss Stirling. There's a few flaws, however. If my clients had been prepared then swiping the company out from under your mother would have been child's play; alas, it all came as a shock and they weren't in place yet. Now it will be much harder and much less profitable." How they would've managed that I had no idea, but he was certainly right about one thing. I couldn't imagine my mother letting even a cent of father's potential value escape her clutches now.
"Now, then there's you. Certainly, if your mother dies you stand to inherit everything. All the shares, the stocks, the bonds, and so on. The 'money', as it were." He waved a hand vaguely in the air to indicate things he clearly thought I wouldn't grasp. "But… you can't actually do anything with it for two years. It would be held in trust until then; which, if your father is halfway intelligent, will be set up in such a way that nobody can touch it."
Which was a given. The only stupid thing my father had done in his life, as far as I could tell, was marrying my mother. That and not getting a vasectomy at a young age. "Really, if I wanted to try and complete the contract regardless I'd be better off killing both of you. Unfortunately, that would arouse more suspicion than I'd like. Which is why you're going to kill your mother."
The effect would have been less if he'd punched me in the gut. I almost retched from the thought of it. With father it had been… easy, yes, but I'd not even really had to do anything. Just sprinkle some sauce in the wrong place. While I tried to recover he idly reached across the table and slid the plate off to one side.
"I can't just… do that! You can't expect me t-" My words died on my tongue when the gun reappeared in his hand suddenly. I hadn't even seen him draw it. The amusement he'd had moments ago was now gone; replaced with a dull, tense irritation.
"Alright, Miss Stirling. The game has been fun, but enough is enough. Empty your pockets." When I didn't move fast enough he began to tap his fingers on the counter faster. I could recognise a rising tempo when I heard one, and knew what would be at the crescendo of this. Everything I had left was dumped out quickly.
My house keys clattered out first, followed by a loose handful of small change; sixty-seven cents worth exactly. An empty public transport card skidded across the wood next along with my school cardkey and its lanyard. I hesitated just a moment when I gripped the last item but from the look on his face I could tell that he knew I had it. How he knew…
The lipstick tube bounced across the table and rolled to his side. He stopped it with a finger and then opened it one-handed. There wasn't anything left in it, and it had been low quality stuff to begin with, but that wasn't the point. He shifted his grip and pulled the top part off as well to reveal the puny knife underneath.
It wasn't much at all. The blade was maybe a couple of centimetres long at best and not even all that sharp. Certainly no threat to anyone. Yet he looked at it like it was the most valuable prize in the world. Then his eyes fixed back on mine. He swept all of it aside, on to the floor, with one arm. "Now the other thing, Miss Stirling. Slowly, if you please." I stiffened up and tried not to make any sudden movements.
"How long have you been watching me?" It couldn't have been less than a week. Maybe more. 'Malcolm' winked, but didn't answer. I gingerly reached around behind my back and untucked my shirt from my pants. Then I retrieved the two bits of cheap wood that had poking me every time I leaned back too far and placed them on the counter.
Once my hands were off the surface he reached across and pulled them to him. They were, or at least had been, disposable chopsticks. Both had been sharpened to a point. It had taken a while with only the shitty lipstick knife, but I'd had time.
"You were never going to go through with it, were you? Once he'd taken you somewhere nice and secluded…" He twirled my handmade shank between his fingers and then suddenly mimed a stabbing motion right at my face. When I flinched he stopped just as quickly as he'd started and put the weapon back down. "Going to deny it?"
I didn't say anything. He'd be able to tell if I lied to him, so there was no point. That seemed to be amusing because he began to chuckle smugly and shook his head. "My, my, my. What a naughty child you are. There we have it. You'll stay with me for one week. I'll teach you everything you need to kill your mother and clean up the evidence."
He didn't pull the gun away just yet and his eyes didn't leave mine as he spoke. Short taps on the counter punctuated his sentences. "Then, at the end, I'll help you fake your death. You disappear, your family line ends, my client is happy at my ability to adapt, I don't sell your organs for parts. Everyone wins. What do you say?" I took a few long, slow breaths to try and slow my heartbeat. It was hard to do with his constant tapping disrupting my concentration.
"... fake my death?" He nodded and lifted his free hand to brush some hair out of his face.
"Sure. You'll record evidence of her abuse, then wracked with grief you snap and kill her, followed by yourself. Authorities find evidence on 'your' corpse." Emphasis was put on that word with half an air-quote. He didn't use the gun hand for that. "Minus some small details not worth mentioning now. Neat, clean and easy."
"... and since you mentioned it, I'm guessing you're recording this conversation to help make sure I go through with it?" This time the laughter was just a bit less mocking as he reached into the other side of his jacket with his free hand and pulled out a small black device.
"Got it in one, Miss Stirling. I do love working with clever people. Really, though, this should be a no-brainer for you. You get to kill your awful mother, I get my money, and in the end you can just… disappear." The smile he wore was dark and thick with meaning. "No muss, no fuss. Everything nice… and tidy. Well?"
He wasn't even trying to act sincere. I probably would have felt insulted if he had. We both knew that wasn't going to happen. But even so, I nodded. Only through survival could I have the chance to turn things around.
"Fantastic! Now then, we just have to relocate ourselves to an environment more conducive to your tra-" His hand shot across the counter and grabbed me by the throat with firm precision. I tried to claw at his arm, tried to snatch something but everything I could have used as a weapon had been shifted out of my reach during our conversation.
I lost consciousness within seconds.
This was an excuse. He wanted something from me. If I could figure out what, then maybe I could… do what, exactly? Outsmart the assassin who found me, intervened when I was most vulnerable, brought me to a secluded location and then made me confess to murdering my father?
"I already told you, I don't have anything." Only my uniform, my jacket, and the clothes I had on now. Plus their contents, I supposed. Anything I'd had in the pockets I'd swapped over when I'd changed, but there was nothing there that would help me against him.
"In point of fact, you have two things of value to me. Firstly, your body." I recoiled from him instantly and he raised one eyebrow at me. "What? Ah… ugh! No, fuck no; I like women my own age, thank you. Not little girls." That came as a relief, certainly, and I resisted the urge to insist that I wasn't a 'little girl'. It felt like it wouldn't help.
He began to tap out a new rhythm and I did my best to ignore it. When he continued it was with a smug air that was somehow frustrating. "And, actually, that commodity isn't quite as hot as you seem to think. Even if I was willing to deal in that sort of thing, and I'm not, I could get maybe one to two thousand a pop from the right buyers at most. Whereas…"
The knife that had been left in front of him spun into the air suddenly and he caught it with one hand. He pointed the tip at my heart and then began to twist it around in slicing motions. "Hundred fifty thousand for each kidney. Liver goes cheaper, maybe fifty, but the lungs would be a decent enough commodity. Half a million for your heart easily. With those sorts of prices I'd be a fool to waste my time renting."
'Malcolm' twirled the knife over the top of his hand and then balanced it precariously on one knuckle. Even without the gun he was showing just how confident he was. My life was in his hands and we both knew it. "But no. We'll call that 'Plan B'. See, poisoning your father? Pedestrian effort, though I give you points for trying to make it look like an accident. Would have been better to do it at a restaurant though; bit suspicious for your personal cook to make that sort of mistake."
"... w-wait, I… if you killed my mother, then I'd, I'd inherit, right? So you could, uh, still complete your other contract, a-and-" The blade flashed and was buried into the wooden counter between us an instant later. I stared at where the point had split the wood; shocked into silence.
"First intelligent thing you've said all evening, Miss Stirling. There's a few flaws, however. If my clients had been prepared then swiping the company out from under your mother would have been child's play; alas, it all came as a shock and they weren't in place yet. Now it will be much harder and much less profitable." How they would've managed that I had no idea, but he was certainly right about one thing. I couldn't imagine my mother letting even a cent of father's potential value escape her clutches now.
"Now, then there's you. Certainly, if your mother dies you stand to inherit everything. All the shares, the stocks, the bonds, and so on. The 'money', as it were." He waved a hand vaguely in the air to indicate things he clearly thought I wouldn't grasp. "But… you can't actually do anything with it for two years. It would be held in trust until then; which, if your father is halfway intelligent, will be set up in such a way that nobody can touch it."
Which was a given. The only stupid thing my father had done in his life, as far as I could tell, was marrying my mother. That and not getting a vasectomy at a young age. "Really, if I wanted to try and complete the contract regardless I'd be better off killing both of you. Unfortunately, that would arouse more suspicion than I'd like. Which is why you're going to kill your mother."
The effect would have been less if he'd punched me in the gut. I almost retched from the thought of it. With father it had been… easy, yes, but I'd not even really had to do anything. Just sprinkle some sauce in the wrong place. While I tried to recover he idly reached across the table and slid the plate off to one side.
"I can't just… do that! You can't expect me t-" My words died on my tongue when the gun reappeared in his hand suddenly. I hadn't even seen him draw it. The amusement he'd had moments ago was now gone; replaced with a dull, tense irritation.
"Alright, Miss Stirling. The game has been fun, but enough is enough. Empty your pockets." When I didn't move fast enough he began to tap his fingers on the counter faster. I could recognise a rising tempo when I heard one, and knew what would be at the crescendo of this. Everything I had left was dumped out quickly.
My house keys clattered out first, followed by a loose handful of small change; sixty-seven cents worth exactly. An empty public transport card skidded across the wood next along with my school cardkey and its lanyard. I hesitated just a moment when I gripped the last item but from the look on his face I could tell that he knew I had it. How he knew…
The lipstick tube bounced across the table and rolled to his side. He stopped it with a finger and then opened it one-handed. There wasn't anything left in it, and it had been low quality stuff to begin with, but that wasn't the point. He shifted his grip and pulled the top part off as well to reveal the puny knife underneath.
It wasn't much at all. The blade was maybe a couple of centimetres long at best and not even all that sharp. Certainly no threat to anyone. Yet he looked at it like it was the most valuable prize in the world. Then his eyes fixed back on mine. He swept all of it aside, on to the floor, with one arm. "Now the other thing, Miss Stirling. Slowly, if you please." I stiffened up and tried not to make any sudden movements.
"How long have you been watching me?" It couldn't have been less than a week. Maybe more. 'Malcolm' winked, but didn't answer. I gingerly reached around behind my back and untucked my shirt from my pants. Then I retrieved the two bits of cheap wood that had poking me every time I leaned back too far and placed them on the counter.
Once my hands were off the surface he reached across and pulled them to him. They were, or at least had been, disposable chopsticks. Both had been sharpened to a point. It had taken a while with only the shitty lipstick knife, but I'd had time.
"You were never going to go through with it, were you? Once he'd taken you somewhere nice and secluded…" He twirled my handmade shank between his fingers and then suddenly mimed a stabbing motion right at my face. When I flinched he stopped just as quickly as he'd started and put the weapon back down. "Going to deny it?"
I didn't say anything. He'd be able to tell if I lied to him, so there was no point. That seemed to be amusing because he began to chuckle smugly and shook his head. "My, my, my. What a naughty child you are. There we have it. You'll stay with me for one week. I'll teach you everything you need to kill your mother and clean up the evidence."
He didn't pull the gun away just yet and his eyes didn't leave mine as he spoke. Short taps on the counter punctuated his sentences. "Then, at the end, I'll help you fake your death. You disappear, your family line ends, my client is happy at my ability to adapt, I don't sell your organs for parts. Everyone wins. What do you say?" I took a few long, slow breaths to try and slow my heartbeat. It was hard to do with his constant tapping disrupting my concentration.
"... fake my death?" He nodded and lifted his free hand to brush some hair out of his face.
"Sure. You'll record evidence of her abuse, then wracked with grief you snap and kill her, followed by yourself. Authorities find evidence on 'your' corpse." Emphasis was put on that word with half an air-quote. He didn't use the gun hand for that. "Minus some small details not worth mentioning now. Neat, clean and easy."
"... and since you mentioned it, I'm guessing you're recording this conversation to help make sure I go through with it?" This time the laughter was just a bit less mocking as he reached into the other side of his jacket with his free hand and pulled out a small black device.
"Got it in one, Miss Stirling. I do love working with clever people. Really, though, this should be a no-brainer for you. You get to kill your awful mother, I get my money, and in the end you can just… disappear." The smile he wore was dark and thick with meaning. "No muss, no fuss. Everything nice… and tidy. Well?"
He wasn't even trying to act sincere. I probably would have felt insulted if he had. We both knew that wasn't going to happen. But even so, I nodded. Only through survival could I have the chance to turn things around.
"Fantastic! Now then, we just have to relocate ourselves to an environment more conducive to your tra-" His hand shot across the counter and grabbed me by the throat with firm precision. I tried to claw at his arm, tried to snatch something but everything I could have used as a weapon had been shifted out of my reach during our conversation.
I lost consciousness within seconds.
vladspellbinder
Odd and obscure vampiric panther
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Gil's already a born killer, she just doesn't want to admit it. Looks like mother dear did a good job in the regard. Oh, wait, most people don't want their kids to be killers. Opps. Sorry mommy looks like you goofed.
Thanks for the chapter TotalAbsolutism.
Thanks for the chapter TotalAbsolutism.
Fourth
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When I awoke I was gagged and bound in what felt to be the boot of a car. It was on the move, based on how I shook and bounced, but I had apparently been well secured amidst a number of pillows and blankets carefully arranged so that I couldn't so much as twist myself in place.
After some time the vehicle stopped. A door opened and slammed, then there was silence for a moment until I heard another door slide open. Something was moved above me and a compartment was opened up. I blinked in the sudden light only to find that I had apparently been concealed beneath the floor of a minivan. Somewhere beyond the door I could hear the cry of gulls and the sound of ships.
'Malcolm' leaned over me and pulled me out of the hollow; carrying me like a trussed-up pig between what looked to be shipping containers. He stopped beside one and opened the lock on it, then stepped inside. I was dropped on something soft while he walked away into the dark space. Everything lit up suddenly and I tried in vain to shield my eyes against the brightness.
We were in a surprisingly spacious room that, from what I could see, appeared to have been made by connecting the interiors of a number of adjacent cargo containers. The furnishings were modest compared to what I was used to but didn't look cheap, at least. A simple couch, rugs, dining table and one chair, even a television. My captor was by a light switch that he had just clearly flicked on. Then he began to walk back over to me.
"How's your head? Feeling dizzy, dehydrated, need a bathroom break? Rope too tight?" I was taken aback at the sudden barrage of questions and focused on myself for a moment in order to self-assess. My head definitely felt fuzzy but not too bad. Thirst was negligible, and I didn't need the toilet. As for my restraints… when I tried to wiggle a bit I found that they were disturbingly expert. However… I eagerly awaited the moment when he reached me and removed my gag.
"You! You choked me! Why did you do that?" The last thing I could recall before I'd woken up was him grabbing me. It had happened so quickly. Awake one second and gone the next. Any thoughts I might have had of resistance had been crushed in an instant. He'd systematically removed all of my defensive measures while keeping me engaged in conversation and then… it sent shivers down my spine when I imagined what he could have done if his intentions had been bad. Well… worse.
"So you wouldn't be able to tell where I was taking you. Well, first of all, I acknowledge you're clever enough to have some idea of where we are, regardless of my attempts to obfuscate it." Good. Because if he thought I couldn't figure out we were in a shipping warehouse at the port then I'd have been even more insulted than I already was. "But now on the off-chance you do end up going to the authorities instead of following through with our plan you won't have anything more precise than that."
He shrugged and rolled me onto my side so he could check the ropes around my shoulders and legs. "In the time it takes them to find this place I'll have long since triggered all of my failsafes and vanished." Apparently satisfied he grinned down at me and patted me on the head.
"Now, get comfortable! I need to clean up." Then he turned to walk to the other side of the room. From how the couch was arranged I couldn't see at least half of it like this and he quickly passed out of sight.
He might have expected me to protest. Something like 'you can't leave me here like this', or what have you. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. There were better things I could do with my time. Like making my escape, and killing him.
Even if I assumed that he wasn't blatantly lying about helping me fake my death, and I wasn't planning to make any assumptions about this man's trustworthiness, there was no guarantee of what might happen to me afterwards. But someone who kills people for money ought to have resources on hand, right? Cash, guns, fake passports, things of that nature. Not all of which would be useful to me as-is but might help me prolong my freedom.
First step was to get out of the ropes. I had… some experience with that. Not a lot, given how little privacy I'd had in my life under my mother's rule, but some. My wrists and ankles were connected by a length of rope and more of it went around me to support my body and turn that rope into an effective handle. A lot of time had been put into making sure I was easy to carry, huh… that bastard.
I could hear the sound of a shower starting somewhere. That's what he'd meant? My first thought had been putting away weapons before he untied me, but all he wanted was a shower? Again I felt like I was being insulted, or underestimated, or both. I'd show him.
Although my range of motion was limited I could turn my head and look around. No convenient knives hung from the walls or were sat out on his surfaces, but… there was a glass on the low table between the couch and the television. That would do. All of my attempts to shuffle sideways were pathetically slow since I couldn't separate my knees.
Even so I managed to slide off the couch and roll towards the table. Landing on my side let me arch my body and shuffle towards the table. When I got there I bumped into the side until the glass finally rolled off it and then broke on the ground. For a few seconds I held still, listening with bated breath. The shower was still running, though, and I couldn't hear any footsteps.
The shards had spread around a bit and I carefully stared at them while trying to commit to memory exactly where they were. Then I rocked from side to side until I rolled over again and carefully reached out until I felt a piece. It wasn't easy to twist it around so I could cut the rope between my feet and hands but when I'd finished the shower was still going.
With my wrists and ankles no longer bound together I was able to move more freely. The glass shard wouldn't be nearly long enough but he had to have a kitchen; if I could get a knife then I could probably cut the binding on my wrists and then… I'd be free… and he would be unarmed and naked.
I stood up and looked straight into the smirking face of 'Malcolm'. He was seated on a chair across the room, in a spot I couldn't have seen from the couch or the floor, and his gun was held loosely in his hand. For a moment he said nothing and then he nodded.
"Not bad. Three minutes to break the glass, then another two to cut it. I am impressed, Miss Stirling. You'll do just fine on this job." The amusement in his expression only heightened when I sagged in place. "Don't be too hard on yourself. I've got more experience with murder than you have with being alive. You outsmarting me? It's just not going to happen. This will be much less painful for you if you stick to doing things my way, alright?"
It took everything I had not to break down in shame. He'd just been… what, toying with me? Testing me? Both? I felt humiliated yet again. This wasn't much different than things had been for me at home.
But then he stowed the pistol in his jacket and walked over to pat my head. Like I was a child, or maybe a dog. I instinctively moved to swat his arm away but it felt like hitting an iron bar. He was much, much stronger than I was, it seemed. After a couple more pats he withdrew and walked back across the room.
Now I could see all of it. There was another there which he walked over to and deliberately punched a keycode in that he didn't even bother to hide. Three-three-two-eight-four. Then he looked back and winked at me.
"Good night, Miss Stirling. We'll get started in the morning. Spare blankets are stored in the cupboard under the television. Feel free to watch something, but the volume is locked at a certain limit. Help yourself to anything in the mini-fridge. We'll get started in the morning."
Then he stepped through the door and it clicked behind him. I stared blankly at it for a while and then went to the small kitchen. There was, as he had said, small refrigerator there as well as a portable induction cooker and a pantry of basic essentials. I took a soda from the fridge and a dustpan from one of the cupboards. The former I left on the table while I brushed up the glass shards. I didn't empty it in the end, though.
The soda was the sweetest thing I'd had in weeks. I sat there and sipped it slowly whilst I idly browsed the channels on the television until I finally fell asleep.
After some time the vehicle stopped. A door opened and slammed, then there was silence for a moment until I heard another door slide open. Something was moved above me and a compartment was opened up. I blinked in the sudden light only to find that I had apparently been concealed beneath the floor of a minivan. Somewhere beyond the door I could hear the cry of gulls and the sound of ships.
'Malcolm' leaned over me and pulled me out of the hollow; carrying me like a trussed-up pig between what looked to be shipping containers. He stopped beside one and opened the lock on it, then stepped inside. I was dropped on something soft while he walked away into the dark space. Everything lit up suddenly and I tried in vain to shield my eyes against the brightness.
We were in a surprisingly spacious room that, from what I could see, appeared to have been made by connecting the interiors of a number of adjacent cargo containers. The furnishings were modest compared to what I was used to but didn't look cheap, at least. A simple couch, rugs, dining table and one chair, even a television. My captor was by a light switch that he had just clearly flicked on. Then he began to walk back over to me.
"How's your head? Feeling dizzy, dehydrated, need a bathroom break? Rope too tight?" I was taken aback at the sudden barrage of questions and focused on myself for a moment in order to self-assess. My head definitely felt fuzzy but not too bad. Thirst was negligible, and I didn't need the toilet. As for my restraints… when I tried to wiggle a bit I found that they were disturbingly expert. However… I eagerly awaited the moment when he reached me and removed my gag.
"You! You choked me! Why did you do that?" The last thing I could recall before I'd woken up was him grabbing me. It had happened so quickly. Awake one second and gone the next. Any thoughts I might have had of resistance had been crushed in an instant. He'd systematically removed all of my defensive measures while keeping me engaged in conversation and then… it sent shivers down my spine when I imagined what he could have done if his intentions had been bad. Well… worse.
"So you wouldn't be able to tell where I was taking you. Well, first of all, I acknowledge you're clever enough to have some idea of where we are, regardless of my attempts to obfuscate it." Good. Because if he thought I couldn't figure out we were in a shipping warehouse at the port then I'd have been even more insulted than I already was. "But now on the off-chance you do end up going to the authorities instead of following through with our plan you won't have anything more precise than that."
He shrugged and rolled me onto my side so he could check the ropes around my shoulders and legs. "In the time it takes them to find this place I'll have long since triggered all of my failsafes and vanished." Apparently satisfied he grinned down at me and patted me on the head.
"Now, get comfortable! I need to clean up." Then he turned to walk to the other side of the room. From how the couch was arranged I couldn't see at least half of it like this and he quickly passed out of sight.
He might have expected me to protest. Something like 'you can't leave me here like this', or what have you. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. There were better things I could do with my time. Like making my escape, and killing him.
Even if I assumed that he wasn't blatantly lying about helping me fake my death, and I wasn't planning to make any assumptions about this man's trustworthiness, there was no guarantee of what might happen to me afterwards. But someone who kills people for money ought to have resources on hand, right? Cash, guns, fake passports, things of that nature. Not all of which would be useful to me as-is but might help me prolong my freedom.
First step was to get out of the ropes. I had… some experience with that. Not a lot, given how little privacy I'd had in my life under my mother's rule, but some. My wrists and ankles were connected by a length of rope and more of it went around me to support my body and turn that rope into an effective handle. A lot of time had been put into making sure I was easy to carry, huh… that bastard.
I could hear the sound of a shower starting somewhere. That's what he'd meant? My first thought had been putting away weapons before he untied me, but all he wanted was a shower? Again I felt like I was being insulted, or underestimated, or both. I'd show him.
Although my range of motion was limited I could turn my head and look around. No convenient knives hung from the walls or were sat out on his surfaces, but… there was a glass on the low table between the couch and the television. That would do. All of my attempts to shuffle sideways were pathetically slow since I couldn't separate my knees.
Even so I managed to slide off the couch and roll towards the table. Landing on my side let me arch my body and shuffle towards the table. When I got there I bumped into the side until the glass finally rolled off it and then broke on the ground. For a few seconds I held still, listening with bated breath. The shower was still running, though, and I couldn't hear any footsteps.
The shards had spread around a bit and I carefully stared at them while trying to commit to memory exactly where they were. Then I rocked from side to side until I rolled over again and carefully reached out until I felt a piece. It wasn't easy to twist it around so I could cut the rope between my feet and hands but when I'd finished the shower was still going.
With my wrists and ankles no longer bound together I was able to move more freely. The glass shard wouldn't be nearly long enough but he had to have a kitchen; if I could get a knife then I could probably cut the binding on my wrists and then… I'd be free… and he would be unarmed and naked.
I stood up and looked straight into the smirking face of 'Malcolm'. He was seated on a chair across the room, in a spot I couldn't have seen from the couch or the floor, and his gun was held loosely in his hand. For a moment he said nothing and then he nodded.
"Not bad. Three minutes to break the glass, then another two to cut it. I am impressed, Miss Stirling. You'll do just fine on this job." The amusement in his expression only heightened when I sagged in place. "Don't be too hard on yourself. I've got more experience with murder than you have with being alive. You outsmarting me? It's just not going to happen. This will be much less painful for you if you stick to doing things my way, alright?"
It took everything I had not to break down in shame. He'd just been… what, toying with me? Testing me? Both? I felt humiliated yet again. This wasn't much different than things had been for me at home.
But then he stowed the pistol in his jacket and walked over to pat my head. Like I was a child, or maybe a dog. I instinctively moved to swat his arm away but it felt like hitting an iron bar. He was much, much stronger than I was, it seemed. After a couple more pats he withdrew and walked back across the room.
Now I could see all of it. There was another there which he walked over to and deliberately punched a keycode in that he didn't even bother to hide. Three-three-two-eight-four. Then he looked back and winked at me.
"Good night, Miss Stirling. We'll get started in the morning. Spare blankets are stored in the cupboard under the television. Feel free to watch something, but the volume is locked at a certain limit. Help yourself to anything in the mini-fridge. We'll get started in the morning."
Then he stepped through the door and it clicked behind him. I stared blankly at it for a while and then went to the small kitchen. There was, as he had said, small refrigerator there as well as a portable induction cooker and a pantry of basic essentials. I took a soda from the fridge and a dustpan from one of the cupboards. The former I left on the table while I brushed up the glass shards. I didn't empty it in the end, though.
The soda was the sweetest thing I'd had in weeks. I sat there and sipped it slowly whilst I idly browsed the channels on the television until I finally fell asleep.
Last edited:
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Aw, c'mon, Mira isn't that bad, is she?
I mean, she's pretty bad by design, but...
Evilhippy
The Cum Lord
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Yeah, she pretty bad.
Secret Secretion
Hi!
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