Assassin Lover Scene 2

In a few hours, there would be a party. A retirement party, held for a guard that had worked for the Langleys for decades. Apparently, he was even friends with Amelia's deceased husband, the late "Duke John Langley III of Milhurst". Ray had seen pictures of him before, but it was hard to believe anyone could make friends with, let alone marry, a man as imposing as he was. The Duke, that is. Cecil the guard was the opposite of imposing. Tiny and frail, with big, wet eyes and a slow, shambling walk. How he managed to stay a guard, and the head guard on top of it, with a face that practically screamed "I'm completely harmless", Ray would never know. It didn't really matter to him, anyway. All he cared about was the party. All of the staff, as well as their families, would be there to say their goodbyes. This included the other security guards, leaving the estate without its typical, poorly scheduled security rotation. There could be no better time to disappear.

Ray needed to make a presence at the party before he could slip out, but it wouldn't need to be for long. He was known to be socially anxious, so if he dipped out a little early, that would only be natural. It was all there, and he couldn't make a better opportunity if he tried, so why did it feel like everything was going horribly wrong? Ray's leg jittered as he sat on the bed, making this rapid thumping noise that echoed maddeningly in his room. He had been trying everything he could to quiet the words in his head. Sentences that invaded every thought he had.

'Are you really going to do this?'

'You're going to look so stupid when this falls through.'

'You ruined your life, and nothing will change.'

'You can never change.'

He got up, went into his way-too-big closet, and kneeled down in front of the high end safe he had bought in secret. It blended in well enough as to not draw attention, but there was a cold aura emanating from within. The contents had quietly haunted him ever since he brought it home, slowly filling his mind with paranoia. It was a monster in his closet, and yet it was a constant reminder of how close he was to paradise. He punched in the code, each button harder to press than the last, turned the handle, and pulled out a shock-proof briefcase. He laid it on the ground, worked its combination locks, and carefully lifted the lid. And there they were. The contraband he smuggled in from America, hopefully still in pristine condition. 5 pieces, that was all he had. 5 attempts at love, at a life he actually wanted to live. That is, if he could get him to agree. Looking at them felt like staring into his own grave, but he was in too deep to shy away now. He had to pick one to be the first, but which? He didn't really know anything about them. His friend tried to explain, but he was never the best communicator.

Ray ran his hand over all 5 pieces in delusional hope that one would jump up and volunteer. This whole endeavor had taken years off his life. His blood always felt cold now, and his muscles were sore from constant tension. Between the stress and his painting, he slept maybe 2 or 3 hours a day without schedule. By this point, he had developed a severe case of narcolepsy. For the past few days, after he almost fell asleep while painting, he had confined himself to his room. More so than usual, that is. He wanted to reach out for help, but he was all alone in this. He had to solve his own problems and suffer in silence. No one would be there to hold his hand, not until this was over. He settled on one of the five pieces; the largest. Best to get it out of the way first. The party wasn't for a few more hours, so the contraband would have to wait a while longer for freedom, but now he had one less decision to worry about.

When he got up, Ray noticed his heart was beating harder, and the sudden rush of blood made him light headed. He took a deep breath, but that only made his fingertips buzz. He needed to relax. A swim might've helped, but he just couldn't bring himself to leave his room. There was an obvious answer, one only he knew about, except it always left him feeling a little disappointed in himself. Then again, it wasn't worse than anything he'd done already. He walked to his window, opened it wide, and reached under the chair next to it, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a cheap gas station lighter. Even though it had been over a month since he bought it, the pack was only half empty. He didn't really get the appeal, because all it did was make his tongue feel weird and dry. There was only one thing he liked about the habit; it brought back the memory of him. The memory of that night. Of the bed, and the couch, and the morning after. He took one in his mouth and lit it, cupping the flame against the breeze, and watched the smoke trail up into the air.

**********************

It's happened again. I'm tired, but I can't sleep. There's a weight in my chest holding me down, keeping me awake. I need to do something. So I get up, slip into my clothes, and go for a smoke. I close my ancient, heavy wooden door and walk down the narrow steps that lead out to the street. Keqing Wu is sitting on the metal bench outside of the shop. Her face is hidden in shadow, but I couldn't mistake that lavender stripe in her dark hair. It's the dead of night, why is she here?

"Good evening, Keqing," I say.

"Hello, Chad," she replies, staring into the road.

I take a seat next to her, and notice that she is better dressed than usual. As she lifts her head, I see that she's wearing more makeup than usual, too. She really is very pretty, even in the dim glow of the streetlamps, but tonight she had done everything she could to accentuate her best features. No, wait. There's something off. Tiny mistakes, things you would only miss if you were in a hurry. I don't know why I noticed those mistakes, but there was a new picture being painted.

"Are we waiting for someone?" I ask.

"Why else would I be here?" Her tone is somewhat clipped, but then she sighs and sags a little, "I'm waiting for my Uber to Anna's house."

"Are you visiting Anna, or her brother?"

Keqing wraps her arms around herself and says nothing. Anna has been her friend since primary school, but recently she has been more interested in Anna's brother. It's the kind of drama I never cared for, but the Wus are the closest thing I had to family, and it's hard not to care about family.

She lets her arms relax as she tells me, "Anna's visiting family in the countryside. Her parents are with her, too."

"But not her brother?" I ask.

Keqing shakes her head, "His boss wouldn't give him the time off. He's home alone."

It makes me sad to see her like this. They've been hiding their relationship from their families, but secrets have weight to them. I know that weight all too well, and you can only carry so much.

I take out a cigarette as we talk, "Did he call you over?"

Keqing closes her eyes, "No, I asked to come. I had a row with my parents again. I told them I was spending the night at Anna's."

I light the cigarette and shrug, "Not a lie, technically."

Keqing laughs, "Yeah, I guess it's not," then she holds out two fingers, expecting a cigarette from me, "And what about you? You don't normally smoke this late."

"And you would know," I say, passing her the lighter.

She shrugs, "I never hear you come down the stairs at night."

Good. In truth, I've done a lot of work at night, but she doesn't need to know that.

"No reason. Just felt like having a smoke is all."

"Liar," she says with a big grin, "It's that man, isn't it? You can't stop thinking about him."

I lean forward, resting my arms on my knees, "Does it matter?"

"It does!" Keqing says defensively, "It's love, no matter how much you pretend it isn't."

"It's sex. It was good and I hadn't had any in a while, that's all. Besides, even if it was love, what could I possibly give him?"

"Good sex, apparently," She scoffs as she takes another drag, "I wouldn't know what else. You never told us about him."

I hadn't, had I? I lean back, trying to think how best to describe him.

"He's rich," I say.

"Is he? That's a surprise".

"Oi, what's that supposed to mean?"

She giggles. I guess she has a point. I don't exactly live in excess, but I was wearing that suit when we met. Did he think I always dressed like that?

"How do you know he's rich?" Keqing asks.

"You should've seen the suite he was staying in. Everything was high class. The bed, especially. The softest sheets I've ever felt."

"Of course you remember the bed. So, what did he look like?"

"Oh, well... he's a bit younger than me."

"Yeah? How young?"

"I, uh, couldn't say, really. Maybe a couple years or so," I tell her as I rub my neck.

That was a lie, of course, but if she knew the truth I wouldn't hear the end of it.

"He's fit. He looks like... a swimmer, I suppose. I might be biased, though. I saw him swim; he's very good."

Keqing tilts her head and asks, "And that's all you remember? A rich, young swimmer?"

Of course not. I remember everything. From the profile I was given, I knew more about him than his own family likely did. That was just data, though. Height, weight, diet, those sorts of things. There was more to him than that. A lot more.

I remember his softness, his warmth. I remember how his chestnut hair felt like coarse fur. I remember how his eyes would grow wide whenever his heart beat fast. I remember the tremble in his pink lips whenever we kissed. Every time I close my eyes, I see him. I see him laying naked on the bed. I see him stare into my eyes. I see him asleep in my arms. But I also see him at the other end of my gun, begging for his life. Is that why I'm awake? I don't want to see him?

"He... I don't remember much else, truth be told..."

Keqing pouts, "Chad, stop it. Just admit how you feel."

"And then? I can't call him. I don't know where he lives or where to find him. He's gone, end of story. There's nothing I can do about it."

"Have you tried?" Keqing asks.

I don't answer. I'm silent. So is she. The conversation is over. A car arrives, and she waves goodbye as she climbs inside. I wave back, then watch the car drive away. It's getting cold.

I go inside, take off my clothes, and climb into bed. For some time I just lay there, considering everything I've ever done and why, of all things, I can't seem to overcome this. I still can't sleep. I sit up, and in the light coming through my window, I see my couch. Something comes over me. A feeling, or an instinct. It wouldn't hurt to try. I grab my blanket and a pillow and lay down. It's small, but for a moment I feel a memory pass through my body, and suddenly I'm tired. I let my eyes close, and fall asleep.

*BEEP* *BEEP* *BEEEEEEEP*

My mobile. That's my mobile. I open my eyes. It's morning, and I'm not tired. I slept well. Was it because of the couch? I get up, walk to my table, and pick up my mobile. A message? I don't know the number, but I know what it is. It's the same thing, the only thing, I ever get a message for. A new job. A new target.

**********************

The party was in full swing. Well, as full swing as retirement parties could get. An old movie on the tv, and wine and cake on the table. Cakes, actually, and not cheap ones. It was strange; Ray spent so many years inside the manor, and yet there were so many faces he didn't recognize. Were they all staff, or...? It didn't matter. Whoever they were, they would be another witness to his alibi, and that was good enough for him.

Ray weaved through the crowd, looking for his dad. He was soap boxing his global unity rhetoric to a group of reluctant listeners. There were a lot of pained smiles in the group, but who could blame them? What were they going to do about global affairs? Dust off the guillotines? Ray didn't spend too much time there, just swinging in to distract his father and give the hostages time to escape. He said goodbye and searched for his next target. There was a DJ set up in the next room, and Ray found Duchess Ameila dancing with a number of other guests. When she noticed Ray, she broke away and came over to talk.

"Hello Ramone," She said, out of breath, "Enjoying the party?"

"Yeah I... Yeah. It's fun," he replied.

Amelia's face soured, "Ramone, have you been drinking?"

"Well just the wine and-"

"Don't lie to me, please. I can smell the liquor on your breath."

Ray sighed. He drank all through the first hour of the party, but even then it wasn't enough to calm him down.

Amelia took Ray's hand in both of hers, "Your father doesn't want you to drink alone anymore, and I agree. You're an adult and I am not your mother, I know, but he's still your father and he doesn't want to see you hurt yourself."

Ray pulled his hand free and stepped back, "I, uh... I was about to go lay down, actually." Amelia frowned, but Ray quickly added, "I was only drinking in the kitchen, I swear. There's nothing in my room."

Well, there was something, but it wasn't alcohol. Ray hadn't lied when he said he'd only been drinking in the kitchen. He needed some time away from it just to collect his thoughts and feel sane for a short while. After an attempt to get Ray to stay for a dance, Amelia let him go. Ray tried not to look like he was in a hurry, but his confidence, or residual intoxication, was beginning to wear off.

It felt like a blur, moving through the large, empty halls and up the stairs. Then he found himself in his closet, looking down at the open case. Suddenly, nothing made sense. It was getting harder to breathe and his heart wouldn't slow down. He started to panic, like he was seconds away from death again. He closed the case and stashed it away, unable to even look at it anymore. His stomach was in knots and his head was light. He opened the window to breathe in fresh air, and then he thought of him. He thought about that night they spent together, and how perfect it was. Everything he had done was just to have another night with him; to feel that perfect moment again. That was worth more than anything.

Ray walked quickly down the stairs and into the foyer, heading for the doors at a clip. He decided against changing his clothes; his designer suit and tie should be enough to impress him. He was almost to the door, but a voice made him stop.

"Ray?"

Ray turned on his heel with a forced smile and said cheerily, "Hi, Beatrice. What has you up at such a late hour?"

If anyone could act more suspicious, they deserved an academy award.

"Ray, it's only half past 6. I wouldn't exactly call that late," Beatrice replied, "And I've been at the party? The one that's been going on for the past four hours? Does any of this ring a bell?"

"Oh, yeah, right," Ray said, still smiling, "I... I must've forgot."

"You were here an hour ago, then you left, and now you're pretending that you were never here at all," Beatrice said, stepping closer, "Ray, is something wrong?"

"No!" He replied, maybe a little too quickly, "No, I was, uh... just stepping out for some air."

"Well... before you go, I want to say something to you," Beatrice's tone changed to something more sad, almost regretful, "Ramone, about that man, I just wanted to say that I'm very sorry he turned you away, but that was bound to happen. It's not your fault, it's just how those types of people are. You don't get to a position of power by having lots of love in your heart. You get there because you're driven, focused, and selfish. You care about yourself, and everyone else comes second. He was never going to love you; it isn't in his nature. And even if he did, then what? You'll follow him around to every conference he goes to in hopes he'll be in the mood? Do you really want to live as another man's dirty secret? It hurts, but it was for the best. You may not see that now, but you will in time, yeah?"

Ray was silent, the fake smile gone from his face.

"I get it, Beatrice. I should let him go," Ray said in a voice far too cold to be his own, "I'm going to get some air. I'll see you later."

Outside, Ray went to the tarp half-buried in the shade of a tree. He pulled it out and unwrapped the electric bicycle he had hidden a few days prior. It took him a second to figure out how it worked, but soon he was moving in total silence. He had a lot to think about as he pedaled up the road that ran along Kingfisher lake. He didn't want to think about anything, though. The road rose as it followed along the ridge around the lake, and as his speed dropped further and further, time began to slow. He could feel the nagging, doubtful thoughts pressing in on him, each trying to worm its way into his mind. He summoned his strength and picked up his speed, determined to outrun them.

Sooner than expected, he reached the shrouded dirt road that led into the grounds around the lake. He hopped the fence, leaving his bike behind, and walked until he was at the clearing on the edge of the cliff overlooking the lake. The glassy water reflected the setting sun's bright hues and wind blew the tiniest of waves across its surface. It was peaceful. If he died here, at least he'd die with a nice view. It wouldn't be long now until-

"Hello, Ramone."

**********************

"Hello, Chad," he says in reply, his back turned to me.

I tighten my grip on my pistol, still aiming for the back of his head, "I hoped to never see you again, but I suppose you can't always get what you want."

"But if you try some times?"

"£30,000 is a bit more than last time."

"What was it last time?"

"10,000."

"Huh. I guess I should feel insulted."

"This one came from someone else, but I'm sure you know who."

He gives a quiet chuckle before he takes out his mobile and taps the screen twice. There's a ping on mine a moment later.

"Figured as much," I say.

With two quiet clicks, my gun is uncocked and the safety is back on. I tuck it back into my waistband behind me, covering it with my shirt. He turns to speak, and his voice is just as soft as I remember.

"It was the only way to get you here," he says.

"A call wouldn't work, seeing as you have my name and number?"

"Would you have come otherwise?"

"...no."

"That's why, then."

A pause settles. It feels like we have nothing else to say to each other, yet I know that's not the truth. Did he really spend all that money just to see me again?

He turns to face the lake again, and just as I'm about to leave, he says, "You know, a lot of people die hiking in America."

"Same as in Europe, I would think," I reply, turning back around.

"Yeah, I know. Difference is we don't have castles and villages all over the place to find when you get lost."

"It's not likely here, either. We don't exactly build on every spot of land we see."

"Well you guys are famous for colonizing. America, Australia, India, Africa. There's a pattern."

"My mother was Congolese, so I don't count myself among the guilty."

"Are you from Africa?"

"Finish your story."

Another moment passes before he continues, "Woods are easy to get lost in, and in North America, there's a lot of animals that'll kill at the drop of a hat. Cougars, bobcats, grizzly bears, moose."

"Moose?"

He shrugs, "Yeah. They're a lot more dangerous than people give them credit for," then his arms rise to hold himself, and suddenly his words are ever so slightly choked, "If you die in the woods, you're usually eaten before anyone can find you..."

My blood turns to ice as I ask, "Why are you telling me all this?"

I see this throat move as he swallows hard, "I decided that it wouldn't be so bad to die in the woods. I'd prefer it over being killed on the streets or-"

"Enough!" I try not to yell, but I can't bear another word, "I won't kill you. You can't pay me to help in your suicide."

"I want... I want to give you a chance, Chad. I know your name now. I have your identity. You're not a ghost anymore. If you don't want that, well..." He gestures behind me, "I bought that bike brand new two days ago. No one knows about it, and they don't know I'm here. They all think I'm sleeping in my room or drinking in the kitchen. It's a very light model. The bike, I mean. With your strength, you could probably throw it pretty far into the lake. And as for me... This cliffside is pretty inaccessible. There's a lot of undergrowth, so if you just push me over-"