BPOV – present day
The dull smacking thud of taped flesh punching bare skin was a comfort to me. I welcomed the auditory evidence of our sparring almost as much as I did the burn of my muscles and the scent of the rubberized flooring. This sort of session usually left me energized and ready to take on the world, and today was no different. Two other pairs were present in the large field house, and as our intensity increased, they stood aside to give us more space. We had been going at it for close to twenty minutes now, and my older brother was beginning to show a bit of wear. I smiled inwardly, knowing that just a little more time and he’d be done. And I would win. Again.
“Come on, you pussy. I know you can do better than that.” I so enjoyed ribbing him on. He always reacted so nicely. Predictable was James’ fucking middle name. I enjoyed that, too. And it wasn’t that he was a poor fighter… not at all. It was just that we had fought together a few times too many.
He glared up at me, crouched in a stance that would make any defensive American football player proud. One hand to the floor, elbow to knee, fingers barely touching the rubber. I continued to bounce on the balls of my feet, shifting my weight from side to side. When we first began sparring together, it didn’t take me long to realize that I could keep him off balance by refusing to settle in any one ‘ready’ position. I could see the irritation flashing in his eyes as he was debating his response. I grinned, knowing that he had nothing on me, never did, and I could tell by the twitch of his muscles that he had decided to forego the shit-talking and just go with it. The music blaring over the speakers caught my attention and I smiled widely now, not able to resist egging him on further.
“Come on Jimmy… dance with me!”
That did it. He sprung forward with all the fierce beauty of a dangerous cat, intent on just making the obvious tackle. Boy had been watching way too much ESPN lately.
I dodged him easily, dancing to the left and hooking my right elbow around his neck just enough to swing myself upon his back. I wrapped my left arm around the top of his head and grabbed his newly shorn locks, just hard enough to get his attention. I wasn’t looking to break his neck, not today.
He growled, pissed off, and reached behind me to grab my shirt. He’d tried to flip me over his head so many times, it was almost expected, but he completely threw me off, literally, when he suddenly changed direction and brought his arms down, reached for my right hand with his left, grabbed the right side of my pants, and slung me sideways off of him and halfway across the floor. Fuck. I wouldn’t have been pissed, except that rubber fucking burns when you slide on it, and I now had a nice big red skid mark on my right hip.
“For fuck’s sake, James, did you have to give me rubber burn?” I rolled onto my belly and pushed up off the floor, rolling my shoulders and examining the mark on my side.
“Who’s the pussy now, sis?” It was half-sneer, and his pride over that last little maneuver was just this side of irritating enough. I felt my eyes involuntarily tighten into slits, and I was ready to just let loose and fucking bash his head in when the door to the gymnasium flew open, crashing against the wall. My father entered; no expression on his face but determination in every step. Everyone who had been watching James and I picked up where they left off and the huge room was again filled with the rhythmic sounds of fighting. Charlie spared no glance for any of them, choosing instead to continue in a bee line towards us. He barely glanced at James, focusing instead on me. I knew what he wanted before he even told me, and I could feel myself tense in anticipation. A new assignment. And a new assignment meant only one thing - someone new to kill.
“Bella, come with me. James, go clean up and meet us in ten.”
I glanced over to see my brother nod obediently as he turned to gather his things and head for the male shower area. I moved toward the gymnasium doors, my father already halfway there and not bothering to check whether or not I followed him. He knew that I would. The blood was rushing through my head and I could hear its steady beat in my ears. Usually, I did not react like this until I was in place and ready to complete my assignment, but I suspected that the adrenaline from sparring combined with the tense vibes I was getting off of Charlie were heightening my awareness even more than usual. I had always been able to sense these things about people – their emotions, their train of thought, even. I knew exactly what Charlie wanted, and it wasn’t because this sort of interaction was habitual for us, although it was. I just knew.
I followed Charlie across the grassy field that separated the field house from the rest of the complex. The house in which we lived was a monstrosity, its oldest parts dating back to the early 16th century. It had been left to Charlie from his father, a man I had never met and that Charlie rarely spoke of. He had died long before I was born, and it was an area where I was content to let sleeping dogs lie, as they say. The grounds that the house sat on were extensive, and if you had put me on the gravel drive and told me to find my way to Exeter, or even Cullompton, for that matter, I wouldn’t have had a clue. I excelled at what I did as surely as the sun rose in the east, but Charlie had always required that I be kept ignorant of exactly where we resided. I knew we were in Dover, as I knew the towns we travelled from were located there, but I did not know exactly where. It was fairly frustrating, and I had always had a sneaking suspicion that Charlie’s purposes were not the reasons he always gave me.
I shook of the feeling of unease that was tempering my hyperawareness of the new situation I was about to be thrust into. I would need all my faculties about me for any assignment, but I had a feeling that this was going to be something different. I continued to follow Charlie in silence, having caught up to him in the yard and now slipped silently behind him though closing doors and winding, drafty hallways. He had chosen to make his offices in the oldest part of the house, and as I shivered I thought that he had probably made a pretty good choice in that. No one would desire to be in this part of the mansion without good reason. Cold in winter, hot in summer, and just generally all-around unpleasant, it was.
I slid through the last doorway and into Charlie’s study. A fire had been lit to ward off the cool air that still hung about this early in May, and I quickly moved to stand in front of it. The breeze outside had cooled the sweat on my skin and I was fairly shivering at that point from the sudden temperature change. Charlie still had not uttered a sound since we left the field house, and even now he remained silent as he stepped around to the massive, ornately carved cherry wood desk. It, too, had belonged to his father, and was one of the few items that had made the trip from Italy back to England with him when he left the Volturi’s main operation. I had always heard stories about the beauty of the Emilia-Romagna region and the vineyards that disguised the shady operations of our mother organization, but had never been. Charlie had left under mysterious circumstances long ago, and had not returned since. As he was still bending to the will of the Volturi superiors, I could only assume that whatever it was had not been a falling out of any sort. I settled myself into one of the sumptuous armchairs stationed near the fireplace, prepared to wait my father out. He was a quiet, contemplative man, and would only speak when he was ready. I had learned at a very early age to have patience with him. I feigned examining my nails while I waited for him to speak, the anticipation still thrumming through me. I was still practically vibrating with it, although outwardly I knew it wouldn’t be noticeable.
I got no joy out of killing, specifically. It did not make me overly happy to watch the life fade from someone’s eyes, or the inevitable flurry of emotions that crossed their faces as they realized what was happening. It was more that I had accomplished the single thing I was good at, and it was an almost orgasmic feeling for me. Stress relief, in its own way. And I knew that the stress was of my own making, when I would prepare to go in and perform the way I had been taught to, but the overwhelming feeling of relief was no less welcome.
The sound of a thick, heavy folder hitting the desk brought my attention back to the present and I looked up to see Charlie opening it, arranging the sheets of paper inside so that they were perfectly stacked and sorted. I stood from my comfortable position on the soft cushions and made my way to the much less pleasant wooden chairs that immediately faced the desk. They were the same cherry wood as the larger piece of furniture, and about as comfortable. I sat down on the edge of the seat, posture rigid and hands folded demurely in front of me. My old governess, Kate, would have an apoplexy if she caught me sitting in front of Charlie in any other position. He did not necessarily require that I behave that way, but she certainly did.
Charlie unceremoniously slid the open folder across the desk and turned it so the text faced me. The first page of the file resembled something like a cover letter, as did most files I received. Usually, the letter outlined my assignment in very basic terms – name, location, and all the other pertinent details I would require. This one was different, however. It was worn from much handling, the edges of it beginning to curl. There were marks in the paper where it had been folded and unfolded many times, and when I smoothed my hand over it to iron out the page, it had an almost fabric-like quality to it that came from years of wear. I read the list – all names, some crossed out, others noted in Charlie’s carefully neat handwriting in different shades of ink. Several pencil marks were all but faded. The list read thusly:
Clark Platt – 1978
Lois Platt – 1978
Renée Platt – 1993 (Phil Dwyer - same.)
Esme Platt
And then, under the typed names came a handwritten list, not new, but not the same age as the paper, either:
Carlisle Cullen
Emmett Cullen - Iraq, 2007
Alice Cullen
Edward Masen
I scrunched my nose as I stared at the laundry list before me. “Really, Charlie? All these at once? That’s new.”
Charlie exhaled. If I thought I had any choice in the matter, I would have wondered whether he had been anticipating my refusal of his list. “I’ve already taken care of at least half. Well, except the Marine. I had to pull strings on that one, but it worked out.”
Yeesh. I knew Charlie had connections, but damn.
“At any rate, you’ll be travelling to the US for this one.” He pulled the cover sheet up, revealing the second, much more recent page. “San Diego. Your flight has been arranged for tonight and you will be picked up tomorrow morning by Carlisle Cullen.”
“Really? That’s interesting.” I’d never had to make friendly with a target before. Well, not like this, anyway. “So I assume this is going to take a bit of time then, isn’t it?”
“Right. You’ll be staying in the Cullen household, under the pretense of completing an assignment for Carlisle. He has called and requested your services in regards to his nephew, Edward Masen.” He flipped the first page back and pointed to the last name on the list. “Carlisle fears for his position in the family. Believes Edward is scheming to take over, some rubbish along those lines. But you, my girl,” he rubbed his hands together vigorously, obviously ecstatic about something, “You are going to solve his problem, permanently. When you’re through, there won’t be a family to worry about.”
Closing the folder softly and sliding it off the desk and into my lap, I bit my lip and studied Charlie carefully. It was almost as if this were some grand joke to him, like he was about to experience the satisfaction of a lifetime. It felt off, which was strange, because I’d never experienced anything like this before an assignment. I didn’t like it.
“What’s this really about, Charlie, hmm? Why am I all of a sudden taking out an entire family, as opposed to a single strategic target? Why not just eliminate this Edward Masen and call it a day?” It wasn’t that I was feeling any sort of desire to loiter over this, but it just struck me as being a little too personal, from the vibes I was getting off my father. He never acted like this. Ever.
“Who are you to question my actions, girl? I, who have cared for you and made sure you’ve had every need seen to? Where would you be without me today?” I continued to glare at him, having long grown tired of him lording his ‘generosity’ over me as if I were some untried 12-year-old lass. When he saw that I was not going to cower and back down, he relented with a sigh. “If you must know, Isabella, this family has a particular desire to see each and every one of us dead. It’s merely a matter of getting to them before they can get to us.” He leaned back in his giant leather office chair, hands folded across his belly. He quirked an eyebrow, something he did when he was feeling particularly patronizing. “Any other questions, child?”
I rose, slapping the edge of the folder against his desk in an absent gesture. “Nope. Thanks for the info, Charlie.”
I heard his undignified snort as I headed out the door. He hated it when I called him Charlie.
*****
I nearly ran straight into James as I left Charlie’s offices. I should have heard him coming a mile away, as sensitive as my hearing was, but I was preoccupied with my conversation with Charlie. I raised my hands in a defensive gesture, and James slowed me by grabbing my elbows. The heavy manila file was wedged between us and I immediately stepped back to support it with two hands and keep the unbound contents from flying everywhere. I looked up, and for once wasn’t fazed by the snarky smirk on James’ face.
“Must be some BFD for you to be that distracted, wee one.” He was looking at me expectantly, waiting for me to take the bait. I was still mulling everything over and not really paying attention, simply focusing on getting to my rooms so I could prepare to leave as soon as possible.
“Yeah, it is. Listen, I have to go. Try not to get into too much trouble while I’m gone, will you?” I patted his arm and sidestepped around him, looking back over my shoulder. “See you.”
He raised his hand halfway, looking slightly confused. “See you.”
*****
My rooms were situated in a new part of the mansion, probably as far away from Charlie’s quarters as possible. It took me a good five minutes to get there, and that was with keeping my eyes cast down and walking with extreme purpose. I did not bother to open the file again, preferring to wait until I was in the air so that I could clear my mind and truly focus on the information. I was so keyed up, that I knew I would not sleep for much of the twelve-hour flight. Upon entering my chambers, I tossed the folder onto the marble-topped table I liked to use as my desk. The rose colored stone, with its veins of green and grey, was probably my favorite piece of furniture in the entire suite, aside from my bed. I had decorated my sitting area around the piece, and so while the walls were a calming shade of earthy brown, the rest of the room had touches of the pink and green I so loved. Girly? Sure. But the way I saw it, I didn’t have much of a life outside these walls, so I should be able to decorate my world as I saw fit. I crossed the room now and stepped through the large double doorway into my bedroom. This room was slightly less visitor-friendly than the outer room, what with my music collection and various accoutrements strewn here and there. A scarred black Steinway dominated the area to the right of the doorway, bathing in the sunny warmth that the bank of reinforced French doors provided. It was my most prized possession, and I couldn’t resist taking just a moment to walk over and run my fingers along its ivory keys. The low thrum of hammers hitting strings never failed to soothe me, and it was what I needed right now. Biting my lip, I debated whether or not I had a minute to sit down and tinker. Fuck it. I’d only take a few minutes, and it would do me a world of good.
A half hour later, Kate found me hunched over the keys, pencil gripped between my teeth and fingers working furiously. A new melody was stuck in my head and I couldn’t find the right key for it. I had not noticed her come in, and she cleared her throat loudly several times before I completely gave up and tossed the pencil onto the lip of the keyboard. “Hullo, Kate. Charlie send you to light the fire under my arse?”
Kate grinned, leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed. “As a matter of fact, he did not. I heard your frustration and thought I’d come make sure nothing was getting mangled.” I grimaced. She was referring to my last, still uncompleted composition, which resulted in several feather pillows getting decimated in my fits of fury when the music wouldn’t cooperate.
“I’m sure someone will be on their way shortly, then.” I rose from the bench and straightened the sheets I had sloppily scribbled upon. Two pages, fairly good work for the amount of time I’d had. Crossing the room, I passed Kate and headed for my closet. Flipping the light switch on, I went inside and grabbed my luggage off the shelf. Usually I never took more than a change or two of clothing and a few days’ supply of my medications, but from the sound of things I was going to be far away for quite a while. I opted instead for my larger rolling suitcase and a locking silver train case. The interior of the silver case was padded, and was generally used when I needed to transport large quantities of my medicine. I checked my watch as I gathered all this, noting that it would be time for my next dose soon. I sighed.
Kate pushed off the doorjamb to come and help me pack. “So, what news from Charlie?” She eyed the larger luggage items. “Seems like it’ll be quite a trip.”
“Quite. He’s sending me to San Diego.”
“Oh, how lovely. I’ve been once, you’ll like it there.”
I rolled my eyes. Any bystander would think we were chatting casually about a vacation locale, not the future scene of a mass assassination.
“I’m sure I will. Grab my black pants out of that drawer over there, will you?”
No comments:
Post a Comment