Page 7 of Phoenix
I go through the ritualistic motions of making tea and toast with a thin layer of honey on top. A meal I will make last until late afternoon because I will most likely sleep away the second half of the morning. After which, I will sink into a fit of depression. I sometimes wonder if it would hurt to kill yourself. How would I do it? What would cause everyone around me the least amount of inconvenience?
Shaking the thought out of my head like it’s a bad smell, I shuffle into the living room and instantly drop my mug and plate to the floor with a crash. However, my audible gasp, together with my clumsy reaction isn’t enough to make him turn around. He simply continues to stare out the window with his gun in hand, wearing a suit jacket over a pair of jeans and a white, fitted tee. All his tattoos which had fascinated me so much last night are now hidden from view.
“Pack up some shit, Jessie,” he says, rubbing the barrel of his handgun up against his cheek like it’s his own personal scratching post. “We leave in five minutes.”
“No,” I whisper with my heart palpitating at the sight of his gun and the suggestion that he is going to take me somewhere against my will. I begin to try and back away, to retreat into the kitchen behind me, but he casually turns around and looks me dead in the eye.
“I’m afraid I have to insist,” he says without any hint of an apology. I shake my head rapidly because how the hell can this be happening to me again? The odds must be ridiculous to even fathom such an idea.
“I can’t, no, not again,” I say with a quiet sob in my voice, and with tears already streaming down my face.
“Jessie,” he says with authority as he walks slowly up to my quivering body, right up until we’re only inches apart, “you don’t have a choice. Get your shit or I will take you without it.”
“Why?” I cry before slumping against him because my legs have now turned to jelly. The insurmountable amount of fear inside of me has rushed straight to my head, causing me to feel dizzy. All rationality and normal function have exited my body in one fell swoop.
“Jessie,” he says calmly, “I understand this is scary for you right now, but I need you to stand up for me.” His soft words and his straight-to-the-point instruction have me shakily moving upright once again; he’s obviously studied psychology of some kind. “OK?”
I slowly nod because in the grand scheme of things, I’m pretty fucking far from ok but as for standing and thinking a little more clearly goes, I’m better than I was. Right now, I just want him to tell me what the hell is going on.
Warren walks me slowly to the couch where he sits me down like a lifeless lump of clay. He then stands before me and returns his gun to the holster sitting beneath his jacket. The action reminds me that he’s a man of the law, someone who is supposed to protect me, to help me stay safe from men who want to take me against my will.
“I’m not a cop.”
Oh, shit.
“I was sent here to kill you last night.”
Oh, fucking shit!
_____
Phoenix
When my latest conquest passes out from my little speech just now, I have to leap forward to try and catch her in time. The last thing I need is for her to hit her head and get a concussion. No, what I need to do is get her ass out of here before she comes to and bolts; she’s very much in danger, but not from me, which is a first. Usually, I am the villain sent forth to slaughter whoever happens to have crossed me, but not this time.
Without waiting for her to gain consciousness, I lift her tiny frame and take her to my truck which I hid around the back of the house. Its presence is a stark contrast to the swanky little seaside homes around here, Jessie’ house included, but it does the job and has never let me down. Of course, it’s not used to so much rain, so I hope to God it doesn’t react badly to it.
Securing Jessie tightly within a pair of old handcuffs, I dart inside to try and shove a few personal items into a bag, then jump into the truck myself. As I fire up the engine, I look over at the girl who is still out cold. I’m not sure why she’s still passed out, usually when someone faints, they come-to fairly quickly. However, as I continue glancing at her every few moments, I notice her dark eyes, grey skin, and limp hair. She’s utterly exhausted. She’s no doubt wiped out from fearing every shadow that lingers in corners, every stranger who looks at her in a shop, every damn thing in her solitary existence. She’s out for the count and her body is grateful for it.
“Javier,” I utter when he finally picks up the phone, “I’m on my way back.”
“And is your target taken care of?” I look at the sleeping girl again, currently frowning, even in sleep, before I answer that question.
“Very much so,” I half lie, “see you sometime tomorrow.”
“Si,” he mumbles before we hang up on each other.
I drive for a good few hours, letting her sleep in her tightly curled fetal ball, but when I can no longer ignore my hunger and pull over for some lunch, I decide it’s finally time for Sleeping Beauty to wake up. If she sleeps all day, she won’t sleep tonight and will no doubt keep me up with her whining and crying about wanting to get back to her old folks’ home, living an existence of sleeping and walking from one room to another. I feel like a damn babysitter, which only makes last night all the more disturbing.
After flicking some water into her face, she stirs before suddenly coming-to with the startling realization of what occurred between this morning and now. Without a sound, she looks straight out of the windscreen with bulging eyes and a gaping mouth. She then turns her attention back to me, aka, the motherfucker who took her virginity and then her freedom. Oh, and I just so happened to let her in on the little secret about my being sent to wipe her off the face of the Earth. Aren’t I a charming asshole!
A split second later, she’s scrabbling back onto the seat beside me as if trying to place as much distance between us as possible. Of course, I’ve kept her securely cuffed, a fact that only serves to panic her even more. She doesn’t scream though, which surprises me, but then I guess this isn’t her first abduction. Instead, she lifts her free hand up to her mouth and silently sobs into it, looking at me and silently begging me to let her go.
“Please?” she eventually cries.
“I can’t, sweetheart, trust me,” I reply, shaking my head and looking around just to double check no one can hear or see this. “I’ve gotta take you with me.”
“No,” she cries with her shoulders beginning to shudder through the force of it. “No, you don’t. I won’t tell anyone, I promise!”