Dreaming in the Shadows
She crept quietly down the empty hallway, keeping low and close to the wall, where the shadows were the deepest. She wore all black leather. Her hair was tucked under a black cap and she wore gloves. Tucked securely inside of her boot, there was a wicked looking black bladed knife. Her gun was in a holster that sat snugly below her right breast. She had other, hidden weapons, like a working knowledge of about ten different martial arts.
Could she take a life in cold blood? She didn't know, but she was soon going to find out. The man she had been sent to kill was a tyrant. He had had several people killed, one of them a pregnant woman. Another had been had father. She'd found his body one morning when she'd called round to his house with coffee and muffins, hoping beyond hope that they could mend the rift between them before it became a chasm.
She'd thought it odd when he didn't answer the door, so she'd let herself in with the key she'd had cut. When she found all of the downstairs rooms empty, she'd gone upstairs, dreading what she might find. Her gut instinct was telling her something was wrong in the house. It was right. In the bedroom, she found her father's body. He was still in bed and the sheets and pillows were soaked in bright red blood. She'd wondered how they were going to get the blood out of the sheets, then realised that it didn't matter. He'd been shot twice in the head. He hadn't stood a chance.
Another of the man's victims had been Vaughn. He'd also been shot, though not in his bed. Their graves where in the same part of the cemetery.
A slight noise brought her back to the present with a jolt. She stopped and listened carefully, even holding her breath. Nothing. Just the sounds of an old building settling for the night and the drumming of rain on the slate roof outside. She glanced at her watch before moving again. It was only 1.53. She had plenty of time to do what she had come to do and leave unseen. She stopped for a moment as she came to the door she had been looking for and pulled out her gun. From the black bag on her back, she pulled out a silencer and screwed it onto the barrel of the gun.
She laid a gloved hand on the brass doorknob and took a deep, slow breath before slipping the key she'd copied into the lock. It turned easily and more importantly, silently. She had spent countless nights tracking the bastard who had killed her father and had discovered the hotel he liked to stay in while in London. She had followed him to the city, and onto the hotel, which wasn't difficult, as he had hired an orange car. She supposed he hadn't meant to hire such a brightly coloured car, but it had been the last one on the lot. She thanked her lucky stars for the blessing.
Now, a mere twelve hours later, she was here to kill him in the same way he had killed her father. Taking another deep breath, she swung the door open and entered the room, taking care to shut the brown wooden door behind her so as not to arouse suspicion if anyone should happen to walk past. The suite was made up of three medium sized rooms, a bathroom, a bedroom and a small kitchen where the occupant could cook a meal if they felt like it. She headed first for the kitchen, as it was the closest room and checked that it was clear. It was empty, the white tiles glowing faintly in the reflected light from the streetlights outside. She moved on to the bathroom. It too was clear, though a lot darker than the empty kitchen. She moved on to ht e bedroom, feeling like a tiger hunting down it's helpless prey.
She walked into the bedroom, moving with practised stealth. A dark shape lay sleeping in the double bed. The gun was warm in her steady hand. She knew that she could do this. She was at the brink and there was no going back. She took another step towards the bed and cursed under her breath as a floorboard creaked loudly. He gun hand came up and she waited to see what would happen. The dark figure in the bed stirred, but didn't wake. She let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding and once more stepped towards the bed. She couldn't afford to be caught.
She reached the bed and reached out, her glove-clad hand only mere inches away from the man's sleeping face. She studied the face, looking for some sign of remorse. She found none. Her resole hardened and she put the gun to his head. His eyes snapped open and she met them squarely, letting her anger show. She smiled slightly, a grim sight, and squeezed the trigger of the gun, stopping just before it would fire.
"Goodbye." was the only thing she said before squeezing the trigger all the way. The bullet did it's job well, and the man died silently, if not cleanly. Blood had sprayed all over the room, turning the once white walls a garish pink.
She turned and left the room without a backward glance, shutting the door and dropping the key in the hallway. It landed with a tiny clink on the bare floor. She kept walking, glad that she had done what she had come to do. Soon, she was back to where she felt safest. She was dreaming in the shadows.
She crept quietly down the empty hallway, keeping low and close to the wall, where the shadows were the deepest. She wore all black leather. Her hair was tucked under a black cap and she wore gloves. Tucked securely inside of her boot, there was a wicked looking black bladed knife. Her gun was in a holster that sat snugly below her right breast. She had other, hidden weapons, like a working knowledge of about ten different martial arts.
Could she take a life in cold blood? She didn't know, but she was soon going to find out. The man she had been sent to kill was a tyrant. He had had several people killed, one of them a pregnant woman. Another had been had father. She'd found his body one morning when she'd called round to his house with coffee and muffins, hoping beyond hope that they could mend the rift between them before it became a chasm.
She'd thought it odd when he didn't answer the door, so she'd let herself in with the key she'd had cut. When she found all of the downstairs rooms empty, she'd gone upstairs, dreading what she might find. Her gut instinct was telling her something was wrong in the house. It was right. In the bedroom, she found her father's body. He was still in bed and the sheets and pillows were soaked in bright red blood. She'd wondered how they were going to get the blood out of the sheets, then realised that it didn't matter. He'd been shot twice in the head. He hadn't stood a chance.
Another of the man's victims had been Vaughn. He'd also been shot, though not in his bed. Their graves where in the same part of the cemetery.
A slight noise brought her back to the present with a jolt. She stopped and listened carefully, even holding her breath. Nothing. Just the sounds of an old building settling for the night and the drumming of rain on the slate roof outside. She glanced at her watch before moving again. It was only 1.53. She had plenty of time to do what she had come to do and leave unseen. She stopped for a moment as she came to the door she had been looking for and pulled out her gun. From the black bag on her back, she pulled out a silencer and screwed it onto the barrel of the gun.
She laid a gloved hand on the brass doorknob and took a deep, slow breath before slipping the key she'd copied into the lock. It turned easily and more importantly, silently. She had spent countless nights tracking the bastard who had killed her father and had discovered the hotel he liked to stay in while in London. She had followed him to the city, and onto the hotel, which wasn't difficult, as he had hired an orange car. She supposed he hadn't meant to hire such a brightly coloured car, but it had been the last one on the lot. She thanked her lucky stars for the blessing.
Now, a mere twelve hours later, she was here to kill him in the same way he had killed her father. Taking another deep breath, she swung the door open and entered the room, taking care to shut the brown wooden door behind her so as not to arouse suspicion if anyone should happen to walk past. The suite was made up of three medium sized rooms, a bathroom, a bedroom and a small kitchen where the occupant could cook a meal if they felt like it. She headed first for the kitchen, as it was the closest room and checked that it was clear. It was empty, the white tiles glowing faintly in the reflected light from the streetlights outside. She moved on to the bathroom. It too was clear, though a lot darker than the empty kitchen. She moved on to ht e bedroom, feeling like a tiger hunting down it's helpless prey.
She walked into the bedroom, moving with practised stealth. A dark shape lay sleeping in the double bed. The gun was warm in her steady hand. She knew that she could do this. She was at the brink and there was no going back. She took another step towards the bed and cursed under her breath as a floorboard creaked loudly. He gun hand came up and she waited to see what would happen. The dark figure in the bed stirred, but didn't wake. She let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding and once more stepped towards the bed. She couldn't afford to be caught.
She reached the bed and reached out, her glove-clad hand only mere inches away from the man's sleeping face. She studied the face, looking for some sign of remorse. She found none. Her resole hardened and she put the gun to his head. His eyes snapped open and she met them squarely, letting her anger show. She smiled slightly, a grim sight, and squeezed the trigger of the gun, stopping just before it would fire.
"Goodbye." was the only thing she said before squeezing the trigger all the way. The bullet did it's job well, and the man died silently, if not cleanly. Blood had sprayed all over the room, turning the once white walls a garish pink.
She turned and left the room without a backward glance, shutting the door and dropping the key in the hallway. It landed with a tiny clink on the bare floor. She kept walking, glad that she had done what she had come to do. Soon, she was back to where she felt safest. She was dreaming in the shadows.