"Ella, you know how you like doing things that make me happy?" Gah. What will he have me do now? Another murder? Maybe fake his suicide, for the millionth time. Or maybe, he'll let me off, for once, and just let me kidnap someone and strap a bomb to their chest. "Hello, Ella, I know you're there!" Jim said in a sing-song voice.
"Goddamn it Jim, I was reading! Can't I have one day off?!"
"Ooh, what are you reading? Wait, no! Let me guess." Jim always liked to show off, he always has liked being the cleverest in the room, and he made sure it was known. At first it was the coolest thing since sliced bread. Now it's just irritating as all hell. "Well, you've been reading a lot of Poe lately, and, I saw you reading the poems, and naturally you've passed that. Oh, and in your line of work, I'd say you're reading 'The Tell Tale Heart' or 'The Pendulum' or even 'The Fall of The House of Usher', but you're not… How is 'Arthur Pym', my dear Ella?"
"Pretty good, now I'd like to finish it." I click the end button. Phone call disconnected. I wait for a second, cautiously staring at the phone. It doesn't ring, so I pick up my book and finish where I left off. Beep. Damn, I actually thought he would leave me be. I enter the pass code on my phone, and lo and behold, a text from Jim.
I need you today, come down to the office. No, make it the warehouse. Also Pym dies and the boy Peter ends up in Illinois to his discontent.
-JM
Goddamn it! I am going to kill that bastard for spoiling the ending! Why can't I have one day to myself. I never get quiet days where I can read, maybe even get some coffee. When was the last time I even finished a book, for Christ's sake?!
I sling my pinstripe bag over my shoulder, grab my coffee mug, and pour the steaming coffee I was going to enjoy, down the cold throat of my sink. I hunch my shoulders forwards, I was really looking forward to that coffee.
Mew. Max lets outs a yawn and jumps down from his perch. He looks pretty well fed; I guess the house keeper really does feed him. I had my doubts; you can't really trust anyone anymore, at least not in this day and age.
Do you ever think your paranoia is the reason I don't have any friends?
What are you a shrink?
I'm just here to keep you sane.
Of course I have friends! There's Lily, and uh, oh, and there's Anna!
Oh really, and what have they been doing recently?
Uh not much, just you know the usual stuff they do.
Wrong, Lily got married last month, and Anna had a baby and moved to Scotland.
Oh yeah, they did. Hmm, that slipped my mind. Wait, why am I arguing with myself?! Maybe I am crazy.
Yeah, maybe.
I once considered going to get checked out, the voices used to be pretty bad. They told me to leave Jim— forget the nonsense he puts me through for a cheap thrill, but how could I leave the only friend I've really ever been close to? Jim told me once he hears them too, that's when I knew not to pursue them, that's how I knew that I was normal. Ha. Normal. No what I meant was that's how I knew that I wasn't crazy. Well, you know what I mean.
London's pretty mundane for one of the greatest cities in the world. Most people lead boring lives. Wake up, job, come home; Do that for 5 or 6 years; get married, pop out a kid or two; work for another 25 years, retire, and die. I don't find it appealing. That's how I got my start with Jim; working with him is exciting; I love waking up in the morning not knowing what I'm going to do. I feed off of the adrenaline, and hey, the pay is pretty damn good. Better than working in an office.
I'm pretty sure if I wasn't a trained hit man, er, hit woman, I mean, assassin then I would probably end up as a Kiss-o-gram, and I never was very good at studies. My GSCE's pretty much disqualified me from any college that wasn't a community college. Passing a freshman Econ class? Hard. Sniping down a guy from 1000 feet away without being seen? Easy as cake.
The warehouse is painted grey, different from when I last saw it. I guess the boss wanted it to blend in with the rest of London. Grey is such an ugly color.
The door creaks as I open it. "Jim?" I say.
Nothing. I know he's here. What is he playing at? "Jim!" I yell. The echoing of my voice fills up the warehouse. The lights switch on; I shield my eyes with my hand. I can hear footsteps behind me, and I feel the barrel of a gun put to my head. "Are you going to stand there with a gun to my head, or give me a hug?"
"So you decided to come after all." His accent is a little thicker than usual; he must be planning something great. It's always been easy to tell if Jim was planning anything, or if he's been thinking hard, his accent goes from pretty much not there to 'holy Jesus, Irish man on campus.'
"Yeah, 'figured it's easier to come in than to be assassinated."
"I wouldn't kill you if you didn't show, I would let you go."
"You would kill me."
"Yeah, probably." He chuckled
"So what have you been planning?"
"Well, I figured I would drag this thing with Sherlock out a little longer than necessary. I love a good game."
"Yes Jimmy, I know, so what will it be this time?"
"Bombs."
"Again? You just did that. What was it? Like a year or so ago?"
"Heh, he won't figure this one out."
"Why, are you going to use his little house pet, what was his name, Watson? I really hate that bastard's blog."
No even better."
"Who?"
He puts his lips to my ear and whispers "My best assistant". The gun cuts the air as it's whipped. Whoosh. CRACK.I am assimilated into the darkness.
