In Gin's fantasies she always died beautifully. When he shot her, bloody roses would start to blossom on her white death robes. It would be a suitable sight, since roses were her favourite flowers; especially the scarlet ones. In a way Sherry even reminded him of roses. She was pretty to look at, but beneath the beauty there were thorns.
Back then he'd brought her many of said flowers, but soon it would be time for her to repay his affection with blood.
And how she would beg for her life... Gin could see it clearly in front of his eyes, the way she would sit at his feet, pleading for mercy he wouldn't grant.
In the beginning he'd even imagined forgiving her, taking her home and getting over the things that had happened.
But it was a stupid, unrealistic idea. He'd already seen how weak Sherry was. Against everything he'd first believed, she wasn't strong enough for the Organization, let alone for him. What good did it having her, when she would wither rather sooner than later?
The Organization might be willing to forgive their scientist's weakness, but he couldn't forgive the unfaithfulness of a lover...
In Gin's fantasies, he would shoot her a final time. Just like roses, Sherry was most beautiful dressed in red.
Reality was different.
Gin'd kept himself from ending her in that chimney earlier for the sole reason of seeing her pretty face one last time. But to his great disappointment she was dressed in a plain overall and ugly glasses hid most of Sherry's tensed features. He'd always assumed she could wear anything -or nothing at all- and still look neat, but it was just another thing he'd been wrong about.
Only the cold winter night made a beautiful setting for her death. Gin told her so, but it earned him little more than an unimpressed reply. Even upon death, she had a sassy mouth. This, too, would change soon.
"How did you know I would escape through the chimney?" She asked way too collected, considering the situation she was in.
"A hair… I found it in that wine cellar." Gin started to explain. It had taken weeks until the last of her reddish hairs had vanished from his bed sheets. Naturally, he'd recognized it on the spot. And if he hadn't found the hair, her heavy breathing would've been her undoing.
"Well, I guess I should thank you then… For waiting for me in this cold, I mean." A sly, knowing grin lay on her bluish lips.
Gin knew instantly what she was implying. Only last winter he'd waited for her outside the labs. It had been a cold evening like this, she'd been annoyingly late and he'd felt like an idiot for standing around that long.
But when she'd finally been there, the numb fingers and feet he'd gotten had been worth it. After that, Sherry'd warmed him up again rather fast.
Tonight would have a different outcome.
Death was close, yet she stood there holding one of her bleeding wounds and had the audacity to smirk at him.
Perhaps she was stronger than he'd thought after all. But did it really matter now? If he let her live, could they continue on the same page they'd stopped? Gin doubted it. He'd come to despise her. He hated her for failing his trust, for all the things she'd made him whisper in the dark; for all the things he'd let her know.
Gin wanted her dead.
... Right?
Either way, one question was still unanswered.
"How did you escape from the Organization's cellar?" Wondering how she'd done it had kept him awake at night. There was no logical explanation for the empty cell she'd left behind; but he was dying to learn about the trick.
The grin on her face died. He knew immediately that she wouldn't talk, and it was Vodka who stated the obvious again.
Even with a gun pointed at her head, Sherry remained utterly silent. Somehow it angered Gin more than he would've expected. This foolish girl didn't even try to explain and save herself when, perhaps, he could let her live; if she only convinced him that she was worth it. Yet, when he looked at her, Gin could see that she didn't expect to survive the night; she knew him too well for that.
But her silence made him wonder after all. Could it be that she was protecting someone? Why else would she choose to die rather than confessing?
Gin shot her several times. It didn't take long until the rags she wore were soaked with her blood, but it wasn't a pleasing sight at all. After another bullet she stumbled before she hit the ground.
She still wouldn't say another word. Under different circumstances, he might've called her determination admirable; but seeing her crawling in the blood-soaked snow like a wounded animal, Gin found her behaviour rather pathetic.
"Then I've no other option than sending you to your sister…" Only then did he detect hatred in Sherry's eyes, and perhaps even something like realization.
It had been him who'd killed her sister and he assumed she suspected as much. Amused, he wondered if she wished him dead as well. It was fairly interesting how fast feelings could change.
Sherry's breathing grew fast when the fear of dying eventually took hold of her.
He didn't dare taking a step closer towards her shivering and bleeding body. Gin wouldn't risk any treacherous minds her pained face might conjure in his head. Though he had to admit that he was tempted to be close to her one last time...
He silently scolded himself and raised his gun anew, the same way he'd done it a hundred times before. The final shot was supposed to be easy, but looking down at her now, it wasn't.
He hated her even more for this fact alone.
All it took was one little twitch of his finger and it would finally be done, he told himself just before he noticed Sherry focusing on a point behind him.
Suddenly, Gin realized what she'd been doing all this time. She was stalling for time, which could only mean that she expected help to arrive…
Something hit Gin's shoulder. The pain that came with it was so faint, for a second he wondered if it had been there at all. But the sudden dizziness that overcame him instantly, spoke for itself. He crouched. Then the noise started.
An unknown male voice called from behind him and urged Sherry to flee.
Vodka shouted something and fired at Sherry, who was about to escape as she'd been told to. Gin couldn't tell if Vodka's bullet had hit her as she weakly climbed back into the chimney. All around him was a mess he could no longer control.
Gin could feel his mind slipping away. It was similar to the feeling one had just before diving into sleep...
But he couldn't afford sleeping right now, so he shot through the spot where the strange feeling had first started and tried to stop whatever was poisoning him from taking over his body.
It took a few minutes until the dizziness vanished, but his anger grew only stronger. Sherry was gone and he had not been able to take a look at the stranger's face. At least he could be sure now that Sherry had not escaped on her own back then, which meant there was at least one other traitor within the Organization's ranks. Gin wondered how they'd come to know each other, since he'd made sure to always know who was being around Sherry.
He had not recognized the man's voice either, which filled him with even more fury. There was only a shadow to blame for snatching Sherry away...
As soon as he could stand without any trouble, Gin followed Sherry down the chimney. He'd already assumed to find her gone once more, but he had to convince himself that she really hadn't bled out from a fatal wound or broken her neck while making her escape. If Sherry was dead, he wanted to see it with his own eyes.
But as expected the only person in the cellar was that old fool Pisco, whom he eliminated quickly before he caught up with Vodka again. They left the hotel with Vermouth, who didn't miss the opportunity to twist the knife in Gin's wounds.
In the car, his mood only darkened with every thought he spent on Sherry; and there were numerous. At least the anger dampened the pain in his shoulder.
Gin'd been a fool to not get rid of her when he'd had the opportunity. He damned himself. He knew now that Sherry was indeed his little weakness and weakness had no room in his life. It was unacceptable.
Yet, killing her would be easier next time, Gin knew it. It would be especially easy when he thought of that guy she was probably fucking now... He swore that next time, he would get them both.
He stared out of the car window when a chuckle escaped him. Since Sherry's disappearance, he'd come to hate her and yet she'd eventually made him consider letting her live. He'd grown soft, which was the reason why that unfaithful bitch had escaped him twice now.
Gin clenched his fist around the single reddish hair in his coat pocket.
The traitor Sherry wouldn't have the chance to escape him a third time, no.
Their next reunion would end in an ocean of scarlet roses.
After all... Red was his favourite colour.