Last Call Productions presents…
NGE: Long, Hard Kill
Word from the author: …So…I've been a lazy douche. What's it been since I last posted, a year or two? To top it off, there's a new EVA movie series breaking out in Japan, something about Evagelion: Rebuild or whatever. I only found this out once I picked up a recent copy of Yoshiyuki Sadamoto's EVA manga. Saw some YouTube clips, even. I saw these as signs to stop dicking around and get back to work. As a word of caution, I AM going to be switching between first and third person narrative-style with as much frequency as every other chapter—just an experiment, really, but I'd like to think it helps story-telling purposes.
This next chapter is in 3rd Person Narrative-style. Next is 1st Person.
Thanks for reading, Welcome back. Constructive criticisms only, thank you kindly. Oh yeah, no flames. Enjoy.
Oh yeah, need a beta, if anyone's interested…email me at
2nd Slug: Payment.
The brick-faced colonial brownstone the blackened '72 Charger pulled up to did nothing to hide any hint of the owner's financial success. Neither did the sandstone walls, or the golden gate he had to park in front of for five minutes while the men in the security booth called Mrs. Merrimann to make sure she knew about her visitor. It had been at least a day or two since his last job, and goddamn, was Shinji Ikari in dire need of a bed. He idly mused while dragging out the last rich puffs from a Camel that he could make out a wall of camera screens with a fat guard lazily watching from time to time through the wide front window of the booth. He'd have to raze the whole booth before he left, Shinji reckoned as he jabbed the butt of his cigarette out on top of his dashboard with a hammer-like flick of his wrist as the pasty rent-a-cop let him pass.
Dark brown aviator sunglasses hid equally dark eyes from both sunlight and world as he walked past a brick-made mailbox and an intricately laid arrangement of various flowers he doubted he could find in even the most accomplished florist shop. The family name was spelled out within the precariously arranged flower bed, and he thought about how the owner must have stood over the gardeners for hours on that lawn, making damn sure the floral arrangement was as flawless as the neatly cut grass, and the trimmed low bushes lining the brick walkway that day.
The flower bed was wild with weeds. Leaves lay scattered all over the unkempt grass, and got stuck in the dried twiggy areas of the dead prickly bushes, untrimmed and unremembered. He reached the top of the sandstone steps and rang the brass door-bell in laid on the dark polished wooden door. The bell sung hollowly in the house, the notes of a cheery tune lost to thick grey sky above. Shinji set the black suitcase he had brought with him in his right hand down by his leg while his left rummaged for yet another Camel.
The door swung open to a slender brunette in her forties. He could tell the gin she was drinking the night before from the scent of her. She was practically bathed in it, though his nose caught the scent of some perfume. Chanel No.5 and Seagram's. Her red-rimmed brown eyes had bags under them, and continued to blink as if to better adjust to what little daylight there was. Mrs. Merrimann stood in the doorway for a moment, as if at once perplexed and disappointed to find out there was still a world outside her home. She glared at the young man standing in front of her.
"Get in. Liquor's on the table, help yourself."
"Too early for me. Gotta long drive out ahead of me, anyway. The money?"
"Also on the table. In, the neighbors'll see you."
Shinji was escorted to the dining hall where he saw plump stacks of hundreds, an unzipped, half-filled duffel bag, and a liter bottle of Tanqueray on a long mahogany table. The drinking glasses twinkled off the reflection of the flames lit in the fireplace. "You have any proof before I give you that absurd amount of cash?" Mrs. Merrimann said as she took her seat by the fire, watching ember occasionally pop out of the crackling logs. Shinji found it a small wonder there wasn't a glass in her hand.
"You mean you couldn't find the number in the Yellow Pages for bargain-priced contract killers? Damn, what can the dollar buy you anymore, huh?" He began stacking the rest of the money into the bag, glancing back at her. Not like he had any particular cause to worry about her, but it wouldn't be the first time someone would try to pull a fast one on him like trying to kill him and keep the money. "Besides, your proof's in the suitcase." He stopped packing the cash and brought it to her, clacking off the brass security latches and pulling out a copy of Newsday. Mrs. Merrimann glanced at the cover, spotting a headline in the right corner box that read, "Killed In Daylight: Grisly remains found in Islip-story,A5". She slowly thumbed her way to the article, seeing a black and white picture of a taped-off crime scene- there was a crowbar jutting up from a puddle, from what she could tell, and spent bullet casings lying on the pavement around a white chalk outline.
Mrs. Merrimann continued to read, her face shrinking and contorting as the sobs came. Shinji watched impassively, allowing her to continue with her grief as she pulled her knees into her chest, clutching at them while her haggard form shook steadily. " Oh God, oh God,…Jesus, I can'tIcan'tI CAN'TICAN'TICAN'TIWON'T I d-don't, I don't…I don't want to," she finished, her voice shaky and spent.
"I..don't…want..to….Kill me too," Mrs. Merrimann said after minutes of sobbing silently. "Another day's a waste."
" I charge extra for that," he said as he went back to filling the bag.
"How do you even know I gave you all the money? You don't even count."
"Had your bank accounts hacked into. You made a withdrawal totaling our agreed amount three days ago. Put a tracker on your car too, last time I was here, so I'd know where'd you be at all times. Top all of that off, you're a card woman, Mrs. Merrimann. Sure, you carry some cash to leave bad tips at posh restaurants and the like, but you leave your heavy sending to the power of plastic."
Her cold laugh was as harsh sounding as her sobs had been. "You're a single-minded motherfucker, aren't you? Doesn't any of it get to you, the loss, the suffering, the--"
Shinji's voice was low and terse. "I kill for a living. What did you expect?"
The last of the cash loaded into the bag, Shinji turned around to face Mrs. Merrimann. His face was taut and wet, the firelight cascading off his flexing jaw muscles as he contemplated what to say next. After a long pause, he sighed and took off his glasses. Their eyes met.
" I can't know what you're feeling; I don't want to," he said, the tone of his voice gentle. "I've known enough loss to last me through the next life. But to lose a daughter…that is a tragedy so harrowing I welcome being spared from."
The crackling embers of charred wood popping in the fireplace was the only sound heard.
"We're gonna do this my way. Sit back down, Mrs. Merrimann," he said, replacing his sunglasses. Backing away warily to her chair by the fireplace, she saw him walk behind her, could hear him getting further away. " Where's your kitchen?" he asked. Mrs. Merrimann blinked. "Down the hall, to the left."
"Any gas stoves, or electric in there?"
" …Was gonna have them changed over, but yeah, there's still gas stoves in there."
" Perfect."
Shinji walked into her kitchen, and noted dully that some of the most famed restaurants in New York City weren't able to afford half the cooking equipment that made up her kitchen. Still, flush against the wall, was the gas stoves she had told him about, probably not changed since the first owners of the house came, he thought. He turned all the knobs on, listening to the slight click on the stove burners releasing gas, but not igniting. He quickly rejoined Mrs. Merrimann in the dining hall.
"Look into the fire. Look deep," Shinji said as he ripped off the fake backing of the suitcase and connected wires to a lump of plastique. He set the timer. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw her fingers dig into the arms of the chair. "Will this hurt? You killing me?" she hoarsely whispered as her suddenly sunken features were illuminated by the fire. Shinji noticed for the first time just how fragile she looked, in her satin black robe, gaunt and rigid as she waited for him to deliver the killing stroke. He walked over and stood behind her, slowly slipping his fingers down the head-rest and into her hair. She recoiled slightly, a low whimpering escaping her lips. "Shh-sh-sh-sh-sh-shhh," he said as gently caressed her hair, feeling her relax into his hands, in defeat. "You've known so much pain, so suddenly," Shinji continued, noting that she was beginning to cry again, silently, her shoulders shuddering.
"Tell me," he said as his hands sank lower, tenderly rubbing her shoulder muscles, "about the happiest memory you have of your daughter."
Her crying stopped. Her amber eyes were locked on the incandescent flames that leapt around in the fireplace. "She graduated at the top of her class at her academy," she said, almost absorbed in his caresses. "Valedictorian. I sat out there on her graduation day in the bleachers, and my God, I can't tell you how beautiful she looked. Through her…addiction…she climbed ahead, got off the heroin, worked hard day and night. She even made a countdown of how many days she'd have to make her speech, though you would have thought her crazy at the time to even consider graduating early on. 'You know, Ma, I've got a lot to make up, to make right, but hell or high water, I'm gonna make that speech up there, and people are gonna know what I've done, and know nothing can hold me back.' Oh, when she finished her speech that day, everyone was clapping and shouting, nobody had a dry eye."
"How did you feel?" Shinji asked, still kneading her shoulders gently.
She was silent, lost in thought. A thin smile crossed her lips, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Proud," she said. "Complete."
"That's all you can really ask for in life," Shinji said, staring into the flames.
His hands snapped her neck effortlessly. Her expression was one of tranquility. He laid her head back gently on the head-rest, closing her eyes. He thought she looked like she was sleeping. Shinji then reached down to her and closed her robe around the limp form of Mrs. Merrimann.
On his way out of the gated community, he slipped into the guard booth without any trouble and killed the pair of guards who saw him, and razed the booth to the ground, but it felt all too much like he was going through the motions. Shinji Ikari lit another Camel, and did his best on his way back to New York City via the Long Island Expressway to forget everything about Mrs. Merrimann altogether.
He found that he couldn't.
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Coroner's Note: Hoped you liked it, gonna make damn sure the next one's up as soon as humanely possible. Read, review, rave…and somebody tell me what the deal with the "Rebuild EVA" thing. Later.
