Ms. Death
BPOV
My hands slid across the shower's smooth glass door and took a deep breath. The door glided open effortlessly.
I stood still, glancing out into the bathroom. The air was thick with steam clouds billowing around the room, looking for a surface to land on and moisten with its condensation.
Cautiously I gripped the steel frame of the door and peered out further.
The sky was still light outside, and it cast a luminous glow over every surface. My eyes flashed around the room, looking for the owner of the pale hand with…..black nail polish? How had my mind let that little detail slip?
"Boo!" She yelled popping up like a weasel in a mulberry bush.
I rolled my eyes at the girl who stood in front of me. She was a petite little thing, but her mouth made up for what she lacked in height. And even though her hair was different shade from the last time I'd seen her, I would be able to pick her out from a crowd of people just by looking into those eyes.
They were the most enthralling yet idiosyncratic shade of violet, which she had framed with a thick layer of smoky black makeup.
I climbed out of the shower hastily in order to wrap my arms around her broad shoulders and slender waist.
"Hey babe!" she exclaimed while returning my hug back in earnest.
"What brings you to my humble abode?" I question releasing her from my death grip in order to retrieve a towel to conceal my open nudity.
"Jiminy Cricket's if this is humble, then I'd hate to see what concentric looked like." She looked around the bathroom.
A carefree laugh bubbled past my lips listening to her talk. Only Die could use Jiminy Crickets and concentric in the same sentence.
"How do I get me one of these?" Her 100 watt smile lights up the room as she motions with her arms at the house in general.
"Two more decades or so and I think you'll find that the agency gives out houses like they give out death tolls." I can't help but feel like a kid again when I talk to Die, and her smiles are contagious.
I really looked at my best friend for the first time since she's made her untimely appearance. Die's the most up beat person I'd ever met, but her choice of wardrobe defiantly didn't match it. She loved darken veils, gothic jewels, and stylish leather boots. She was Goth Chic, I remembered her calling it one time, I laughed out loud at her outgoing imagination.
She was wearing a gorgeous black wool dress that cut off mid thigh, and sported puffy sleeves that buttoned just below her elbow. She twisted her fingers in the silver chain of her bulky heart necklace that dangled just under her breast bone. And despite the rain and bleak skies, she wore a pair of peek toe black leather books that I could see my reflection in when I looked down marveling at a one of a kind Die original outfit.
For as long as I'd known my true identify, I'd always known Die. We were the notorious Death and Die double team. She was my partner in crime and my 'apprentice' in the assassin world.
I could still remember the day almost eighty years ago when she walked into my office wearing a slim black dress with a woman's black bolder hat all decked out with a flower and black veil. She put Coco Channel to shame. And although she had strings of pearls draped around her neck, I know that she was hard core.
"Come on let's get out of this room before your pretty hair frizzes." I looked at her head to see that she had once again highlighted her hair.
Her natural dark wavy locks fell in a cascade around her oval face framing it, but intermixed were dark purple streaks of coloring that defined her eyes to shocking proportions.
She waited patiently on the love seat in the corner of the room as I went to rummage in my closet. It was hard to find anything in a storage space this size. Geese….a woman must have lived here.
"So how did the wolves treat you? I hear there very hospitable." I could hear her snort from the other side of the room. Sarcasm was Die's middle name; she never left the house without it.
Snapping my bra claps in place, I paced out of the closet so she could see me.
I held up the shredded remains of my prized Marc Jacobs's jacket. She gasped and I watched her eyes intently as she strutted towards me.
"Marc Jacobs's….?" She didn't need to finish her sentence.
I gave her an if-that-wasn't-enough look, and turned around to reveal my gashed and grotesque back.
I heard her intake of breath as she stared down at my torn flesh.
"Oh Bella," he voice was laced with worry and maybe a hint of anger. "Come on let's fix you up."
Like the good mother she should have been, she tucked my hand under her arm and pulled back into the bathroom to take care of me like no else could.
~ ooOoo ~
I threw my head back and laughed at yet another of Die's witty comments. We sat in the kitchen on the breakfast stools trading stories over a cup of steaming tea. Me in my grey leggings and oversized Harvard sweatshirt I'd received in '82 when I was undercover in Boston, and Die in her fashionable dress.
"So….," she looks down into her cup disapprovingly, "have you heard from Jesse?"
And there it was, the nauseated feeling I felt in my stomach, the pounding in my head, and the whimper that sat in the back of my throat, every time that boys name comes up in conversation.
"No." I didn't elaborate.
"Oh, how long has it been, half a decade?" She stared at me with pity filled eyes.
"Don't look at me like that! I've been busy, he's been….busy." My works fall to a whisper as I really take in what I've just spoken.
"Too busy to pick up a phone?" Her courage has earned her one of my grim looks.
"Don't patronize me; it's been a long time. I know I should call but, if I heard his voice, I know that I wouldn't be able to stay away from him any longer. I need him here or not at all." I spoke lightly but thoroughly telling her that we were done with this topic.
She sighed and gracefully sipped the last of her tea. It was silent, no one wanting to break it's fragile placement, but Die wasn't one for following the rules.
"So how was school?"
"Oh don't even get me started. It's so stereotypical that I thought I'd walked into one of those bad nineties melodramas." Once again the world was at peace as we filled the room with laughter.
After a long while of talking and several pots of tea I looked down at my watch, "it's late."
"I suppose it is." Die said looking at me closely. Her eyes penetrated through me like a burning spear.
"Stay, pick out a room upstairs. I'll be in the studio if you need me." I stood up and placed our empty tea cups in the skink.
Die remained seated, looking too comfortable to be bothered to move. I placed my hand on her cheek looking her in the eyes. "I'm glad you're hear babe." I give her a weak smile. "It's been too long." I lean down and kiss her hair. "Night."
"Night mom!" She exclaimed before I walked out the room.
Like my undead counterparts, I couldn't slumber. I wish more often then not that I was able to just close my eyes and dream a better world, but life can't be lived on wishes.
In order to keep myself entertained, I took up painting as an extracurricular activity. I've become rather good at it over the years.
I inhaled deeply as I opened the door leading to the studio. The smell of charcoal, acrylic paint and fresh canvases flooded my senses, and soon I'm lost in my work. Not till the sun slowly starts to rise do I check back into the real world. I wipe my hands against my cotton pants in a futile attempt to remove the black charcoal from my palms.
I make quick work at the sink, scrubbing my hands with non scented soap that effectively gets the job done.
I walk back to my easel to collect that dozen or so nubs of black chalk that I had worn down from a night of incessant sketching.
When I make it back to my canvas my eyes widen in shock. The breath is knocked out of my lungs. What the hell?
On the once blank board now sketched into a work of art was a beautiful man. His jaw was chiseled with perfectly balanced features. Even in the black and white contrasting colors you can tell his skin was flawless and his hair wild and reckless. The picture was a perfect black and white replica of Edward Cullen.
I took the sketch off the board and shoved it in the closet. I shock my head tying my best to clear it and attempting not to think too much about the drawing and decided I needed a good shower.
Die informed me that she had to head back to headquarters today, but not without a kiss on each cheek and a promise that she would be back as soon as she could find time. Once again I watched as another person disappeared from my life.
School was the last thing on my mind as I grabbed the keys to the Mercedes and drove in silence. I was too perturbed by this morning's events to dull myself up with no one to look forward to see, so I slumped to school in jeans and a black thermal. Die's color palette seemed to be working its way into my subconscious.
I pulled into the pathetic parking lot of Forks High and parked in a random spot, not providing the child infidels with any regard, as they stared at me and my flashy car. My mood seemed to darken with the weather as I dashed across the asphalt to avoid the rain that was about to come down in buckets, by the looks of the broken sky.
Unlike yesterday I was on time which meant that the halls where filled with students socializing with their peers before class. My ears were instantly engulfed with gossip and rumors which all seem to center around me as I walked past.
The adolescent boys praised my body, while the teeny bopper girls snarled at me and slapped their drooling boyfriends. The mechanics team was debating on asking me where I got my cars. I sighed and made my way to the library.
As I finally reached it the door opened from the inside, and I quickly dashed out of the way so as to not be crushed by the bubbling behemoth that stepped out of the entrance.
He was a blonde wispy haired boy who screamed 'jock' from his tattered designer jeans, to his high school basketball shirt, and most definitely the red and white lettermen jacket that he wore.
He smiled trying to catch my fancy, but he didn't succeed in holding my interest as I sighed again. I'd never understand teenage boys, since I wasn't around many when I myself was an adolescent, but I don't believe that all boys this age could be so…so… obtuse.
"Hi there. The names Mike Newton. And who might you be?" He held out a hand that I suppose I was expecting to shake.
I stared at him emptily, but grasped his clammy hand and jerked him forward so he stumbled a step towards me; he dropped his books in the process and eventually lost his balance sending him face first into the cement.
"Feeling better?" A voice came from above me on the second floor as I pushed my way into the library.
"That wasn't very lady like Isabella." Mrs. Mort stood on the second landing balcony that hovered over the door. She looked like a sleek and stealthy black hawk in her dark satin dress and pulled back hair. I was surprised by the smile that played on her lips.
"Good thing I don't care then, huh?" I returned her smile halfheartedly.
It still fascinated me to look up at the elderly women and know that at some point she had been an agent too. I quickly glanced around the vast library to find it empty… all alone.
"If you don't mind me asking Madame Mort, how old are exactly. I mean, I wouldn't guess a day over one hundred and fifty."
"Very good guess Isabella, but I like to leave my students with a sense of mystery." There was a tinkle left in her eye as she walked away.
Damn! She left me more curious and annoyed then I was before I talked to her. I'll get what I need to know Mrs. Death, don't doubt that.
"Isabella there's a pile of books on the cart that need shelving." I heard her voice echo eerily through the bookshelves but couldn't put my finger on where the words had actually come from. Mysterious indeed.
It was a long but quiet afternoon as only a few eager students rushed in for a quick book to amuse their dreary lives. I thank the heavens that none of the visitors were a Cullen, I'd seen enough of them to last a lifetime, and it's only my second day here.
There was something about this batch of bloodsuckers that rubbed me the wrong way. Maybe it was just the way they stared at me. Him in particular.
I looked up at the clock randomly to find that it was near lunch, and reward my fabulous shelving skills by taking an early break. Although, unlike the rest of the student body, I chose to not participate in the disgusting garbage, deafening chatter, and food stained walls that made up the lunchroom.
I headed upstairs to the very back table that was set next to the one and window in the library. I gazed out of the clear glass wondering what it would be like to jump out of it, as I munched on my Red Delicious.
I was ripped out of my day dream by the soothing and warm voice of Mrs. Mort.
"Isabella, would you join me down here for a minute?"
I glided down the steps and met her at the front counter where she was simultaneously reading a thick leather bound book and snacking on plump pomegranate seeds and a piece of naan with humus.
"Mr. Montgomery has requested your presence in his office." She stated not bothering to meet my eyes.
"Why?" I asked scrunching up my nose as to wonder what the principle could possibly want from me.
"He is not a man to be kept waiting Isabella, go." I sighed at her demanding response and turned to leave.
The same overweight, red haired women glanced up at me from her still tacky and outdated black rimmed glasses as I entered the office. Today the space filled my nose with the stench of roast beef and onions. I tried my best not to gag as she ushered me into the only door in the office.
A man in his late twenties sat behind a small, cheap looking desk cluttered with stacks of paper and a disarray of pens lying across it's surface. It looked to be collecting a layer of dust. He smiled at me and stood up. He presented himself with strength and charm. He was an attractive man with a well built body and perfect shaped features, such as his chiseled chin. His neat, short, brunette hair was shinny and although it looked like he didn't take care of his belongs, he certainly took care of his physique. I wouldn't be surprised to find a Snap! Fitness card in his wallet.
He was dressed in a light blue dress shirt; he had pushed the sleeves up past his elbows in a casual way. As I looked into his hazel eyes I noticed from the bags under them that he was a man who could use a few more hours of sleep at night.
"Have a set Isabella." He let the letters and my name draw out on his tongue, it didn't settle right with me. His eyes lingered a bit too long on my exposed midriff that had come into view from my shirt riding up. I self-consciously pulled it down covering my skin.
I clung to my apple still, not wanting to part from it in the library. He looked at it curiously and frowned.
"I'm sorry I didn't know you where at lunch. Your schedule said you where in the library all day. I didn't bother to look for a lunch time."
I looked at the apple longingly, before sinking my teeth into the last bit of fruit and sent the core flying expertly into the trash can next to the door. I leaned back in the blue plastic chair and crossed my legs, as I finished chewing my apple and wiped the juices off on my jeans.
"I don't really eat on a normal lunch schedule," I said when he sat waiting for a reply.
"Why not?" he asked curiously and sat forward in his chair, resting his chin in his palm.
"I don't do well with socialization, with children in particular." I stated honestly, holding his gaze.
"Why do you think of your classmates as children?" He asked, as if he were the school registered guidance councilor, who I'm sure never existed. He scrambled to find something on his desk and stared out the window.
"Seventeen. You're hardly an adult yet." He snorted but his eyes began to wonder again, pervert.
"This may be hard for you to wrap around your head Mr. Montgomery, but just because I look seventeen, doesn't mean I feel seventeen. And if you haven't notice, most of your students here have the mentality of fourth graders. I feel as adult as you can get in an environment such as the one in this fine establishment." When I finish my rant I can't help notice I've leaned in with my hands now gripping his desk firmly.
His eyes smoldered as he watched me closely, his tongue swiped over his lips quickly once and I shuddered.
I wonder how the school board would feel if I filed a public retraining order against their High School principle.
"Well stated Ms. Swan." He squirmed in his seat, and I settled back into my plastic.
Mr. Montgomery took a shaky breath. "Yes, well I've brought you here today because I happen to notice you in the hall the other day, and thought I check in on our new student's records."
What he really was saying was, "I was ogling you as you walked down the hall yesterday looking sexy as hell in that tight dress, and thought I'd see if I could tap that fine ass by bring you into my office for a fake conversation."
"See anything you like?" I questioned just to see him fidget under my dark gaze.
His mouth dropped open as he started at me and I feared for this man's life for a moment. If he jumped me, I would have to kill him, no questions asked. Oh Mr. Montgomery don't you know that statutory sexual assault is punishable by the law?
"Come again?" He squeaked, and loosened his tie as sweat dripped down his forehead.
"My file, did you see anything you liked in it?" I restated my question deleting the innuendo.
"Oh…um...yes... your file, of course." Well don't you feel like a dirty child predator now? I smile brightly as he glowers.
"Well," he clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably in his chair, "it says here that you've studied ten different languages. That's quite impressive Ms. Swan." I'm sure that's not the only thing you find impressive about me.
"Twelve actually, but no one really counts old Latin, or Arabic anymore." I twirled my gold bracelet around in circles to take my attention of this mans sickening smirk, that hadn't left his face since I graced the room with my presence.
"That's spectacular! Now how you're French?" His smirk had grown into a full unadulterated grin. He reminded me of the Grince when his smiled grew so wide it twists around is face. Creepy.
"C'est parfait, mais votre ignorance vous garderait de savoir un mot que je dis. Perverti."
Translation: It's perfect, but your ignorance would keep you from knowing a word I'm saying. Pervert.
He smiled and stared at me like he was lost in some wild fantasy. I guess French really is a romance language; I've got this guy wrapped around my finger. I could say jump and he would ask how high, in exchange for getting in my pants, of course.
"Perfect, you're just amazing. My French teacher has a bad case of mono, and I'm desperate to find someone to cover the class until I can find a replacement for next year. It will just be a couple of months, and I'll count all your teaching time as independent studies in order for you to get all your credits." He begged. The man was practically on his knees. He really was desperate.
I stood slowly thinking about his proposition. Well I could have some authority over these mindless adolescents. I walked slowly to the door, opening it.
"I'll do it Mr. Montgomery, just because I love to watch you beg." I purr, and I can almost hear all the blood rushing down his body.
I have to bite my lip so not to laugh the whole way out of the office building.
~ ooOoo ~
I walked into the door of my class only to find it completely empty, I sigh. Children, their never on time, and they don't listen. How can anyone stand to even be one, let alone try to teach these imbeciles?
I make my way slowly to the oak desk and set my messenger back down gently on it. I run my fingers along the darkened grains of wood, reaching for the white sheet of paper with neat black type on it. I perched myself on the edge of the desk letting my feet dangle in the air. I quickly scan the list of names.
James Adams
Clair Blitz
Nick Clems
Alice Cullen
Edward Cullen
No! My thoughts screamed in panic as I read and reread over the list three or four times. This couldn't happen! This is in complete violation of rule number two.
Rule 2:
Don't make contact with your subject(s) until time of attack is near. Observe don't stalk.
How was I supposed to avoid someone who wouldn't stay away from me? What was his problem? Maybe he was stalking me. It sure seemed that way.
The bell brought me out of my perpetual panic, and I focused my eyes on the fifteen children who sat in front of me. There they were, front row first two seats, staring right back at me sitting in perfectly silence, unlike the rest of the class. But then again they weren't like the rest of the class.
I turned my gaze away from his intense stare, and listened to the chatter in the back of the room. The use of my name caught my intention and I listen adamantly.
"Can you believe her I mean first she comes to school in that car, and then she starts talking to Mike?" The first girl wailed.
"What a slut." The other girl agreed, obviously just to fit in with the other girl. .
"Yeah I know, right, did you see what she was wearing yesterday. I swear you could see up her dress. And today that shirt is barely covering anything. I mean we can't get away with any of that shit and she can."
"And she isn't any classes with anyone. I've asked around and people say they only see her in the library. And to top it off she doesn't even come to lunch. Maybe she's some stuck up prick who can't be bothered with us normal people" The second girl had taken on a snotty tone.
"I don't know where she thinks she is but I can't wait to the Mr. Roberts comes in and busts her for sitting at his desk." They both laughed which a high pitched duck like squawk that rang through the room.
I hopped off the desk, still averting my eyes from the front row, but it didn't help the heat I could feel boring into my back from their gawking.
I picked up a single piece of white chalk and in my neatest scrip wrote about my name. Who could have guessed, me, a teacher? I quickly add a Mlle for mademoiselle in front of it.
A flurry of whispers exploded from the room. I turned around and gave the room the best halfhearted smile I could gather up.
"Bonjour, mon nom est Isabella Swan, mais vous pouvez m'appeler tout Mademoiselle Swan, ou juste les Bella." I spoke to the class and watched in delight as their faces turned pale. They turned to look at one another as if to say 'what the hell did she just say'. I sighed.
"Let's try again, good afternoon, my name is Isabella Swan, but you can all call me Mademoiselle Swan, or just Bella." I watched carefully as one at a time their eyes lit up in disbelief, I could have laughed at the dumbfounding expressions they each sported.
There was a gasp form the back of the room. "What!" The blonde haired bimbo gaped at me. I smile at her, and she slouches down into her seat probably wishing she could disappear. You and me both.
I immediately started passing out the worn and dusty copies of Le Fantôme de l'Opéra I'd spotted under the desk. I guess we're translating.
"Le Fantôme de l'Opéra, you will eat, sleep, and breathe it for the next month, because that's how long you have to translate it. Oh, and I'll know if you use Google translator, I been speaking French since I was born, so do it right or don't bother turning it in." I could hear the harsh tone in my own voice, but I couldn't stop babbling.
The rest of the class went smoothly. By which I mean the students were too intimidated to even make eye contact, and I contently read up on my Russian poetry in Стихи о Красивой Леди 'Our Lady Beautiful'.
Finally the bell rang signaling the end of the day, and the freedom from my prison sentence in this god awful school. I dropped my book on the desk, letting it make a loud thud! I pushed away from it, barely able to keep the ridiculous smile laced with joy, off my face.
"Ah…Bella?" Newton's voice cracked like a prepubescent boy.
I sighed, "Yes Mike, how can I help you?"
There it was again, that smoldering lusty look that I had seen an unacceptable amount of times in the passing days at this school. It must be something in their water supply. You'd think that with that brush burn on his face he'd learned his lesson from the first time we met, I guess not.
"So you're a teacher here? Yeah that's cool. So you're not going to make us really read this thing?" He held out his tattered novel, holding it as if he was in danger to catch some kind of disease.
"Yes, no, yes, now if you excuse me I have previous engagements that I've committed to myself. None of which include you. Good afternoon Mr. Newton." I exclaimed curtly before turning to pick up my satchel.
There was an audible gasp from the door and I twisted around to find Cullen with an awestricken face.
What the hell is he staring at! My head screamed in panic. I reached thinking that I was exposing too much skin again, when I touched the gaze on my back. Then I remembered how the bloodied old bandages were still soaking on my back, as instructed by
Die. Oh! Blood. My blood.
I grabbed my book and ran out of the room, no slowing down till I was safely hidden behind the tinted windows of my car. I laid my head weakly on the steering wheel.
This is turning out to be harder then I expected.
Bonjour! Once again. I feel like I'm just piling up your work. I've been in such a writey mood lately. Sorry. Anywho take your time, I have these chapters posted but sadly their unbetaed, so I hope to hear from you hopefully before Christmas. If not, Happy Holidays!
Love,
Fran
