Chapter 4
Five minutes after arriving at John's apartment, Alora found an open internet line and began typing rapidly on her laptop.
Frankie was sitting on the couch watching the news on John's TV. She didn't know why she was, because she couldn't stand the biased view of all the liberal news reporters. Day after day the reported terrorist attack after terrorist attack, but almost never did they report the many, many good things that were happening in Iraq.
Alora's fingers continued to fly rapidly over the keys, typing an email to someone. At the end of the letter she typed in bold, "Do NOT Kill John Kilmer!" She went back to change the k in "kill" to lowercase and accidentally deleted everything before the word. She emitted a low groan and stood from the computer to get a glass of water before retyping the rest of the message.
While Alora was in the kitchen, Frankie pulled her coat off the coat rack in search of a pen so she could write down the number that was being advertised on the TV for a red bracelet. Not finding a pen, she walked into John's office area to get one, dropping her coat on Alora's laptop on the way by.
As the coat landed, it struck the 'send' button on the computer causing the message "Kill John Kilmer!" to flash on the screen once before it was replaced with "Message Sending…" Frankie reentered the room and picked up her coat. "Oops." Was all she said, signaling that she had dropped her coat there somewhat on purpose, not knowing what had taken place in her absence. She quickly jotted down the number and resumed her place on the green couch.
Alora walked back into the living room with a glass of water in her hand and sat down at her computer. Immediately her eyes began to frantically roam the screen, searching for the message that had been there when she left. And then it happened…the mouse froze on the screen along with everything else. She slammed her hand on the desk, chipping the edge off one of her perfectly rounded nails. "No!" Alora whispered to the computer. "You can't freeze now! I have to find that message so I can retype it and send it." She leaned back in her chair and ran a hand quickly through her hair. Oh well, she thought with a sigh. She would just have to find the message in the morning. Her eyelids were getting to heavy to continue staring at the bright computer screen. She shut down the computer, picked up a blanket and situated herself on the recliner.
Frankie shut off the TV and flipped off the lights before she curled up on the couch.
Sleep was the first thing the females had agreed on since they met.
-
The dark, male figure moved silently around the perimeter of the apartment complex. He looked up to the second story window that was supposedly John Kilmer's apartment. He had gotten the message from his boss that he was to kill John. He never disobeyed orders…it wasn't good for his health. He pulled a flashlight out of his coat pocket and turned it on. He pointed it toward the ground so no one would notice its light. He pointed it at his little notebook in which he had drawn a map of all of the places in the apartments he had been given access too. What he didn't know he had been given by his superiors, so he had a pretty good idea of what the place was like.
Now, how was he supposed to get into the apartment…that was the only part of his orders that hadn't been explained to him. Aha, there was his answer. There was a tall maple tree growing close enough to John's bedroom window to be able to get a clear view inside. All he had to do was climb up the tree, aim, and shoot. It was as simple as that. Then he could go back to headquarters and tell them that he had accomplished his mission. Maybe he'd get some sort of reward - like a raise. He hadn't gotten a raise since he could remember. But then again, his branch of the terrorist group didn't get paid very well.
He shook his head, ridding all extra thoughts from his mind as he climbed up the tree. He straightened his black mask so that it wouldn't hinder his view. A large black gun was pulled from the backpack that was strapped tightly to his back. It had a silencer so he would have time to get away before anyone realized what had happened.
John Kilmer could be seen clearly through the window, sleeping. The gun was fired and the murderer slid down the tree and ran across the yard. Apparently he was not seen because no alarm was given. Besides, he was dressed in black, who would see him in the dead of night?
The man laughed as he reached his black truck. Mission accomplished. He thought to himself as he pulled the thick mask from his head, revealing a tousled head of dark brown hair. He slipped the gun back into his backpack and climbed into his truck. The vehicle was parked far enough away that it would have no connection with the murder when he started it up and drove away, besides, this street was busy enough that no one would notice when another one was added to its noisy flow.
-
Frankie was walking slowly through an abandoned warehouse. The darkness seemed to be closing around her, but she could hear the voices in the distance. Those were the voices of those she was sent here to take care of. She held her gun steadily before her as she walked along the abandoned hallway. She pulled her black coat tighter around her, hoping it would help conceal her within the shadows. The voices were getting closer to her now, apparently she was approaching the room in which the terrorists were hiding. It wouldn't be much longer now, she only had a little further to go. She poised her finger over the trigger, sweat beginning to form on her hands. She couldn't let it cause the gun to become slippery…she couldn't afford any mistakes. One hesitation could mean certain death.
And then she felt it - the cold metal against her neck. She had been caught. Her presence here was no longer a secret…apparently it never had been. She obediently dropped her gun to the ground, the sound of metal dropping on metal echoed through the silent building. She turned to face her captor, to see the face of the one who held a gun to her head. But there was only a black mask. A black mask covering every facial feature…except the eyes. Cold, heartless eyes that pierced through one's own and seemed to bore into the very soul.
Those blue eyes…they always seemed to be laughing at her. Taunting her, amused that she would be on the receiving end if a bullet was to fly. And one did…the loud crack of the trigger being pulled sounded off through the night…it seemed to shatter the darkness in which she was standing. Frankie almost felt the bullet as it hit home…lodging itself deep into her skull. Then glass shattered all about her…where had it come from?
-
Frankie's eyes opened wide as she took in a sharp breath. Her head whirled as she took in her surroundings. She flew up into a sitting position and looked around herself groggily. It had only been a dream…she was still positioned on the couch in John Kilmer's living room. She could feel her heart racing in her chest, but her breathing had slowed to an acceptable level. How many times was she going to have that dream? She had it night after night, and every single time she woke up in a panic.
She got up from the couch and wiped the sweat from her forehead. As she moved toward the kitchen to get a glass of water, she realized that Alora had stirred as well.
"Did you hear that?" Alora pushed her blanket onto the floor and stood from the recliner.
"Hear what?" Frankie was somewhat annoyed that Alora was awake. She only hoped that she hadn't made any noise during the horrible dream that would give away her weakness to the opposing female.
"It sounded like glass shattering." Alora ran a hand through her dark brown hair, trying to pull herself into a sober state.
Frankie paused for a moment. The glass. She remembered hearing glass shatter at the end of her dream. In fact, that was the only part of this dream that hadn't been there all of the other times. Maybe the glass hadn't been in her dream at all, maybe that was what woke her up. She turned toward the door to John's bedroom and walked quickly toward it.
Alora followed closely behind and watched as Frankie turned the door knob. But it was locked. Frankie called John's name a few times, but there was no answer. She heard Frankie give a worried sigh as she stepped back from the door, then she knew what Frankie was going to do…she had seen it done so many times.
The door swung open as Frankie's foot made contact with it. Both women rushed inside and found John lying unconscious on his bed. Alora glanced over at the window which had been shattered into many pieces. What happened here?
Frankie quickly found the bullet hole in John's side. She pressed a bed sheet closely to it as she frantically tried to think of what to do. Why couldn't she think straight? She had been through situations like this before…many times before. So why couldn't she remember what to do? Maybe it was because she was so tired. After all, it was late. She glanced over at the alarm clock - 2:30 a.m.
"I'll go call 911!" Alora jumped up from the bedside and ran into the kitchen. She quickly dialed the number and waited for someone to answer. She impatiently tapped her foot on the ground…what was taking so long? "Answer the phone!" She yelled into the receiver, knowing that it wouldn't make anyone answer any faster.
Frankie could hear Alora talking in the kitchen…good, she must have gotten a hold of someone. She pressed the bed sheet harder against John's side…the blood was soaking through so she pulled more bed sheet over and piled it on top of the other…she couldn't let anymore blood get through.
"John…what happened to you!" She spoke loudly, even though she knew that he couldn't hear her.
Five minutes after arriving at John's apartment, Alora found an open internet line and began typing rapidly on her laptop.
Frankie was sitting on the couch watching the news on John's TV. She didn't know why she was, because she couldn't stand the biased view of all the liberal news reporters. Day after day the reported terrorist attack after terrorist attack, but almost never did they report the many, many good things that were happening in Iraq.
Alora's fingers continued to fly rapidly over the keys, typing an email to someone. At the end of the letter she typed in bold, "Do NOT Kill John Kilmer!" She went back to change the k in "kill" to lowercase and accidentally deleted everything before the word. She emitted a low groan and stood from the computer to get a glass of water before retyping the rest of the message.
While Alora was in the kitchen, Frankie pulled her coat off the coat rack in search of a pen so she could write down the number that was being advertised on the TV for a red bracelet. Not finding a pen, she walked into John's office area to get one, dropping her coat on Alora's laptop on the way by.
As the coat landed, it struck the 'send' button on the computer causing the message "Kill John Kilmer!" to flash on the screen once before it was replaced with "Message Sending…" Frankie reentered the room and picked up her coat. "Oops." Was all she said, signaling that she had dropped her coat there somewhat on purpose, not knowing what had taken place in her absence. She quickly jotted down the number and resumed her place on the green couch.
Alora walked back into the living room with a glass of water in her hand and sat down at her computer. Immediately her eyes began to frantically roam the screen, searching for the message that had been there when she left. And then it happened…the mouse froze on the screen along with everything else. She slammed her hand on the desk, chipping the edge off one of her perfectly rounded nails. "No!" Alora whispered to the computer. "You can't freeze now! I have to find that message so I can retype it and send it." She leaned back in her chair and ran a hand quickly through her hair. Oh well, she thought with a sigh. She would just have to find the message in the morning. Her eyelids were getting to heavy to continue staring at the bright computer screen. She shut down the computer, picked up a blanket and situated herself on the recliner.
Frankie shut off the TV and flipped off the lights before she curled up on the couch.
Sleep was the first thing the females had agreed on since they met.
-
The dark, male figure moved silently around the perimeter of the apartment complex. He looked up to the second story window that was supposedly John Kilmer's apartment. He had gotten the message from his boss that he was to kill John. He never disobeyed orders…it wasn't good for his health. He pulled a flashlight out of his coat pocket and turned it on. He pointed it toward the ground so no one would notice its light. He pointed it at his little notebook in which he had drawn a map of all of the places in the apartments he had been given access too. What he didn't know he had been given by his superiors, so he had a pretty good idea of what the place was like.
Now, how was he supposed to get into the apartment…that was the only part of his orders that hadn't been explained to him. Aha, there was his answer. There was a tall maple tree growing close enough to John's bedroom window to be able to get a clear view inside. All he had to do was climb up the tree, aim, and shoot. It was as simple as that. Then he could go back to headquarters and tell them that he had accomplished his mission. Maybe he'd get some sort of reward - like a raise. He hadn't gotten a raise since he could remember. But then again, his branch of the terrorist group didn't get paid very well.
He shook his head, ridding all extra thoughts from his mind as he climbed up the tree. He straightened his black mask so that it wouldn't hinder his view. A large black gun was pulled from the backpack that was strapped tightly to his back. It had a silencer so he would have time to get away before anyone realized what had happened.
John Kilmer could be seen clearly through the window, sleeping. The gun was fired and the murderer slid down the tree and ran across the yard. Apparently he was not seen because no alarm was given. Besides, he was dressed in black, who would see him in the dead of night?
The man laughed as he reached his black truck. Mission accomplished. He thought to himself as he pulled the thick mask from his head, revealing a tousled head of dark brown hair. He slipped the gun back into his backpack and climbed into his truck. The vehicle was parked far enough away that it would have no connection with the murder when he started it up and drove away, besides, this street was busy enough that no one would notice when another one was added to its noisy flow.
-
Frankie was walking slowly through an abandoned warehouse. The darkness seemed to be closing around her, but she could hear the voices in the distance. Those were the voices of those she was sent here to take care of. She held her gun steadily before her as she walked along the abandoned hallway. She pulled her black coat tighter around her, hoping it would help conceal her within the shadows. The voices were getting closer to her now, apparently she was approaching the room in which the terrorists were hiding. It wouldn't be much longer now, she only had a little further to go. She poised her finger over the trigger, sweat beginning to form on her hands. She couldn't let it cause the gun to become slippery…she couldn't afford any mistakes. One hesitation could mean certain death.
And then she felt it - the cold metal against her neck. She had been caught. Her presence here was no longer a secret…apparently it never had been. She obediently dropped her gun to the ground, the sound of metal dropping on metal echoed through the silent building. She turned to face her captor, to see the face of the one who held a gun to her head. But there was only a black mask. A black mask covering every facial feature…except the eyes. Cold, heartless eyes that pierced through one's own and seemed to bore into the very soul.
Those blue eyes…they always seemed to be laughing at her. Taunting her, amused that she would be on the receiving end if a bullet was to fly. And one did…the loud crack of the trigger being pulled sounded off through the night…it seemed to shatter the darkness in which she was standing. Frankie almost felt the bullet as it hit home…lodging itself deep into her skull. Then glass shattered all about her…where had it come from?
-
Frankie's eyes opened wide as she took in a sharp breath. Her head whirled as she took in her surroundings. She flew up into a sitting position and looked around herself groggily. It had only been a dream…she was still positioned on the couch in John Kilmer's living room. She could feel her heart racing in her chest, but her breathing had slowed to an acceptable level. How many times was she going to have that dream? She had it night after night, and every single time she woke up in a panic.
She got up from the couch and wiped the sweat from her forehead. As she moved toward the kitchen to get a glass of water, she realized that Alora had stirred as well.
"Did you hear that?" Alora pushed her blanket onto the floor and stood from the recliner.
"Hear what?" Frankie was somewhat annoyed that Alora was awake. She only hoped that she hadn't made any noise during the horrible dream that would give away her weakness to the opposing female.
"It sounded like glass shattering." Alora ran a hand through her dark brown hair, trying to pull herself into a sober state.
Frankie paused for a moment. The glass. She remembered hearing glass shatter at the end of her dream. In fact, that was the only part of this dream that hadn't been there all of the other times. Maybe the glass hadn't been in her dream at all, maybe that was what woke her up. She turned toward the door to John's bedroom and walked quickly toward it.
Alora followed closely behind and watched as Frankie turned the door knob. But it was locked. Frankie called John's name a few times, but there was no answer. She heard Frankie give a worried sigh as she stepped back from the door, then she knew what Frankie was going to do…she had seen it done so many times.
The door swung open as Frankie's foot made contact with it. Both women rushed inside and found John lying unconscious on his bed. Alora glanced over at the window which had been shattered into many pieces. What happened here?
Frankie quickly found the bullet hole in John's side. She pressed a bed sheet closely to it as she frantically tried to think of what to do. Why couldn't she think straight? She had been through situations like this before…many times before. So why couldn't she remember what to do? Maybe it was because she was so tired. After all, it was late. She glanced over at the alarm clock - 2:30 a.m.
"I'll go call 911!" Alora jumped up from the bedside and ran into the kitchen. She quickly dialed the number and waited for someone to answer. She impatiently tapped her foot on the ground…what was taking so long? "Answer the phone!" She yelled into the receiver, knowing that it wouldn't make anyone answer any faster.
Frankie could hear Alora talking in the kitchen…good, she must have gotten a hold of someone. She pressed the bed sheet harder against John's side…the blood was soaking through so she pulled more bed sheet over and piled it on top of the other…she couldn't let anymore blood get through.
"John…what happened to you!" She spoke loudly, even though she knew that he couldn't hear her.