It began with a kiss. Nothing in the world had ever meant more to either one of them. Everything they had been through and everything they had ever been, paled in comparison to that kiss.
He cradled her face with his hands and pressed his lips against hers, tasting her.
Her eyelashes fluttered and a small sound escaped from her throat that sounded like a sigh.
He opened his eyes and pulled away. He knew that the moment couldn't last. That what he was feeling couldn't be allowed to take over.
Her eyes remained closed. Perhaps she was thinking the same thing as he. "Don't stop. Please." She whispered.
"I must. I have to leave." He said. "You know I have to go."
"I do." She said, her eyes still closed. "But now?"
"If I don't go now, I won't go." He thought he saw the glimmer of a tear forming along the line of her lashes. He let go of her face and turned to pick up his bag.
"Why did it have to be you?" she asked, touching the back of his arm.
"I suppose it was always going to be me." He said, his back to her. "I guess no one thought to tell you that though."
"I want to go with you"
"Not now. There is too much at stake. Too much danger." He said, turning back towards her.
"I can take care of myself. I want to go." She said.
"We can meet after. At the café. I have come so far. This is the last one. Once I do this, it's over and we can be together. I promise" He turned back to her and saw a tear sliding down her cheek. "Shh. Don't cry. Don't cry." Her ran his hand across her flaxen hair and he kissed her closed eyes. He turned and left the room and went down the stairs. He could taste her salty tears on his lips. He opened the door and went out into the sunlight.
On the stoop his paused to light a cigarette. He started to walk down the street and looked up at her window. She was there, holding the curtain aside, watching him go. He winked and gave her the smile her reserved for her. He though she smiled too, but he couldn't be sure. She stayed in the window until he had turned the corner.
He walked until he reached the flower vendor. He purchased a dozen red roses. The vendor smiled at him, and handed him the flowers wrapped in tissue and cellophane. "Lucky girl." The vendor said, counting his change.
"Yes. Very." He agreed, as he flipped his cigarette butt into the gutter and walked on. He looked both ways and, convinced no one was watching him, he ducked down the closest alleyway. He stopped halfway down and placed the flowers on top of a trashcan. He placed the bag on the ground. Carefully he unwrapped the flowers. He unzipped the bag and removed two guns from it. He loaded them both and placed one in the midst of the roses and the other down the back of his pants. He rewrapped the flowers making sure the gun was concealed inside.
As he began to walk back out of the alley he suddenly remembered the first time he had seen her, several months ago. She had been at the café with another man. The other man. He had seen those blue eyes underneath her long lashes and nearly melted, but didn't portray any of his feelings on his face. She had come across as sweet and quiet, even though he later learned that the quiet part was only a façade.
The other man had introduced her. Her name sounded like a song. And then she had reached out to shake his hand and he felt an immediate jolt of electricity run up his arm that nearly stopped his heart. He was instantly in love.
He realized he had stopped cold at the mouth of the alley, lost in memory. Dangerous. He pushed those golden moments from his brain, to continue with the task at hand.
Finally he reached his destination. He sat on a bench and lit another cigarette. He sat smoking, the flowers resting innocently on the bench next to him. His eyes scanned the sidewalk across the street. He saw his target emerge from the dry cleaners. He stood up, picking up the flowers, and crossed the street. His target was looking around nervously. The target walked down the block and around the corner. He followed. And followed. He followed him for ten minutes or maybe more, slowly closing the gap between them. The target glanced from left to right, but never looked behind himself. The target never saw him coming. When he knew there was no one around, he charged.
He grasped the target around the shoulders and spun him around. The gun rang out and rose petals exploded around the target like a firework. The target looked into his eyes knowing who had shot him and why. He never shot anyone in the back like a coward. The target slumped to the ground. Rose petals blew around him, leaving bloody swirls on the pavement.
He retreated back down the street and away from the body lying prone on the sidewalk. That was it. It was over. His blood debt had been paid in full.
He walked with purpose in the direction of his apartment. As he walked he felt the weight of his burden lifting and his mind and heart swam with feelings of freedom and love. He would take her away to a place where they would never find them. They would go as far as possible.
Reaching his apartment he entered the shabby room he had been calling home, for the last time. Whistling, he threw both guns on the bed and pulled the suitcase from under the bed. He flipped it open and started to toss his few belongings in. He put both guns on top and began to clasp the suitcase closed. He paused. He popped the suitcase open again, and put one gun back down the back of his pants waistline again.
He flipped the switch and the bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling went out. He dashed out into the street and was startled to hear several loud pops to his left. He ducked, then felt foolish as he realized it was just children playing with noisemakers. He was disturbed by how skittish he was and he tried to shake it off as he headed to the café.
He kept thinking to himself, "Don't be a fool. The other man can't know of my intentions. He has been gone for a month, and who knows when he will be back. We will be sipping drinks on a secluded beach before he knows what we have done." But he couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right.
He went to the station, before going to the café. He slid the suitcase into a locker, and took the key, placing it in his back pocket, close to his gun. As he approached the café he looked through the windows to see if she was already there. She wasn't. Instead of going in, he sat down on the wall across the street and watched the door.
Lighting a cigarette, he leaned against the wall and waited. An hour passed, then another. A collage of squashed cigarette butts was slowly forming around his feet. Still she didn't appear. He began to worry. A swarm of "What ifs" filled his head. Nighttime fully enveloped him and he was nothing more than a small orange glow against a black backdrop.
He decided to walk to her place and see if he could see her there. He approached from the alley across the street from her apartment. There was no light on in her windows. Did he dare go inside? He waited for some sign. None came.
Finally, he decided there was nothing else to do but go inside. If the other man was there, it was time for a reckoning. She would have a choice to make.
He climbed the stairs, that he had descended so happy hours ago, this time wary and alert. He knocked on the door and received no answer. He tried the knob and it turned with ease. He removed the gun from his waistband and entered.
The room was in shambles and all of her personal items were gone. He searched for anybody present, and found the apartment empty. Sighing, he saw a slip of paper on the table. He approached it with his a heavy heart.
In her handwriting were three cryptic words, obviously written in haste.
"You know why."
And he did.