The Smiling Assassin strikes again
I was still in a haze after the fight I had with the four strangers.
If you can even call it that.
I continued to walk down the street, the diner far behind me, its yellow glow now lost in the thick haze of sleet and rain. All I could see was a world drenched in black water, where not even cars dared travel. I saw no more light, and no more life in this rundown section of Jump City.
How could I remember the name of this city, yet nothing about me?
I was blinded by rain as well as confusion. I walked as frequently as I stumbled. Every time I tried to bring my head about what I had accomplished, a new question pops in, and I am forced back to square one.
I did not pay attention to where I was walking. I was drowning in a sea of thoughts, emotions and gut-wrenching feelings. Uncertainty plagued me; an aura of fright surrounded me, enveloped and suffocated me. The more I struggled to escape its dark clutches, the harder it pulled, dragging me back down. Every step I took was potentially taking me further away, and yet closer, to the answers I seek. I had no-where to go, no-one to turn to, no-one could help me.
No-one.
The cracked footpath rose slightly and I found myself putting slightly more effort in each step as I forced myself to continue walking and endure the rain. The world was against me, I surmised, but I'll be damned if I let it defeat me.
Why hide?
Why hide? Exactly, why hide? Why hide from the rain? I stopped walking once more and closed my eyes. I slowly tilted my head upwards and felt the heavy droplets strike my face, creating miniscule rivers upon my eyelids and cheeks before following the trail of least resistance and falling off, spiraling forever downwards into the blackness of the sidewalk. I remained motionless with my eyes held tightly shut, simply allowing the rain to drench my whole body. I could almost feel my sins being washed away, every droplet carrying with it an unwanted memory.
Perhaps my memories were unwanted, that's why I have forgotten them…
Thunder rolled lazily through the charcoal sky, following in the wake of sporadic flashes of light. It rumbled, and I could feel it reverberating within me. It was music, I thought. It was Mother Nature's music, her way of communication.
Music to my ears…
I still kept my eyes closed tightly, and my hearing was heightened. The thunder was louder, more pronounced and distinct. A distant wailing of a lone squad car chasing the latest criminal horror met my ears. A peculiar, human wail, a cry of terror, of pain, before being abruptly cut off populated the air. I flinched slightly, the thought of another life extinguished almost too much to bear.
I opened my eyes, and drops of water stung my pupils. I blinked away the irritation and continued to walk up the street, my hands buried deep within my pockets. The note still resided in there, and I fingered it nervously.
As I reached the apex of the slight incline I walked upon, I noticed a rusted metal rubbish bin that struggled to stand upright beside the road. It had metal pole embedded deep in the concrete as a base, which then separated into thinner, metallic tentacles that wrapped around a black plastic inner lining. Upon a pile of crushed aluminum cans and plastic fast-food wrappers, I noticed another newspaper, this one dated a few days ago. I scavenged it from the bin and read the headline.
The Smiling Assassin Strikes Again.
Jump City and its residents were shocked after the brutal slaying of controversial senator George Grialdi. Grialdi was in his the kitchen of his top storey penthouse in Jump Residents when the killer, known only as The Smiling Assassin due to his constant smiling, broke in and murdered Grialdi with a samurai sword dating back to Feudal Japan, experts say, as the weapon was found at the scene. Detective John Carter declined to comment.
Images polluted my mind, and I dropped the newspaper in confusion. I saw strange things, unwanted things. I also heard things, voices, laughter. I heard commands, orders as well, all from the same voice. Who was he? Why was he so significant? I punched the bin in frustration, and the pain wracked my hand, traveling almost instantaneously up my arm and into my spine.
I simply grimaced and continued my slow, depressed footsteps, the images long gone.
As the rain pounded relentlessly upon my back, I absent-mindedly turned right, into a dank alleyway.
Overflowing faded green dumpsters leaned precariously on either side of the rubbish-littered street, barely wide enough for a motorbike to travel safely through. Shredded posters from a world that no-one from this place of desolation cares about inhabited the stained brick walls, portraying concerts and exhibitions five years too late. Broken bottles, shattered dreams and living nightmares accompanied rats, raccoons and various other city-dwelling scavengers.
Normally, this alley would be reserved for the homeless seeking shelter from the mean streets outside as they huddled over a pathetic smoldering flame that resided in an open top metal barrel, with small flickers of fire shooting out from cracks and tears in the rusted metal. Now, the sheet of rain simply smothered all manner of heat that attempted to gain a threshold in the harsh environment outside the walls, and the bums that called this alley home had fled to safer – and presumably warmer – parts of the suburb.
Shadows, so many shadows, yet I didn't notice them.
No! He mustn't go there! He will be ambushed, I can tell, he is already being followed by four of his men.
He will be surrounded! I must save him…
I continued to walk, oblivious to my surroundings. Out of the corner of my eye, however, I noticed movement, a discrepancy in the simple yet cluttered layout of this alley. It was a shadow, similar to all the others, but when I turned my head to gain a better look at it; it disappeared.
I whirled around rapidly, my world a blur as my eyesight struggled to keep up with my movement. My eyes readjusted rapidly, but I noticed nothing out of the ordinary. Just a dark corner of the alley, that's all. I'm imagining things.
I turned my back to the corner and continued through the shadows.
A scuffle! I whirled around again, this time even my hair had trouble keeping up. Still nothing. I was hearing things. It was probably just a rat, I reassured myself. Just a rat.
Yeah, right.
My eyes lingered on where I thought the noise had originated from, but I tore them away and kicked a discarded can in frustration. It rattled noisily down the alley, bouncing over small pebbles and rocks that lay in its path.
A yell! For a final time I turned, and instead of an empty corner, I gazed upon a bizarre sight.
It was that of a man, similar to one of those I had dispatched earlier in the diner, except this time I wasn't the center of his attention. He was parrying with another person, a female, who wielded two eloquently designed daggers, with curved, silver blades that glistened in the combination of rainwater and moonlight. I was seeing things. I must be.
I could not take my eyes of the figure wielding the daggers. It was a woman of immense beauty, and yet deadly passion. She had short black hair with a slight fringe that was now matted atop her head due to the rain, and she was clothed in a skintight black outfit that accentuated her athletic form perfectly. Her eyes however, were what made my heart do back-flips. How could I resist such vibrant blue-black eyes? The answer was simple, and also fatal.
I couldn't.
I was mesmerized, mesmerized by the rage that filled her eyes, the pure passion that flowed freely from them. She thrust her blades, but the man leapt backwards and avoided the lunge. He took her slight unbalance as an advantage and reared his fist back to strike. His clenched hand whistled forward, but the mysterious woman dodged the punch and grabbed hold of the man's arm, turning around and lifting it up and over her shoulder before pulling it and throwing the man over herself and causing him to crash into the brick wall. He groaned in pain and attempted to stand up, but the mysterious woman did not allow for him to defend himself. Instead she bent down and impaled the man with one of her daggers, narrowly missing his spine, and then finally finished him off by swiping across his throat, almost lopping off the man's head. The man slumped to the ground with a sigh, his soul already departed.
"Quickly! We must run!" She warned me, her voice mysterious and accent foreign. Judging from her speech, I surmised that she was Eastern European, perhaps Ukrainian or Russian. She took hold of my arm and, before I had a chance to protest, she led me –with some difficulty, as my feet were dragging on the ground in shock- from the darkness of the alley and into the street.
The mysterious woman hailed a decrepit taxi that had just happened to be passing through -quite fortunate actually- its once vibrant yellow colour now worn and covered in a thin layer of rust, and ushered me inside without another word. The cab driver, a middle-aged man whose appearance dictated that he was from the Middle-Eastern states, took one look at the mysterious woman's daggers and her curious attire and spoke in a thickly accented voice. "Where to?"
"2541 Brooke Street Salisburn. And hurry, please." She said once more, peering through the rear window as she spoke. She noticed three men emerge from the alley, each one more menacing then the last as they raised their weapons to open fire.
"Drive now!" She commanded, and the driver hastily obeyed, pushing the pedal down on his car and revving the worn out engine past its threshold. It whined noisily, and the car shot down the wet street, its tires slipping and sliding madly as they attempted to gain a foothold on the asphalt.
"Who are you?" I managed to ask, before my mouth failed to operate once again. The mysterious woman simply looked at me and smiled sadly. "I will explain everything once we reach my apartment."