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Rated M for violence.
(The Accountant)
Anna paid the taxi driver and stepped out onto the curb. It was not the first time that she had been to the Callahan's home. There had been play dates and sleepovers with Margaret when they were little girls, but it felt like it had happened in a different life.
As a child, everything had seemed big and wide and high. Hills were mountains, lakes were oceans, and gardens were forests. As she grew older, she saw how small and ordinary things truly were. This was not the case with the Callahan house.
The red brick structure seemed to have more windows and a higher and more pointed roof than she remembered. The path from the driveway to the front door seemed longer, the gardens wider, even the gate looked ominous.
She inhaled deeply before pushing the button on the panel next to the black, iron gate.
"Yes?" A male voice came through the intercom.
"This is Anna Williams, I need to speak with Mr. Callahan."
"What is this regarding?"
"An...um...I want to ask about employment opportunities."
Silence.
She stood for nearly a minute, looking around, hoping that no one who could recognize her would drive by. Her finger hovered over the button as she wondered if she should call again. Just before she pushed it, the gate buzzed open. She looked around once more before stepping through and hearing it close behind her.
A tall man in a dark suit stepped out of the front door and watched her as she walked. "You want to inquire about an employment opportunity?" He asked when she stopped in front of the steps.
"Yes."
He opened the door and motioned her inside. "Mr. Callahan will be here in a moment."
She nodded stiffly, trying not to let her eyes wander as she tried to look confident and composed.
The man in the suit did not once take his eyes off her; it made her feel uncomfortable. It was a relief when Thomas Callahan appeared down the hallway. He was taller than her father had been and older by about five years, his once coppery-red hair was mixed with abundant gray.
His cold, green eyes regarded her carefully as he spoke. "Do you have a weapon on you, girl?" Callahan crossed his arms. "Be honest with me now."
Anna's throat went dry, her heart drummed in her chest. "I have a gun."
The man in the suit took a small step toward her.
Callahan's brow furrowed. "Why do you need a gun?"
"My father was just murdered, it's for protection."
"Where is it?"
"Holstered to my thigh."
"Let's see it, pull up your dress."
She couldn't stop the flicker of fear before it reached her eyes and hated herself for it. Her face grew hot as she wondered what her father would say if he knew she had put herself in such a situation. It was infuriating as well as humiliating, her ill-conceived plan was falling apart already.
She tried to be defiant. "No."
"I'm not doing it for my enjoyment, you're Margaret's age for God's sake. I'm giving you the courtesy of doing it yourself instead of having Patrick do it for you."
His condescending tone grated on her and reminded her of Richard, but she knew she had no choice but to do as he asked. Anna pulled the soft, red fabric up to her thighs until it revealed the handgun. She was not even five minutes into her first mission, and she was already being disarmed.
"Give it to me. Slowly." She complied, taking it by the barrel she offered him the grip. "Is it yours?" Callahan asked as he examined the weapon.
"Yes."
"Do you know how to use it?"
"Yes."
"Do you always carry it with you, or was this a special occasion?"
"I carry it everywhere, except school."
He held out his hand. "The purse."
Anna handed it to him without complaint.
"Where are you coming from dressed like that?" He asked as he passed the purse to Patrick. "Is there a party somewhere on Monday at two o'clock in the afternoon?"
She felt her cheeks flush. "I was at my father's funeral."
Callahan scoffed. "Not only are you committing a crime by carrying an illegal weapon, you wore red to your own father's funeral?" He shook his head, "I thought Richard raised his daughters better than that."
Anna didn't know what to say Richard had failed her and Nina in so many ways.
Callahan sighed as he pocketed her gun. "Come, girl, join me in the back patio for some tea, it'd be a shame to waste this day by talking inside." He turned to his bodyguard. "There's tea already prepared in the kitchen, bring it out."
She discreetly scanned her surroundings as she followed him down the welcoming hall. The hall seemed newly renovated with gold accents, paintings, and decorations that were much too gaudy. She caught a glimpse of the sitting room, it was different from what she remembered, with green carpet and curtains, dark wood, and cream-colored sofas. The two windows in the room were both closed, probably locked, not ideal for making a quick escape. The stairs to the second floor were in the same hall, but she would not go upstairs, it was a death sentence.
At the end of the welcoming hall was the entrance to the rear garden. Callahan opened the door and held it open for her then walked behind her onto the stone-paved terrace.
The lack of conversation put was beginning to put Anna on edge and she attempted to break the silence.
"How is Margaret?"
"Thriving."
Callahan motioned toward a round, glass table, Anna pulled out one of the four chairs and took a seat, he followed suit.
It was not easy to make small talk with a man who obviously hated the mere sight of her. She felt like she was digging her own grave, going deeper and deeper by the second. She had no plan, no weapon, and she was trapped in a house with two men who were undoubtedly armed. She fidgeted with her hands under the table as she examined her surroundings. The perfectly manicured green lawn was encircled by a tall, wrought iron fence. The trees and shrubbery completely blocked the view beyond it. If she needed to escape, she would have to go back inside or take her chances exploring behind shrubs and trees for a way out.
Anna cleared her throat and tried to smile. "We were only children the last time I saw her."
"You're still children."
She wondered if leaving was still an option. If she said that she had changed her mind and needed to go, would he give her back her gun and send her on her way? How was she going to get it back?
"I never had the chance to give Margaret, or you, my condolences after Robbie...passed away."
Callahan's back stiffened at her comment. He chuckled to himself before speaking. "You're here to talk about employment opportunities, correct?"
"Um, yes."
"Are you done with school?"
"Well, no I-"
"What employment opportunities could I possibly have for a girl who has not finished school?"
The door opened, and Patrick stepped outside holding a silver tray with a porcelain teapot and cups. He set it carefully between Anna and Callahan. She noticed the gun holstered to his side as he bent down. It made her uneasy, and she looked at the tray, hoping to find something useful in case she had to defend herself. Yes, a butter knife in a gunfight would be helpful. She wished she could laugh, but she just felt a tightening in her lungs. And there wasn't even a butter knife to use, just teacups and a couple of stirring spoons.
"Well?" Callahan prompted as he poured the tea.
She watched Patrick as he walked back into the house. "I was hoping to work after school, not get paid, just-"
"That I don't believe, why would you want to work for free? Why would you want to work at all? Didn't your father leave you enough money? Aren't you going to attend a university?"
"I'm not ready, I need to learn something practical I need to learn how to be on my own and make my way in the world."
Callahan spoke as he stirred cream into his tea. "I already have a teenage girl to raise. You are Christina's responsibility."
"I'm doing this for her as well as for me. Now that Father is gone, I need to be close to someone with a powerful name, a name that carries weight. Someone murdered him in his own home, I don't want my aunt or my sister to be next?"
He took a small sip, then set down his cup and looked calmly at her. "First you say that you're looking for employment opportunities, now you're saying that you want my protection?"
It was worse than she could have anticipated. With every word she said, she was digging herself deeper and deeper into a hole, making her story more convoluted. She couldn't even read Callahan's expression, he could have been plotting to throw her out or to kill her, and she wouldn't have known the difference.
"I don't want your protection, I want to be associated with you and your name."
He laughed. "I do have the best accountants in town, but I don't know that being associated with my business will protect you from anything."
He was patronizing her, treating her like a child just the same as everyone always had. It took every shred of self-control that she possessed to appear composed. "Not accounting, your real business, the business that bought this house, paid for your bodyguard, and sent Margaret to study abroad."
Callahan's voice was flat. "You are speaking nonsense."
The look in his eyes was hard as steel, his mouth a tight line. Anna could see that she had gotten to him, and it lit a spark in her, made her feel bold.
She watched him stir his tea for a moment. "...Why did you take my gun?" It was such an obvious question, she didn't know why she didn't think to ask before.
"Because I can't have an unbalanced girl with a weapon loose in my home."
"Are school-aged girls you come across usually armed?"
He exhaled slowly but his expression remained impassive. "Why are you here, Anna?"
How far could she push? Where was the balance? The line between getting a confession and getting shot?
"I have never met a single girl my age who has even seen a real gun."
"Answer my question, why are you here?"
"Why do you have a bodyguard? Do all accountants have one?"
He shifted in his seat. "What kind of question is that?"
"A valid question. My father had a bodyguard too, and it wasn't because he was an investment manager." Anna leaned in slightly. "Why did you think I was armed? Is it because Margaret carries a gun too?"
"She does not."
"I know that she does."
"She does not."
"I saw her when-"
"You didn't see her."
"I saw her when she killed my father."
Callahan's hand moved with speed and precision toward the inside of his jacket, but Anna was faster. Her body lurched forward, and her hand acted of its own volition, taking the spoon by the bowl and lodging the handle into Callahan's windpipe.
She watched wide-eyed as the man clutched at his throat, trying to pull at the silver spoon. Her first instinct was to get away, to run, but she was losing her footing, falling with Callahan as he grabbed hold of her collar, the table tumbling with them and the scalding-hot tea splashing on her lap as they hit the ground.
The sounds of clattering, shattering, breaking, and the sharp pain on her knees dulled her senses. Callahan was on top of her, his hand around her throat, Anna tried to pry his fingers off, but he only squeezed harder. She pulled her elbow back and struck his chest with the heel of her palm again and again. His grip loosened, and she pushed him off.
She reached into Callahan's jacket and found her gun just as she heard quick, heavy footsteps. Acting on instinct, she raised her gun and pointed it toward the sound. Patrick had her in his sights. She squeezed the trigger three times in quick succession, and Patrick fell backward, landing still on the ground.
She heard Callahan stir behind her and turned to see him trying to aim his gun at her. Anna's hand was steady as she squeezed the trigger. The bullet hit him between the eyes before he had a chance to aim. The gun clattered as it fell out of his hand.
Everything was still. She could feel her heartbeat in her ears, and there was a ringing, high-pitched, deafening.
She moved her head slowly as she scanned the area.
Overturned table and chairs. Shattered porcelain. Tea and cream spilled on the ground.
And blood.
How will I clean it?
Two men were dead, and she was alive.
She had killed two men.
It didn't feel like a dream, it didn't feel like a nightmare, it felt real, it was real. She was there at that moment in time, there was no escaping that fact. She knew that she should leave, that she should run, but she was rooted to the spot, wondering how to clean all that blood.