A/N

Back again! Enjoy and please review!

It's 3am in Tokyo, Japan and I'm awake. The lights are all off, the clock is throwing blue light from the bedside table between the beds, and the lump under the covers of the queen closest to the door is Reborn.

This arrangement was not my idea, but he decided it the minute we got in the room. The windows are sealed, we're on the 15th floor, and the room isn't a Jack and Jill. The light over the entrance is motion activated: there is one entrance and one exit.

My suitcase is open on the stand at the foot of his bed, narrowing the walk way, and our shoes line the depressed area near the door. He moved a heavy stand with glass flowers right in front of the shoe area and it's impossible to get to the bathroom or door without sliding around it. The flowers clink when the stand is nudged even a little and this room has hard wood floors.

It's a trap, a jail, and Reborn is the jailer.

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I can hear the hitman shifting and getting up, getting ready to walk around the city again. He's done that the past two days, and each day he comes back a little later. I've been awake for half an hour waiting, and as I listen for the sound of the door, I focus on slowing my breathing, my heart, relaxing my limbs.

Twenty-five steps to the door, a pause. Maybe he's looking back, scanning the room, judging whether I'm really still asleep. The jet lag has been a problem, but last night I hid the Benadryl under my tongue and spat it into the toilet so I'd sleep lightly.

Yesterday I almost missed Reborn leaving, but the man in the room behind our headboards turned on the tv, loudly.

I force myself to remain limp, to fight urge to freeze and stiffen up like a board. There's shuffling, I can hear his heels click softly on the tile, two locks turning.

One...

Two...

Three...

Four...

Five...

Six...

Seven...

Eight...

Nine...

Ten...

Eleven...

Twelve...

Thirteen...

Fourteen...

Fifteen.

The door opens quietly and then clicks softly shut.

Sixteen...

Seventeen...

Eighteen...

Nineteen...

Twenty...

Twenty-one...

Twenty-two...

Twenty-three…

I keep counting, but this time Reborn doesn't double back, doesn't re-enter the room even after five minutes pass. Slowly, I role to the side of the bed and pause again, just in case I'm wrong.

.

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The door remains closed.

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I'm up and moving quickly, lights still off. Avoiding the trigger wire lining the floor, I carefully make my way to the desk pushed near the corner of the wall and reach past the clever booby trap for the center drawer, gently pressing one hand up over the motion sensor when the camera briefly clicks shut.

Setting the sensor just off course for the third time this week, I step back into the narrow window it leaves me and check the angle. All clear.

Shifting the magazines and menus aside with one hand I can feel the slick material of the bag I stuffed in the back the first day Reborn went out. I've been moving it around the room each night, and yesterday I chose the toughest spot in the room.

Where things are well guarded they are also overlooked.

Pulling the heavy curtain open to allow light from the moon and the skyscrapers to filter in, I glance again at the door.

.

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Still shut, still quiet.

.

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Hands steady, I grab the phone and flip it, cringing a little as the phone rattles in the receiver. Taking a screwdriver, the back panel is off and I'm pulling wires, cutting the insulation and twisting them together with the white and black lines from flat black box still resting in the bag.

.

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The door's shut. No footsteps.

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No sound from the other rooms; one is empty, one is occupied. Business man, Ukraine born, German bred, in the energy trade. Likes to watch the news, understands French, barely speaks it, failed to download a dirty video last night and switched to trading stocks shortly after. He won't wake up until at least 9am after the very sweet complimentary martini he drank a few hours ago.

.

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The phone comes back together quickly and with a deep breath I press the switch on the black box and watch as two little red lights flick on, an internal whirring beginning. Good, this time it worked. I have exactly one hour to make this call before the line is tapped.

Three other things remain in the bag, and I pull out a box the size of my index finger. Inside, a glass card as long and wide as a stick of gum and as thin as a microscope slide sits in velvet lining. Lifting it delicately and turning it to catch the low light, the frosted numbers stand out just enough to be legible as my finger prints transfer.

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"010 - 49 - 341 - T, R, E, F, F, E…N." I mutter as I punch the buttons and hit call.

A rhythmic clicking starts from the black box.

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The phone whirs and a gentle ringing sounds as the number goes through. I glance at the door again. Light shines from the hall, uninterrupted by shadows. Another click and then a cool, male voice answers.

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"Sie haben das büro von Herrn Johann Weimar erreicht. Er ist zur zeit nicht in der lage, an das telefon zu kommen, also hinterlassen sie bitte lhren namen, Ihre nummer und eine kurze nachricht. Vielen dank und guten tag." (1)

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The voice became female.

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"Bitte sprechen sie nach dem signalton und nehmen sie Ihre nachricht auf.

(At the tone, please record your message)

Um unsere neuesten veröffentlichungen zu hören, drücken sie die taste eins.

(To hear our latest publications, press one.)

Um einen mitarbeiter zu erreichen, drücken sie die taste zwei.

(To reach an associate, press two.)

Um andere filialen zu erreichen, drücken sie die vier.

(To access other branches, press four.)

Um eine beschwerde zu melden, drücken sie die fünf.

(To report a complaint, press five.)

Um diese optionen erneut anzuhören, drücken sie die sechs."

(To hear these options again, press six. )

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Before the tone could ring, I punched three. The whirring started again before the same woman came over the phone.

"Sie haben eine option gewählt, die derzeit nicht verfügbar ist.

(You have dialed an option that is not currently available.)

Um zu den nachrichtenoptionen zurückzukehren, gehen sie bitte drücken sie die sieben. Um zurück zu-"

(To return to message options, please press seven. To return to-)

.

I punched eight. Silence for moment before the voice of the initial speaker came over the line flat and stern.

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"Identifikations nummer" (2)

"Eight. Two. Seventy-five. Two. Five. Five."

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There was another pause and the language changed from German to English.

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"Call transferring. Please hold."

There was no music, just flat silence as the call changed hands, transferred between countries. My breath started to come quicker as my chest tightened and the black box clicked rhythmically. The receiver picked up the phone and I held my breath.

.

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"Hello Ms. Kan. We've been expecting your call," a female voice with Italian accented English and a touch of a sneer addressed me. My breath whooshed out.

"Yes, I apologize for the lateness of the call, I had difficulty creating a time that was safe and private."

"I see."

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Unimpressed, dismissive. I could see her in my mind, dark curls falling over her shoulders, dark eyebrows arched, expression careless.

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"Yes." My resolve was wavering.

"Well, I suppose you've called now, haven't you, Jinx?"

.

I felt dread creep in.

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"Yes…" My voice cracked.

Shit, keep it together moron!

She sighed.

"And you want to reach Donna Rosemary, correct?"

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I could hear her looking at her nails, considering the manicured, flawless French tip, flicking the dust away on her pristine white desk.

.

"Yes, I'm due for a check in."

"Ah, yes of course! A check in. We would not want you to miss that, would we?" Her voice was mocking and my heart dropped at the subtle threat. Hands shaking a little, my voice came out weaker.

"Marianna, please, I need to report to her. I'm trying to follow orders, and I know you know that."

"Hmm? Orders? What orders? No one ordered me to send you to Donna Rosemary."

Her voice was like cool silk veiling poison. Gripping the phone tightly, I looked at the clock.

.

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Forty-three minutes left…

.

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"Then what are your orders?"

"My orders? Wouldn't you like to know…"

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Desperation crept up my throat, but her game had already begun.

Too late...

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"Marianna, please, I just need to speak to her, to give my report."

Rushing her is useless, don't even try.

"Why don't you give me the report and I'll pass it along, in due time." She was laughing.

She was laughing the last time too, and the time before that, and the time before the time before. Always laughing, always the same laugh...

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It was suffocating, the room, her voice, the eyes I knew were gleaming with an ugly pleasure and delight. I tried again.

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"I can't do that, it's meant to be a direct report and check in, you know that Marianna." My voice faltered.

"Oh? Well, that's too bad. Goodbye, Ms. Seventy-five." Sugared tones echoed as the phone moved towards the receiver.

I don't have another card! I can't get another card! I can't get anyone if she drops this goddamned call! Fuckfuckfuckfuck, I'll have to go to-no, no, no-

"Wait, wait, wait! Wait! I, what do you want? What do you want?!" My heart jumped and I threw out a hand involuntarily, quickly drawing it out of the line of the motion sensor.

.

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A shadow passed by the door and I froze. No turning of the knob.

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I focused on the phone.

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She was giggling now, a sound like bubble gum and crystal chandeliers. My stomach turned at the sound, and I sank further into the chair I was perched on. Play along, just play along…

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"What do you want Marianna." There was no force left to my voice.

"What do I want, what do I want…" She sang to herself, swiveling about in her chair.

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I waited.

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"You could grovel, plead. Tell me how much you need me to transfer you, or how sorry you are to have been born. Tell me, Jinx, how miserable is your life, how important is this call?"

.

She wasn't finished, I knew better than to interrupt.

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"No. I change my mind. That's no fun, we did that last time; it's no good when I can't see your face!"

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I was silent.

She went on, voice cheery and light as she ran through her favorite topic.

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"Tell me about the night Jack died, relive it a little for me, that's always fun. Then I'll send my report to headquarters, give myself some time with Ganuache…"

She licked her lips.

Play along, play along...

'Little girl, don't you ever stand up for your damn little self?'

Shut up.

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"Yes, let's do that," she added.

I jerked back into the present.

"You tell me about the night Jack died, and I'll transfer you into the main headquarters. How about that?"

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Liar, liar, liar

It was an old trick. Darkness swirled up from deep inside and I could feel my face go cold.

.

'Hah! So she has some fire after all...ya need that if ya gonna shoot.'

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"Oh? Not happy?" Marianna taunted.

.

How many times had we done this? Each time she stuck the knife deeper, gouged into the old wounds still dripping, bleeding.

I hate her.

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'Nobody gonna do your job for you, little girl, you gotta take life by the balls, make it work for you.'

.

Shut. UP.

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"It's a fair deal, I do something for you, you do something for me. It's very fair, very, very fair for you." There was glee in her voice that had been hiding before.

I bit my tongue, hard. The coppery taste of blood flooded my mouth and nose, sharpening my focus.

Breathe. Breathe. Keep it together: that's her real face.

I swallowed, gingerly rubbing my tongue against my teeth.

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"What's wrong? Is poor little Jinx being mistreated? Are you angry? Are you...cracking? There's no big man to shield you little girl, nobody to make things go away, haha!"

.

Sickening, simmering, deep set rage, malice. The cut was still bleeding, zinging and throbbing dully.

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What you gonna do, little girl? What can you do? Hah!'

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Stop talking.

"We-ell, life's tough, isn't it? Poor, poor little Arabella. You "didn't ask for any of this," just wanted "to go home!" Poor, pathetic, little bitch."

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One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six…

.

'You really are pathetic little girl. Real pathetic. Make you angry?'

.

"…Will Nono come save you? Make me put the call through? Me do something for you…"

.

'Gonna run? Where? Hah! What's that ugly little face? God, everything about you is pathetic.'

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…Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-one. Twenty-Two…

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"…it would all go away if you just told me what happened to Jack, tell me what you did. You remember don't you? I know you do, everyone does, you little liar…"

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'What? You got somethin to say?'

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…Thirty. Thirty-one. Thirty-two. Thirty-three…

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"…Say something, you snake, speak! Tell me that you want me to help you, that you are all alone, helpless, useless! Beg, trash, whore!"

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'Come on, what is it? You dumb? Dumb, pathetic, angry little girl aren't ya?'

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…Fifty-four. Fifty-five. Fifty-six. Fifty-seven.

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"…if you think after what you did there is anyone who could want you, you are more than just a blind, backstabbing, miserable little..."

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'So that's it then. You really are useless, huh? Can't even fight back.'

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…Fifty-nine. Sixty.

No. Watch me, asshole.

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I set the phone down and took a deep breath.

In, and out. In, and out. Breathe.

I cradled the phone and glanced at the clock.

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Thirty-nine minutes left.

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The door was still shut. I could hear snores faintly from the wall.

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I stared at the phone, and then placed it to my ear, mask sliding into position.

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'Fucking hell! Shit girl, where'd you come from?!'

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No emotion.

No fear.

Nothing.

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'Who taught you that, huh? Fuck, hurts.'

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Ice and steel.

Nothing.

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'You're a cold little girl...shit, what a punch...'

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Steel.

Nothing.

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'...I like you!'

There was a yawning black hole where my heart was meant to be.

.

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"Marianna, do your job."

"What? Are you ordering me? You think that I would answer to-"

"Transfer. Now."

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She went quiet, and for a long moment neither of us spoke.

The black box clicked and the clock hands moved forward.

.

"Marianna-"

"Transferring now. Have a good day, you damn jinx."

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Her voice was like syrup, and there was a burst of victorious giggles as the line went silent.

A pause, operatic music, then a sonorous, gravely voice answered. My eyes flew wide as my heart lurched up to choke me.

NO! NO, NO! SHIT!

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"T&I this is Ricardo speaking, how can I help you?"

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Translations:

1) You have reached the office of Mr. Johann Weimar. He is currently unable to come to the phone, so please leave your name, number and a brief message. Thank you and good day.

2) Identification number

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A/N

I've tried to incorporate some easter eggs/clues in the chapters as I've gone back and cleaned things up (your patience and continued dedication to reading is much appreciated!).

Numbers are important, so look at them carefully if you're interested. The phone number should tell you where the call went to, and names have meaning. If you crack it, let me know!