Page 14 of Assistant to the Assassin

“Agree to disagree.” Her voice has grown quieter, her bravado starting to dwindle. Her eyes search mine, like she’s trying to decipher a puzzle, and it might be the only thing I don’t like about her. In a professional sense, her being able to read my emotions and my reactions is good, but ever since we became friends? I can’t hide anything from her. It’s fucking terrifying.

“What’s your weakness, Beth?” I murmur, looking down at where our bodies connect.

I watch her chest rise and fall a little quicker than normal, and when I reconnect my gaze with hers, she answers me in a defeated whisper, “My attraction to bad ideas.”

She takes a step back from me, her expression filled with a painful yearning that I don’t have the mental capacity to analyze. I drop my arm and my hand, physically aching to reconnect with her, but I refrain. I force my arms to my sides and flex my fingers, still feeling the heat from her skin.

“I’ll call you tomorrow when I land in the UK,” I tell her, starting to walk around her desk and towards the door. I’m just about to graze the doorknob when I hear Beth’s feet shuffle across the floor.

I look over my shoulder to see her standing on the other side of her desk. “Be safe, H.”

I give her a small smile. “Always am.”

Journal Entry 188

When you turn sixteen, it’s supposed to be a time of celebration, but for me, it meant four years had gone by since Mama disappeared. Four years of foster homes filled to the brim with kids no one cared about, and once you’d gotten comfortable, you’d move to an even messier house with just as many orphaned kids.

I hated that word. Orphan. Still do.

It’s what the kids at school would call me on the playground, what they whispered about me in class. For four years, people told me Mama left me because she didn’t love me, that I was an orphan because I was too out of control. Too unpredictable.

“That Henry is such a troublemaker,” my teachers would say. “If he sees a way to stir the pot, he will.”

I first was known for being the quiet, angry-looking kid, but after a couple years of bullying, I developed a reputation for getting into fights. Some I started, some I got forced into, and some I finished. By the time I turned sixteen, I had to get surgery on my nose because it had gotten broken so many times.

“The poor thing is a part of the system and lost his mom,” guidance counselors would say. “This aggression is typical for a traumatized child.”

It did feel good to let off some steam by punching douchebags who harassed people, but my real goal was to piss off everyone enough times that they’d kick me out of the system or ship my off to boarding school.

I just wanted to be anywhere except for there, where reminders of Mama met me at every turn.

I finally got my wish when I beat up my foster brother so badly that he ended up in the ER. After a couple weeks of calls and paperwork, I was sent to military school for the next few years. I left the morning of my birthday.

That night I had lain in bed, unable to find sleep, gripping my rosary so tightly the beads creaked in my fist. I listened to the sound of my clock tick for hours. It was so loud it covered the sound of my foster parents shouting.

I can still hear that damn clock when a room gets too quiet. It follows me everywhere I go.

Tik tock, tick tock, tik tock, tick tock.

My Disease is What You Fed

“We clear?” I whisper into my earpiece.

“Clear. Two minutes,” Beth replies.

“Copy that.”

I’m on the roof of the Harrison Estate, with a tether around my waist, and a two-minute time limit to enter Jacob Harrison’s office and inject him with a dose of liquid cyanide. Because of his status and power, making it so his murder is completely untraceable is crucial. A gun gives more of a crumb trail than a needle.

Beth has the security cameras outside and inside the office on a loop of footage showing Jacob typing on his computer. Once the time limit is up, that footage will stop, and the cameras will find him dead. The goal is to be far away by that point.

I begin my descent towards Harrison’s second story office window, scaling the wall next to the shutters, which tap gently against the side of the house from the wind. I pull out a small handheld mirror, moving it until I get a clear view of the office. Harrison is sitting at his desk reading over something on his laptop, humming along to some song he’s listening to through his AirPods. From all the times I’ve heard Beth sing along to her pop songs, I believe he’s listening to something similar. His head slightly bobs as he goes along with the beat, which will make this task a little harder, but it’s only a minor inconvenience.

On the wall across from him, right above a fake fern, lies a security camera that’s unblinking, occupied by the loop Beth has set up. I should still have a minute and a half left.

Pocketing the mirror, I swing myself towards the window, letting go with just enough time for me to land inside, with my tether still attached. I’ve done this enough to be able to land without making much, if any, noise, but he wouldn’t be able to hear me even if I slammed onto the ground. He’s lost to the music he’s listening to. I take slow steps towards Jacob, mentally berating the man for sitting with his back to an open window with earbuds in. He’s either so arrogant he thinks he’s untouchable or he’s too stupid to realize the danger he’s put himself in.

Oh well. His loss, my gain.

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