Page 5 of Smoke and Mirrors

You’d think considering a terrorist attack occurred not so long ago, they’d be better prepared than this. As long as I look the part and have the appropriate badge, they’re convinced I am that person.

But I’m not. I’m here for one reason and one reason only, and he’s lying in this hospital room hooked up to the endlessly beeping machines, pumping oxygen and God knows what else in an inane attempt to keep him alive.

This man is the sole survivor of the attack. I wasn’t able to bring him down then, so my task is to bring him down now.

Sliding the curtain around his bed as I step up to him, the metal rings clink along the railing while my heart races in my chest. Killing is something that comes naturally to me. I’ve done it for so long now, it’s ingrained in my persona.

I can’t count the number of men I’ve taken out—all in the name of the Seven.

Taking a deep breath, I pull the syringe out of my pocket and take a quick glance behind me making sure no one is entering. Turning back toward the scum before me, I grit my teeth and pick up his IV line, inserting the syringe quickly into it. The pure toxic mix flows straight through the clear plastic line and into his bloodstream, giving me a euphoric sense of relief that I’ve succeeded in my task.

“For the Seven,” I murmur as I watch the clear liquid drain into his system. With a brief smile—I know I don’t have long—I pull the syringe from the IV and take a deep breath while looking at him, taking in his features once more.

His heart rate begins to register a decline on the machine, and I know that’s my cue to leave. Turning, I pull open the curtain a fraction and walk out of the room, nodding to security as I go. My feet hit the floor hard and fast as I walk briskly but not too fast as to draw attention. The distant sound of a heart monitor flatlining and the ‘real’ doctors rushing around echo down the halls. I throw off my scrub top and place it in a nearby bin along with the syringe before I hasten my pace out of the hospital with a spring in my step and a smile on my face.

LILY

Molly’s over for dinner, and we’re eating our usual takeout Chinese from House of Chow as she talks about her latest conquest. This is our typical date night. We call it a date night because Molly only fucks guys, and I’ve had too many bad experiences with men to date, so Molly and I date each other. But not in a weird way, just in a best-friends-eating-takeout-and-vegging kind of way. It is not bizarre, it’s just us. We’re a strange dynamic, but we fit so well together. I can’t imagine a better best friend than Molly McDonald with her long brown hair, chocolate eyes, and a curvy body that men drool over.

At the age of twenty-six, Molly really has her head screwed on. She’s a dancer. She lives and breathes dancing, and when she isn’t trying out for music’s hottest video clips, she’s teaching children how to dance. One small thing, though—Molly hates kids. I mean really hates kids. So that’s an endless source of entertainment. The thing Molly loves, though, is men, and right now she has a thing for my neighbor, Mr. Mysterious.

“So… I can fuck him, right? You said I could.”

Rolling my eyes, I giggle. “I’ve never actually seen him bring a girl home.”

“Eh, I’ll fuck him wherever. I don’t need a bed. Oh, wait… you don’t think he’s gay, do you? Damn, the sexy ones always play for the other team.” She throws her hands in the air in an exacerbated sigh.

Chuckling to myself, I shake my head. “I don’t know if he’s gay, I’m just saying I’ve never seen him with a girl.”

She furrows her brows. “Well, have you seen him with a guy?”

Looking up at the ceiling as I wrack my brain thinking, I shake my head. “No, actually he’s always alone.”

She smiles and puffs out her chest as if he can see her and would be impressed by her sizable rack. “Well then, he’s just holding out for me, isn’t he?”

Laughing, I nod. “Yeah, that’s exactly what Mr. Mysterious is doing. Anyway, enough about my neighbor, what’s happening with your music video?”

She shrugs, rolls her eyes, and picks up the container of Singapore noodles, shoving the chopsticks entirely into her mouth. “Every time I try out for a video, they always want me to twerk ‘cause of my amazing bootaaay. But c’mon, there’s nothing classy about twerking,” she says through mouthfuls of noodles making me giggle.

“Well, your bootaaay is only going to get bigger if you keep shoveling those noodles like that.”

“Hey!” she calls out, and picks up a piece of chicken with her chopsticks and hurtles it at me. Holding back my laugh, I pick it up and eat it.

“Well, if you can have a booty, I can, too. Right?”

“Amen, sister!” she replies and brings her chopsticks up to clink with mine in a cheers motion.

We both chuckle and continue to devour our takeout. After finishing off the entire order and drinking a bottle of wine between us, Molly decides she’s heading home for the night.

“You sure you’re okay to drive? You know the car is perfectly safe locked in the apartment’s underground parking lot. Not that I’m judging your driving skills, but maybe it would be safer for the other drivers if you just left it there?”

She scowls at me. “Bitch, please. Remember that time we drank all those mojitos, and then I drove back home to DC from Baltimore?”

A burst of laughter comes from deep inside me, and Molly scrunches her face in confusion. “Umm, you didn’t drive, your sister had to pick us up, and then the usual hour trip took us nearly three ‘cause she had to keep pulling over for you to pee.”

“Really?” She shrugs. “So I pee when I’m drunk, that’s not a crime. Sheesh… judgmental much there, Lily,” she teases.

“Oh, shut up and get out of my apartment!” We both chuckle as I walk her to the door. Opening it, she steps through, and I step forward to hug her when my neighbor walks down the hallway toward us with two women, one under each arm. I look to Molly, and she smirks at me raising her eyebrows.

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