Page 89 of Assassin Anonymous

“Ten, we continue to take a personal inventory, and when we are wrong, promptly admit it.

“Eleven, we seek through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with our higher power, as we understand it, praying only for knowledge of its will for us and the power to carry that out.

“Twelve, having had a spiritual awakening as the result of the steps, we try to carry this message to others like us, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.”

Kenji pauses, giving the words a moment to sink in. Then he says, “No one among us has been able to maintain anything like perfect adherence to these principles. We are not saints…”

“Damn straight,” Booker mutters.

“The point is that we are willing to grow along spiritual lines,” Kenji says. “Now, Mark, as this is your first meeting, you’re welcome to share. Would you like to tell us what brought you here?”

My head spins a little. I’m not used to talking about my job. Or my feelings. Or anything at all, really. And here are three people waiting for me to open my wrist and spill blood all over the floor. I press my hands together, crack my knuckles, hoping words manage to spring forth, but not really knowing what to say.

Booker raises his hand, a pair of wooden rosary beads wrapped around his palm and dangling down his wrist. “I can share. To get us started.”

His voice sounds different. Softer now, and warmer. I nod at him.

“My name is Booker and I haven’t killed anyone in two years,” he says. “So for the past week I’ve been doing this guided meditation to get to sleep at night. I thought it was working pretty good. And then last night I woke up in the middle of the night, and he was back, like he never left. The boy…”

His voice drifts and his eyes grow dark, then sad.

“It was a night mission, and we had bad intel. Everyone in the house was supposed to be fighters on the other side. When the bullets stopped flying and we tried to clear the place, I found him. He had gotten out of bed, made it halfway across his bedroom. I don’t know if it was my shots that cut him down. Probably not; this was on the second floor and I was on the first. But I was there, you know? I was part of it. And so last night, I woke up in the middle of the night, which happens, you know, going in and out of sleep.”

He drops his eyes to his hands, which he folds in his lap.

“The boy was standing at the foot of my bed. He’s a regular, so I see him pretty often. But I guess, four nights is the longest I’ve gone without seeing one, you know? And so I thought maybe I’m out of this. Maybe this meditation thing is working. I got so mad. Like, man, I thought this worked. It made me mad at the world. At the people I used to work for.” He regards the rosary wrapped around his hand. “You spend your whole life learning ‘thou shalt not kill,’ and then you get in the service and it’s ‘thou shalt not kill, unless we tell you, then it’s fine.’ How doesn’t that mess you up?

“Anyway. I wanted to say I was sorry. But it’s always the same. When I see them, something happens. I can’t speak. One of the PTSD docs told me it was a night terror. That it was a dream and I just believe it’s real. I think he’s full of shit. Things are always weird in dreams, right? Nothing ever looks right. But every detail, from the color of my sheets to the curtain over the window to the two bullet holes in the kid’s chest—spot on. And then how do you account for the ones I see during the day? I feel silly even saying any of this…”

He pauses. I speak before I even realize I’m going to do it. “Have you tried melatonin?”

He frowns. “Gave me nightmares. Vivid ones.”

“Crosstalk,” Valencia says.

“Crosstalk?” I ask.

Kenji nods. “In meetings we’re supposed to let people complete their shares without offering advice or judgment.”

“Except we end up doing that anyway,” Booker says with a smirk.

“We never said we were perfect,” Kenji says.

Everyone looks at me again.

“It’s the god stuff that’s throwing me,” I say, a little spark of anger flaring in my chest. “That higher-power thing. I’m supposed to believe in god after the things I’ve done?”

Kenji shakes his head. “It doesn’t have to be god. It just has to be something greater than you. It can be god, or the Buddha. Nature, or consciousness. This is especially important for people like us. We acted like gods. Sometimes we need to be reminded that there are powers beyond us, because one of our greatest weaknesses was the way we were seduced by our own power. There’s a saying in AA: Let go and let god. I believe it to be a good motto. It reminds us to recognize that decisions over life and death are not for us to make.”

It’s not the answer I came in here looking for, but it feels like it’s approaching one.

“If you’d prefer not to share…” Kenji says.

“A few nights ago…” I say, then I stop. “Actually, I’m sorry. Hi, my name is Mark and it’s been, uh, three days since I killed someone. So, I met this woman. And I fell for her, hard. I never told her what I did for a living. I did what I’m used to, you know? Made up a lie. We dated for nearly a year, and man, every time I looked at her, it was like seeing a sunrise for the first time. She gave me this feeling of peace, I guess, that I never really had. I was ready to hang it all up for her. But then, Christmas Eve. Her brother came into the house in the middle of the night. He was there to surprise her, to drop off presents. But I was awake. And of course, I figure this is someone here for me…”

I rub the cuts on my knuckles hard enough to bring the pain back.

“I was angry, that someone wanted to take that peace from me, so I killed him. Didn’t even think. Just did it. Killed her brother. Turns out, she was pregnant, too. And I never wanted to be a dad. It’s not something I ever really thought about. But when I found out, I realized I had this chance to create a better version of myself, and I ruined it. Then I went home and thought about eating my SIG. Then I met a cat. Then I got in touch with Kenji. Now I’m here.”

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