Page 76 of Assassin Anonymous

“I’m exhausted by this shit,” I tell them. “What have I gained? A whole bunch of people want to kill me and I can’t do a goddamn thing to stop them because now I’m playing by a different set of rules. All I have to do is take the mittens off and I can know peace. Maybe that’s worth it.”

Valencia puts her hand on my shoulder. “ ‘Adversity truly introduces us to ourselves—’ ”

I shrug her hand off. “Don’t quote the Big Book at me. There’s nothing in that book that’ll help with this. I don’t need recovery right now. I don’t know what I need. I need…”

I need my sponsor. I need Kenji.

“I need to take a walk.”

I don’t look back at them. I don’t want to see their faces. I stalk off down the boardwalk and they’re smarter than to follow. The lights around me fade and I disappear into the depth of the black thing inside me. Maybe, if I’m lucky, I can wrestle it back into submission.

Or else I’ll just let it loose and have it solve all my problems.

—

The front door of the apartment building offers little resistance. Nor does the front door of Kenji’s apartment.

I stand in the doorway for a few moments, allowing the quiet to settle into the corners, and then flick on the light. The apartment doesn’t look much different than the last time I was here. Bare to the point of barren; the floor is covered with tatami mats—made it feel more like home, Kenji said. There’s a low chabudai table in the main living space, with two zabuton meditation pillows on either side of it. No television. No couch.

The kitchen is scrubbed to a microscopic level of clean. Trash is emptied, as is the recycling under the sink. There are some nonperishable items in the fridge. Nothing fresh. The bathroom is bone-dry; the shower hasn’t been used in days.

Toothbrush and toothpaste are gone.

The bedroom isn’t much more than a cheap mattress on the floor, a pillow and blanket folded neatly on top. The dresser is nearly empty, and there’s no luggage in the closet. Given the hasty arrangement of the clothes, it looks like some stuff was quickly pulled out, the rest left behind.

Knowing what I know about him and about me, I poke around until I find a seam in the back wall of the closet and push it aside, revealing a hidden alcove. Inside is his katana, wrapped in a blanket.

I take it out and unsheathe it, hold it up to the light. Still sharp enough to carve an atom in half. A lot of us have a signature weapon, like my SIG Sauer P365, and it’s recommended we dispose of it when we enter the program. I’m not surprised he still has this, though. He once told me it was made by a famous sword maker, whose practice can be traced back at least ten generations. The man utilizes tamahagane steel, which is incredibly rare and difficult to work with but results in a stronger blade.

This thing is priceless.

The rest of his stuff seems to be gone, but would he really leave without this?

I roam through the apartment, hoping to find something useful: signs of a struggle, something to tell me what happened to this man I loved, who I thought loved me.

There’s a small end table by the door. The last place I haven’t checked. I open it up and find a book-shaped gift, wrapped in sparkling white Christmas paper adorned with candy canes. Written with black felt marker in Kenji’s delicate script is: Mark.

Underneath the gift is the one-year chip he was saving for me. I stick it in my pocket. It’s almost mine anyway.

The gift I consider tossing into a corner, but I can’t help myself. I tear open the packaging.

It’s a handsome leather-bound copy of Crime and Punishment.

Despite myself, as hard as I try not to, I laugh.

—

Astrid is in bed, tucked under the covers, reading a book. She’s scrubbed and showered, her hair still wet, face makeup-free. There are Chinese take-out containers on the little coffee table by the couch in the corner. P. Kitty comes wandering out from where he was napping in the corner. I place the signal jammer on the bedside table and sit on the edge of the bed and he hops on my lap and nuzzles me. I scratch behind his ear and he purrs into my hand.

“Nice of you to finally come back.” She tosses the book to the side. “You’re still in one piece, at least.”

“Around two years ago…” I tell her, and I let that linger in the air for a moment. She seems to understand the gravity of it because the tension disappears from her posture. “I met this woman. She just saw clear to the center of me and I felt seen for the first time in my life, even if she didn’t know the truth about me. Actually thought about quitting. Getting a normie job.”

My feet are hot from walking, which is what I’ve been doing most of the night, so I lean down and take off my shoes.

“Last Christmas, her brother came into the house in the middle of the night. Probably supposed to be a surprise. But my brain goes to DEFCON 1, right? That’s what I’m trained to do. I killed him. And she was pregnant…”

Four seconds in, hold for four, out for four, empty lungs for four.

---