Samantha (2)
Chapter 3 [Rev 3-8-2013] Her fingers drop one at a time. Three… two… one. Her captor looks around confused, holding his empty arms out awkwardly. His head jerks backward as an unseen force connects with his jaw. Seconds later, his gun is wrenched from his grasp and clatters to the floor in front of one of Mr. O’Riley’s men, tossed by an invisible hand. Samantha’s own gun disappears from the ground at the man’s feet when she holsters it. Two bartenders run blindly to the place she was last seen. The first immediately clutches his stomach and the second stops dead before his knees buckle from a crippling blow. No one can see her satisfied smile, but she is beaming. “Everybody freeze! Samantha get over here.” She quickly obeys, not wanting to be in his line of fire. “All of you put your hands where I can see them.” Silence blankets the room again until a gunshot interrupts it. For a moment, the entire room is unsure where it came from. A cool breeze whistles through the broken window as Mr. O’Riley drops to his knees, clutching his chest. The silence feels heavier now and despite the draft, the temperature of the room seems to have increased. “Are you alright?” Samantha asks, bravely blocking out the panic. “I’m fine,” he mutters, but he isn’t fine. “Who shot that?” Samantha’s gun is drawn again and ready to fire. “Who shot that?” she repeats louder. Mr. O’Riley is blacked out when she glances back down at him. One of his men is dressing the wound, unconcerned with the rest of the commotion or successfully ignoring it. Another shot sounds and Samantha’s arm drops limply. A different window has shattered this time. Blood drips onto the ground as she raises her injured arm and returns fire through the smashed pane. Someone outside screams in pain, but her weapon is now pointed at the man in charge. It feels heavier than before. “Order them to stop shooting.” Her voice threatens to crack. He shakes his head with and something like a smile crawls onto his face, “They’re not my men.” With that, more bullets penetrate the building and everyone takes cover from the common enemy. No one is mortally wounded, but redness is flowering on the man’s shoulder, making it clear that the allegiance of the rebels outside does not lie with anyone in the tavern. Samantha has little time to ponder who they might be because the man orders his crew to take care of them. An onslaught of gunshots is followed by wounded yelling. Whoever had been outside is dead now including whoever Samantha had already shot if he wasn’t dead already… Believing it safe, everyone begins to stand again, but it’s too soon. Not all of the rebels are dead. A man runs in from the back of the bar, badly injured and covered in blood. He’s going to die fighting though. Samantha’s gun hasn’t found the new target yet when the wounded warrior sends a bullet into her neck, right above the bulletproof vest. She clutches her hand around the gash and blood immediately coats it. It had been a great shot, but her’s is better. He flops down on the ground after she shoots a hole right between his eyes. She’s killed him and is sure she’s about to faint. The smell of blood strikes her nostrils, burning them and making her stomach churn. Red stickiness is trickling towards her and the metallic scent is growing continually stronger. She is unaware that Mr. O’Riley is being hurried outside while the gunmen are occupied. The mess she has created on the floor mesmerizes her and she jumps when Joe gently touches her shoulder. He attempts to speak, but nothing comes. Instead, he pulls David to his feet and motions for Samantha to support the other half of the drunk. Before they can exit, a forceful grip clasps around Samantha’s free arm. David straightens up, snapped out of his drunken stupor and ready for a fight. It doesn’t even faze the man that Joe’s gun is trained on his head. She tries to pull away, but his hand is unyielding. Paying no attention to her struggles or the threat of the gun, he roughly pulls the bloody sleeve up to examine the first place she was shot. He wipes away the blood, knowing what he would see underneath… nothing. Not a scratch. She allows him to remove the blood-soaked hand from her neck, already aware that he has discovered the secret. She turns away as he leans in to get a closer look. His inspection yields the same observations as that of her arm. The bullets are gone, probably laying on the ground somewhere covered in a darkening red liquid, and the skin where the wounds should have been is perfectly smooth. “I had suspected that is was you, Miss Garner, but I didn’t recognize you. The last time I saw you, you were just a toddler. You’ve grown to be a very lovely young woman.” She successfully jerks her arm away from him, but only because he allows her to this time. Panic and fear increase her heartbeat and breathing. He knows and Joe and David are her only protection. He is going to kill her or take her prisoner, which is arguably worse. He’s going to run tests and do experiments. She’ll never see her friends again. Samantha had frozen, but Joe had not. He reaches around David and tugs on her arm gently at first, but it takes a firmer pull to get her moving. “Have a safe trip home. Let’s not wait so long until we meet again.” The man just stands there as the three of them exit without another problem. Chapter 4 [Rev 3-11-2013] For the second day in a row, a loud knock wakes me up. I open it, ready for a fight if the knocker didn’t have a good reason to be there. The messenger looks terrified, but visibly relaxes at my relief when I see that it’s not Elizabeth. “Good morning,” I say, trying to be friendly. “Mr. Garner would like to see you in his office as soon as possible.” “Did he say why?” “No ma’am.” “Thanks.” I throw on a sweatshirt and tie my hair back, smiling to myself because of the fact that no one else would enter the dreaded office in such a messy state. When I enter, one of the secretaries instructs me to go inside since he’s expecting me. “I need you to do something for me,” he begins as soon as I’m seated, skipping pleasantries. I’m still angry from our argument the day before so I say nothing. “We just tracked someone down and I need him brought to me.” “Alive?” “Yes, Samantha.” He sounds exasperated. “I’ve told you before that I won’t put you into a situation like that again. You’re not an assassin like…” “Never know,” I shrug, ignoring his trailed-off sentence. “So will you do this?” “Why do you need me? Sounds pretty mundane so far.” “We have reason to believe he’s suspecting something and there can’t be a gun,” he explains without revealing too much. Only those directly involved in the mission are allowed to know any details, even then they only know what they need to know. “Samantha is this about yesterday? Usually you take anything I offer without questioning.” “I’ll take it. So who is it?” “Jeffery Locke. He used to work for Mr. Brown. He shouldn’t be much of a problem. No gun because he can manipulate metal, which is why I figured I’d start with you and not deal with people who’d turn the job down because of that. I’ll have a timeline to you as soon as possible. You’re dismissed.” I leave without another word. I’ll get the rest of the details later. I’m at breakfast much earlier than I’m used to and sit down alone with a coffee. I fiddle with my phone until Ashley and James join me and we go through the cafeteria line. “I got a job this morning. Not many details yet though.” “I’m surprised you took it after what he did yesterday,” James replies. “I’m used to it. Besides, I haven’t had a good one in a while.” James only nods, still sulking. A messenger appears with the timeline while we’re eating and I scan it quickly. “I told you it was a good one. Formal dinner tonight.” I scrunch my nose. Before important missions people are usually invited to a formal dinner with Mr. Garner and other prominent, terribly boring people. “At least you know it’s important. Hopefully worth sitting through dinner,” Ashley encourages. After breakfast, I go back upstairs to my apartment to get ready for the briefing that’s scheduled in a couple hours. When I arrive, Mr. Garner and Don, the briefing guy, are already there. “Take a seat quickly and let’s get started,” Mr. Garner instructs. Don starts a slideshow of boring information about Mr. Jeffery Locke and I feel my eyes growing heavy after only a few minutes. “Samantha!” I jerk awake. “You better start taking this seriously or it’ll be the last assignment you see. Start it again.” “From the beginning?” Don and I ask in stereo. Mr. Garner confirms this and I sink down lower in the uncomfortable desk. “Sit up straight.” Knowing the importance of choosing battles, I do as I’m told and fight off sleep in the dark room long enough to finish the briefing. “Go to your room and rest up. No detours and no guests. Someone will fetch you for dinner.” The remainder of the day is long and excruciating. Nothing on the television interests me and I’m no longer tired enough to sleep. A nervous feeling is beginning to pool is the bottom of my stomach. It’s a sensation that’s generally foreign to me, but for some reason this mission seems different. As dinnertime approaches, I make myself look presentable and wait for my escort. I pray that he is quiet and intimidated like they usually are. I have a feeling, though, that Mr. Garner may try harder than usual to force one of the sons of his rich, powerful friends on me because of the situation with James. I cringe when the knock on my door echoes through my apartment. These dinners are just about unbearable and I dread them every time. I hesitate when I hear a conversation outside my door. It’s not just my escort. I hear Mr. Garner’s voice and… “Good evening, Samantha.” My fear is confirmed when I open the door to see Christof Taylor, whose father is speaking with Mr. Garner. The Taylors are power-hungry acquaintances of Mr. Garner who travel to headquarters about once a year in hopes that I grow out of my hatred of Christof. All of them will deny it, but it’s as if they want to unite the families in some sort of medieval arranged marriage. It will never happen, which I assure them every time, but none of them are willing to give up. Christof becomes more despicable each visit. Last year he made a pass at me when we were alone and I slapped him hard enough to make my hand sting for the remainder of the day. That’s probably why we’re being chaperoned this time. “Evening Christof. Mr. Taylor,” I acknowledge as politely as I’m willing. Mr. Garner glares at me over Mr. Taylor’s shoulder. The evil eye intensifies when Christof offers his arm and I sweetly say “No thank you.” I walk quietly beside Christof and behind the chaperones, who carry on a lively conversation. “I hear you have a boyfriend now,” Christof prods quietly. “You heard correctly.” “Your uncle doesn’t approve?” “Doesn’t matter.” “Of course it does. That’s why I’m here isn’t it?” “Like I said, it doesn’t matter. Drop it.” “You’ll come around eventually,” he coos as his hand grazes my lower back. I stop and turn squarely to face him. He’s grown since last year, now standing more than a head taller than I. I notice the muscles on his arms that weren’t there previously straining against his dress shirt. I’m taken aback for just a moment while I take in the man that has replaced the stringy boy from only a year ago. I’m used to being smaller than most people I encounter, but the threat on my lips suddenly seems less menacing. “Touch me again and I’ll break your wrist,” I tell him anyway, although I’m no longer sure I’d be able to. Those wrists are not the twigs of the lanky boy I’ve dealt with in the past, but those of a boy blessed by an accommodating, albeit late, puberty. “I’d love to see you try.” His voice is mocking and it takes all my strength to tame my angry fists. The chaperones realize we’ve stopped and Mr. Garner’s countenance says everything. Mr. Taylor simply tells us to “come along” like a couple of children. Dinner is agonizing. Christof is not the only one vying for my attention. I can’t help but think Mr. Garner has put every last one of them up to this in attempt to get rid of James. Doesn’t he know this only makes me want to stay with James to spite him? Finally, Mr. Garner makes a closing good-luck toast and I bolt to avoid any unnecessary socializing. I’ll hear about this later, but any lecture will be easier to tolerate than spending another minute with these predators. My heart sinks when my phone starts buzzing the minute I set foot in my apartment. I thought for sure I wouldn’t hear from Mr. Garner about all this until tomorrow after he’s calmed down a bit. The text simply says: Office in 30 min. I don’t respond, knowing anything I say would be misconstrued as attitude. Instead, I change out of my dress, eager to be rid of it, and collapse on my couch for the next twenty minutes. I make sure to arrive early, avoiding more potential trouble. Chapter 5 [Rev 3-11-2013] “Sit,” he demands sternly. He’s still standing behind his desk, making me feel small on the opposite side. “You will go on this mission tonight. You will follow my instructions better than you’ve EVER followed them before and when you get back you’re… you’re grounded.” That’s a new one. I tilt my head quizzically, but say nothing. “You’ll stay in your apartment, only leaving for school and training. No visitors, no other activities, and certainly no missions.” I remain silent, not trusting my unpredictable tongue. “Nothing to say for yourself?” “Sorry?” I offer. “You certainly will be. I don’t know how else to get through to you.” I consider asking to be dismissed during the long pause that follows. “Threatening Christof, being rude to our guests at dinner, disappearing before you’ve been dismissed. What were you thinking?” “I wasn’t?” Mr. Garner is not impressed by my poor attempt to be apologetic. To my relief, one of the secretaries interrupts via the intercom. “Mr. Jefferson is here.” “Send him in.” A small, round man scurries into the room. His bulbous head is balding and shiny. He carries two garment bags and eagerly unzips them when Mr. Garner gives him a nod. “Mr. Locke called a… umm… extreme dating service. He’s expecting a…” “Prostitute?” I finish for him when I see the two outfits. I’m surprised but unfazed and point to the one on my left. “I like that one better.” Mr. Garner simply nods and waves his hand to dismiss the costume designer, who scuttles out in the manner he entered. “Head to hair and make-up. I’ll be there shortly.” Mr. Garner instructs me and I exit eagerly. I am immediately ushered to a chair when I arrive. Staff surrounds me, tugging my head this way and that, telling me to shut my eyes or tilt my chin. I surrender, not wanting to cause problems and wind up in more trouble with Mr. Garner, who shows up as they’re finishing. He makes a point of not looking at me once I’m changed into my outfit and orders someone to fetch me a long coat. While my coat is being hunted down, Mr. Garner’s phone rings. “Now?... Why is she so early?... On our way down.” He snaps the phone shut. “Come,” he says to me and I follow without question. My coat catches up to us and I allow it to be wrapped around me. The garage is bustling with activity. “Boys, in the car,” Mr. Garner orders a group of familiar faces. Most of the people who work for him are only a few years older than me. He claims we’re less conspicuous and follow orders better. “Sammy!” a handful of voices greet when I enter the back of the van. “Look how grown-up she looks,” one teases. The banter is interrupted when Mr. Garner rounds the back of the van. “Time to get serious. Quit encouraging them, Samantha,” he says as he slams the doors shut. The van is filled with muffled laughter, mostly at my expense but I don’t mind. It’s always my fault somehow, isn’t it? With a quiet rumble, we’re off and the joking eventually fades as everyone slips into a more serious, more focused state. I’m not sure how long we’ve been driving when we finally slow to a stop. A couple of my fellow occupants jump out and efficiently incapacitate the girl who I’ve been preparing to impersonate. She isn’t hurt and she’ll wake up somewhere safe with no memory of the incident. That’s not my concern though. That’s a job for other people. My job leaves me abandoned on the sidewalk in a strange neighborhood. I watch the van speed away before heading toward the dingy apartment where I’m supposed to find Mr. Jeffery Locke. I scan the faded list of inhabitants by the door until I find my target. He buzzes me in without a word. The stairs creak as I walk up to the third floor. Music seeps into the hall from beneath a few doors. Televisions can be heard through many. A couple is fighting in one of the apartments, but I continue to my destination at the end of the corridor. “Hello beautiful.” My skin crawls because of his compliment and my hand itches to reach for the syringe that holds the serum that will knock this pervert out. I allow him to slide my coat slowly… too slowly… off my shoulders. Finally, he turns to close the door and in a flash, the needle is sticking out of the side of his neck. I slam the plunger down just before he realizes what happened. He moves quickly for an older man and to my surprise, I’m pinned against the wall before I can defend myself. “This better be a game, beautiful. What was in the needle?” Trying to fight him off only allows him to ensnare my wrists and press his entire body weight against mine so that I can’t move an inch. “Got you. As much as I’m enjoying this, you’re going to have to tell me what was in that needle.”
Copyright © 2013 Erynn A Louviaite |