by Ashley Nemer
~*~
He wasn't used to people talking to him on a regular basis. He didn't like the involvement that spurred when people became attached. He spent his whole life in the shadows, pulling the strings, never considering anyone his equal. No one could match him in skill or precision. Or was it that no one was willing to try? Either way, he was a loner, and that's how he liked it.
Then how did he justify talking with this reporter? What was his reason for telling her, or rather, giving her hints about himself? Did he want a friend after all these years? Three decades alone was a long time. His family had been gone for over thirty years and he’d grown up on the streets, learning the hard way what his purpose in life was.
His first pet, a cat. He called her Miss Kitty. At eight, picking a cool name for a cat wasn't high on his priorities but keeping himself and her fed was. She was a calico, white with brown and black patterns on her soft fur. He remembered the first time they met. He was walking down the alley behind a grocery store, looking for scraps, when he heard a noise coming from inside the trashcan. It was dark and raining. He pulled a wooden crate over and pushed as hard as he could, opening the metal lid. The cat quickly jumped from inside of the trash and made a screeching noise as she hit the ground.
Dropping the lid, the clanging sound echoed in the alley way, alerting the store owner to his location. The cat took off out toward the street and he followed after her. The man who owned the store called out after him, but he didn't make out the words. He finally caught up with the cat and picked her up. She was shaking and disheveled. They walked down the street together till they reached an abandoned house that he was using as shelter. He remembered how he’d placed the cat on the counter and grabbed a towel that he had kept from his mother's home and used it to clean her off.
It was that night that he named the cat Miss Kitty and that his life took on a new direction and new purpose.
He snapped out of his memory and opened the website that he and the reporter were communicating on. He was anxious to see how she had taken his last message. He was not pleased when he opened the correspondence to see the best friend had messaged him. He was even more upset at the message he was sent. Someone had taken his new little pet right from under his nose. This was new and brazen. Who would be so foolish to come after him in such an underhanded sort of way?
He uploaded a new picture into the program and wrote one sentence, then sent it through to the man on the other end.
I'll handle this - A
He walked over to his pack and pulled out the brown box that contained his iron collar. This collar meant a lot to him. He acquired it on one of his many trips to Europe. He met someone who specialized in Spanish artifacts and presented him with a custom garrote that was used when condemning Mariana Pineda on May 26th, 1831 for treason. She was the first woman to be executed for treason. He had learned her history and couldn’t pass up the opportunity to possess this treasure. This woman had made a custom flag with the words, 'Equality, Liberty, Law.' His heart pulled at him when he learned she was executed while watching her work burn before her eyes.
He opened the box and ran his finger over the cool iron collar. His body always chilled before he went out to perform an execution. It took someone with a strong determination to do what others couldn't to set the scales right and balance out good versus evil. He looked over the etchings that he had engraved on the wooden box. “I fear nothing for God is with me,” Joan of Arc’s last words before her unjustified execution in 1431. He never agreed with how the world treated those who were different and knew they were called to a higher power. Just because people didn’t understand the power of being called, didn’t mean they deserved to die.
This was why he was sent here. There were too many injustices in the world and balance needed to be restored.
