by Sean Platt
“I don’t have time, I have to talk to Stacy.”
“You should make time. You’ll want to hear what I have to say.”
I step onto the porch.
“Please, sit,” he says, moving his paper aside.
I don’t want to sit next to him. I don’t trust this man in the least, and certainly don’t want to waste whatever window I might have with Stacy to convince her to get Tommy so we can take off together. It seems like the perfect solution. I doubt Craig could take Frank in a fight or defend himself without a weapon, but I do think he’s smart enough to hide them for a while until Frank either gives up looking or drinks himself to death.
“So, where are you going?” the assassin asks.
“To convince Stacy to get the hell out of her house. Frank is dangerous. Now I see why you’ve been trying to — ”
“Kill him,” the assassin says.
“Yes.”
“And yet you stopped me, twice.”
“I didn’t know he was a monster. And for the record, I didn’t try to stop you two days ago when I was Tommy. Hell, I even left his front door unlocked for you. Where were you then, or yesterday when I was Ruby?”
“I had more pressing business.”
“What?”
“None of your business. I don’t control where I go, any more than you do. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be in this body today, the least-equipped body to finish this job. Which is why we need to talk.”
“Talk,” I say.
“I need you to kill him.”
“What? No, I’m not a killer.”
“I feel that today is the last possible day to get this done. And I’m afraid this body won’t work.”
“So you want me to do it? Let’s say for even a moment that I, personally, didn’t have a problem murdering someone in cold blood. What about Craig? I commit a crime in his body, and he’s the one who will pay.”
“That’s not our problem.”
“What?”
“It’s not our problem. We’re given these bodies to use as needed. We can’t concern ourselves with what happens once we’re done.”
“You can’t honestly believe that.”
“I have a job to do — simple as that.”
I shake my head, trying to make sense of what the old man is saying. “Okay, you claim you’re an assassin, but you help people, right? Even though you don’t know the reason, you believe it’s for the greater good or something, right?”
He nods.
“Then how can you not care about the people whose bodies you’re in? What good is your mission if your choices are leaving more victims behind?”
“Hey, it’s not my first choice to screw Craig over. If you can find a way to do it without the guy getting caught, then by all means, please do. But you can’t let your fear of getting him in trouble prevent you from doing what must be done.”
“I haven’t agreed to do anything.”
He sighs deeply, then suddenly he’s waving his hand.
I look up to see Frank returning home alone. He looks at us both, waves without bothering to smile, and continues along to his house.
“You have to kill him,” the assassin says. “Tonight.”
**
I’ve spent the past few hours sitting inside Wilbur’s house with the assassin, mostly at the dining room table, looking outside, watching Frank’s house, waiting for Stacy to leave so I can run out and flag her down. I guess she’s not working today, but I’m hoping she’ll find a reason to leave.
The assassin is going over various methods of killing people while I wait. He says that this is a refresher course — I should know this all instinctually, even if my memories are gone. To say it feels odd to have this little old man plotting murder in such a blasé manner is an understatement. He doesn’t give names of victims, but he does say he’s killed people of all walks of life — politicians, clergy, businessmen, stay-at-home moms.
He’s sitting across from me at the dining room table, both of us drinking a beer, when I ask, “Have you killed children?”
“Of course.”
I’m surprised, outraged even.
“How can you justify killing children?”
“You act like we have a say in any of this. We get the names on The List, and we do our job. I learned long ago that it’s pointless to question The List.”
“You don’t have to do your job. Can’t you call an audible, decide no, I’m not killing a child?”
The assassin’s smile is grim enough to give me chills. “You’re poking. I told you I’m not getting into this. I’m sure your mind was wiped for good reason. I won’t be the one to screw things up.”
“So you’ll ask me to do your job, but you won’t tell me what I need to know?”
“You know what you need to: Frank has to die. Tonight. Everything else is noise.”
“Come on, give me something. Where are our bodies? Who is making us do this? How long before we get our lives back? If we’ve been hired, how are we paid? It’s not like I can access some Universal Body Jumper’s bank account.”
“Body Jumpers?”
“Yeah, that’s the only thing I could think to call this. You got another name?”
“I won’t tell you the official one, but I’ll tell you how we refer to ourselves.”
“Okay, shoot.”
“Karma Police.”
“Karma Police?”
“Yes, we serve justice to those who are ordinarily beyond it.”
“So, you’re an organized group of body jumping vigilantes?”
“I prefer enforcers.”
“Enforcing what? Some shadow group’s arbitrary sense of justice, or karma? Who are you all to decide who lives or dies? And how can killing a child, or ruining innocent people’s lives, ever be karma?”
Wilbur looks at me. “I can’t expect you to understand without context. And I can’t provide context without risking your wipe. Suffice it to say the system works. Though you might not always see it immediately, we’re doing great things. You can’t possibly argue that killing Frank is a bad thing, can you?”
I stare at the bottle in my hand, wanting another beer, but not wanting to dull my senses in case I need to spring into action soon.
As much as I’d thought about killing Frank over the past few days and how many problems it would solve for Stacy and Tommy, whenever I start considering the realistic ramifications of actually murdering the man in cold blood, everything crumbles.
I try to elucidate my feelings. “It’s one thing to kill someone when you’re defending yourself or a loved one. I can do that. I have done that.”
The assassin raises a finger. “Oh, you’ve done far more than that.”
I continue, unabated. “But what I cannot do, regardless of what you say I’ve done in the past, is kill without provocation. It’s … wrong.”
“No, what’s wrong is ignoring a problem you’re able to fix. To ignore a growing evil as it comes closer to delivering its threats. That is what’s wrong, to merely sit by and let something terrible happen when you have the foresight and ability to stop it.”
“Even if I could just do it, what about the fallout? If I get caught, Craig goes to jail. But even if I don’t, what about Stacy and Tommy? What if they witness the murder? How does that affect them? They’ll never be the same. I can’t imagine a world where a traumatized Stacy and Tommy is a great thing.”
“I’d wager that it’s a sight better than a world with a dead Stacy or Tommy, wouldn’t you?”
“Is that what you’re saying — that if I don’t kill Frank, they’re going to die?”
“I don’t know what’s going to happen. I have a name and a date. Beyond that, I don’t know any more than you. But if that helps you justify killing Frank in some way, then yes, you should expect that their lives will be in danger if you don’t do your job.”
Of course this isn’t the answer I want.
I don’t know why I’m so hesitant. It’s not like Frank is a
good guy. Being inside him, I can appreciate some of the hell he’s gone through in his life, but my sympathy ended the moment he laid a finger on Stacy. Add to that his threat against her, then she and her son are prisoners of an evil man who deserves to die.
But can I walk into his house and kill him point blank? Can I put Craig’s future in jeopardy? The assassin is coercing me to kill a man for some mysterious, unknown reason he either won’t tell me or doesn’t know himself. The situation reeks, and I don’t like being backed into a corner, with the decision ripped from my hands.
No, I need to find another way.
Suddenly, I see an opportunity.
Frank is walking to his car, wearing dress pants, a dress shirt, and a handsome red tie. He’s also clean shaven. Going on a job interview, I’m guessing. He gets into his car but isn’t leaving yet.
Come on, come on.
I watch the front door, hoping and praying it won’t open again only to have Stacy walk out and join him.
Come on; leave!
He pulls out of the driveway.
Yes!
I wait long enough to make sure he hasn’t forgotten anything.
After a few minutes without his return, I leave Wilbur’s place saying, “Maybe there’s another way.”
I don’t wait for a response.
**
I knock on Frank’s door, heart racing.
Come on, Stacy. Open up.
No answer.
Has she already left? Maybe her car isn’t working and she got a ride to work earlier, before I was waiting.
I knock again, dread in my gut that I’ve somehow missed her. Maybe there isn’t another way. Maybe the assassin is right.
The door opens.
Stacy is standing in sweat pants and a long T-shirt. Her nose and eyes are red.
“Hey, Craig, why aren’t you at school?”
“I called in sick. You sick, too?”
She nods. “Yeah, woke up feeling like crap.”
She’s staring at me, clearly wondering why I’m here.
“Can I come in for a second? We need to talk.”
Her eyes widen. “Of course,” she says, ushering me in.
My heart is a jackhammer as I try to figure out how to start. I know she and Craig have talked about Frank a number of times, and I know she cares about Craig. But I don’t know if she feels the same as he does, that she’d be willing to run off with a man — a married man, no less.
Now that I’m here in front of her, my brilliant plan to save her and Tommy feels like the Dumbest Idea Ever.
“What’s wrong?”
Now or never.
“I want you to run away with me.”
“What?” Her face is blank. I can’t tell if she’s stunned or awaiting a punchline.
“I know this is going to seem crazy and out of the blue, but I love you, Stacy. I want you and Tommy to come away with me, today.”
“Love? You’re married. I’m … with Frank.”
“I don’t love my wife. She’s a cold, callous person driven only by money. I thought we could make it work, but I was fooling myself. I see how kind you are, how much you care about Tommy, and how Frank treats you both. It isn’t safe here, for either of you. Please, let me take you away. We can pack some bags, go get Tommy from school, and leave.”
She’s shaking her head.
I’m overwhelming her, I know. This is coming from nowhere. I’m asking Stacy to uproot her life and flee with me. Suddenly, I feel like maybe I’ve overestimated her feelings for Craig. Maybe his attraction was a one-way street. Maybe she’d never thought of him as anything but her son’s math teacher, and a nice, safe married neighbor.
“I’m flattered,” she says, eyes watering, “but … ”
Oh no, here it comes. She doesn’t feel the same. I’ve misread the situation, and now I have no plan to fall back on.
I double down. Move closer, grab her hands and meet her eyes.
“Tell me you don’t think about me, wonder what it would be like for us to be together. Tell me you don’t think about running away every night when you lie down with that monster.”
Tears stream down her cheeks.
I can see it in her eyes. She has thought of Craig like this. The feeling is mutual. But her practical side won’t allow the impulsivity. She’s scared. Too many variables.
“I love you,” I say, going all in.
She’s shaking her head. “Where would we go? Frank will find us and kill us all.”
“I won’t let him.”
She shakes her head again, smiling at me sweetly, but also like I just don’t understand the danger.
“He will find us. He’s told me so. If I ever leave, he’ll kill me and Tommy.”
“I won’t let him.”
“Where would we go? What would we do for money?”
“I don’t know, we’ll figure it out.”
“I’m sorry, Craig, that’s not enough. I need a plan. I need to know how we’ll survive. Otherwise, I’m only moving Tommy from one scary situation to another. At least now I know we’re relatively safe.”
“He hits you, both of you.”
“Tommy told you?”
I lie and say yes.
“Frank didn’t mean to. He even offered to get counseling.”
I’m not sure if she’s lying or if it’s something he truly agreed to, but it’s no guarantee that she’s safe. But how can I convince her? What do I do, tell her I had some ominous dream? Tell her an assassin told me that they’re in danger?
None of those will work.
Shit. I don’t know what to say.
“I have money.” I’m not sure if it’s true or not, but I have to ease her into this decision. I can tell she wants to come but needs reassurances that they’ll be safe.
She’s biting her lip, moving back and forth from one foot to the other. Is it possible that I’ve swayed her?
I press on, “He never hit Tommy before now, right? It’s probably something you told yourself he’d never do. You drew a line in the sand, telling yourself it’s okay as long as he only hits you, but if he hits Tommy, then you’d leave. Am I right?”
I don’t wait for her answer.
“But then he did hit Tommy. And still, you stayed. So tell me, Stacy, what’s the next line in the sand? And how long before it’s crossed? How many more will you draw before Frank finally goes too far? Before he makes good on his threat?”
She’s crying, looking around the living room, maybe trying to convince herself to escape this reality, to take a chance.
“I don’t know, Craig. Yes, I have feelings for you. You’re great with Tommy. And I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t wished you were my boyfriend instead of Frank. Wished that you weren’t married. But this is a lot to ask. And Frank is trying. He really is. He’s at a job interview now. I think as long as he has work that he likes, and self-confidence, he won’t drink or be dangerous to me and Tommy.”
“Come on, Stacy, you know there will always be some reason to justify his behavior. Some reason he reverts to what he is — a raging drunk. Stop making excuses and thinking he’ll change. People like Frank only change for the worse.”
“I don’t know,” she says.
Feeling confident that she’s with me, and that I only need to get her out of the house, I say, “Pack what you need. I’m gonna get my car. It’s parked on the next block. I’ll be back in ten minutes. Okay?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m not taking no for an answer, Stacy. You deserve to be happy, you and Tommy both.”
I walk out the front door.
I hope to God that she’ll be ready when I return.
I run to my car, then race back to the house, hoping Frank hasn’t come home. I park on the lawn and leave the car running, no time to waste.
I run into the house, see that Stacy has four bags packed.
I smile.
Yes, we’re going to do this!
I hug her. “Thank you, Stacy,
you won’t regret this.”
She hugs me back.
A part of me wants to kiss her, but I don’t want to waste another second. We need to hit Tommy’s school before Frank gets home.
I grab three of the bags, and head for the door.
I step onto the lawn and open my trunk.
“Craig?”
I look up and see Colleen shouting from the street, walking toward us.
Oh, shit. Not this. Not now.
Stacy joins me at the trunk, bag in hand, whispering, “Oh, no.”
“What the hell are you doing?” Colleen shouts.
“Not now,” I say.
Colleen gets between me and the open driver’s side door, blocking my entrance.
“So what? You two are running off together?”
“It’s not like that,” Stacy says, her voice cracking.
“You fucking whore!” Colleen snaps, glaring at her. Colleen breaks into a run, racing around the car, about to attack Stacy.
I yell, “Get in the car!”
She gets in then yanks the door closed and locks the door.
Colleen pounds on the passenger window. “You fucking whore!”
I’m torn. Do I try and calm Colleen, or get in the car and take off, leaving her to stew in anger?
Suddenly, a screeching of breaks.
I look up to see Frank’s car slide to a halt in front of mine.
Oh, fuck.
Colleen bursts into laughter, now glaring at me. “Oh, this is gonna be good!”
Frank practically flies from his car, arms in the air as he gets in front of my car. “What the hell is going on here?”
He’s staring right at me, ready to fight.
Colleen responds before I can speak. “He’s cheating on me, with your girlfriend, and now they’re gonna run off together!”
Frank’s eyes are wide. He turns to Stacy, sitting in my car, terrified. “Is this true?”
She stares, unable to speak.
“Get out!” he yells at her.
“No, stay put, Stacy,” I yell. “We’re leaving.”
“The hell you are!” Frank rushes at me.
I dodge, at the last possible second. He flies right by me and falls to the ground.
I turn, preparing for the next attack.
He comes at me again, and I go to dodge. But this time he anticipates and brings a fist hard into my chest.
