The boy robbed the man of all his valuables and took off with blood still on his hands and a fresh image of the man lying on the ground, beaten and dead. Good. He deserved a much worse death, but that would have to do.
The boy re-invented himself in another town. For a while, he hid whenever he saw a policeman, sure they’d catch him for killing his mother’s boyfriend. He went to the library, checking his home town newspaper for the next few weeks, looking for news of the murder and any subsequent investigation. But that news never appeared.
Feeling safe, he went to school, worked his butt off and got top grades. So much so that he even got a full academic scholarship to one of the top universities. He held a steady job, working thirty plus hours a week, and working his ass off in college, too.
Friends, I hear you ask. No freaking way – he simply didn't have the time, the energy, or even the desire to make any.
He had an agenda. As a matter of fact, he had several.
With all his hard work studying in the field of criminal justice, certain law enforcement agencies had him on their radar. He was not the typical teenager, or even a typical boy. He wasn't interested in partying, or girls, or drinking or any of that – he simply worked and studied and worked. Image was everything, and he wanted – no, needed a squeaky clean profile, because he never wanted anyone to know what had happened to him as a boy, or the fact that he’d killed a man.
The boy, now a man, was approached by a representative of the local police force, and he jumped at the opportunity because he knew they could train him to be lethal. And that’s exactly what he wanted.
But the training he was so desperate for didn’t come from the police force. Their training was, in fact, tame.
And he didn’t want pacification training. He wanted hard core assault training. He had heard rumors, whispers of a woman assassin. She was an enigma, a woman whose legend was so far-fetched that you'd be forgiven in thinking that she was merely an urban legend, nothing more than a fictional character.
But when he was recruited by the FBI, he made it his business to advance his knowledge about this mysterious woman.
She was a shadow, a ghost, an illusion.
Like smoke and mirrors, she was someone elusive. Did she really exist? Was she real? Her name, the one that so many whispered, held power. Power that resonated with such intensity that no one knew for sure if she was fictional or a living, breathing human being. Her name…15.
Apparently, she chose that professional name because “assassins for hire” had been deployed to take her away from her family at the tender age of fifteen in order to teach her the assassin’s craft.
The legend says that she killed the four men who were sent to take her, but not before they managed to slaughter her entire family. Of course, that's just the rumor, and unless you heard it directly from the source, then that's all it was...rumor.
Who knew what was real and what wasn’t?
But now, Tyler stood outside his superior’s door. He was waiting for his six-month performance review, and although he knew that he had done well, he always experienced a certain amount of tension when his reviews came around.
"Enter," he heard Assistant Director Lomax yell through the door.
Tyler opened the door and stepped inside. His nerves automatically settled and he was, without question, now sure that he would be fine.
"Tyler, please take a seat." The director gestured for him to sit.
Tyler walked over and sat in the guest chair, straightened his back and unbuttoned his suit coat.
“I just want to start by saying what an exceptional job you did with the Katsu Vang case. Quite impressive. Although I’d like to know where the fucker's disappeared to," Lomax said as he scratched his head.
“I can go back undercover and try to find him," Tyler offered, though he knew that wasn't going to happen.
"Not necessary. It looks like the Yakuza took him out, or Pace. Fuck, I don't really care who took him out, I just want to know for sure he's gone. Anyway, forget that. I just want you and I to have a chat about your career options and where you see yourself in the next few years." Lomax lifted his coffee mug, and slurped loudly as Tyler took in the environment, assessing it for what it was, a damn shambles. But that was alright with him, because it just meant that his real work was going on right under their noses without the FBI even noticing.
You see Tyler was the 'Angel of Darkness'. Well, that's what he had been dubbed by the FBI’s best profilers and the task force assigned to catch him.
Tyler liked to seek out a specific type of person, and make them suffer for what they did.
He never hurt anyone good. He wasn't psychotic. He thought of himself as an extreme extension of the law.
Well, sort of. Tyler’s brand of justice answered to a higher law than the criminal code.
What Tyler discovered when he smashed that first pedophile’s head in was that he felt nothing once it was over. Nothing at all. No joy, no horror, no guilt, no emotion at all.
When he realized he wouldn’t be caught, his mind settled quite well. So much so, that he didn’t give a damn about it and was even looking forward to doing it again. But he wanted more covert training, and although the police force (and later the FBI) trained him, he really wanted specialized training from a source that understood where he was coming from and what he wanted the training for.
He wanted to find 15, and ask her to mentor him. To teach him what she knew so that one day his name could be as mysterious as hers.
The fine line between a ghost and reality. A dream and a nightmare. That's what he wanted to become. But to the director, he said, "I’d like to be more skilled in my handling of weapons, but I’d also love to be part of the task force that's been designated to catch the 'Angel of Darkness'.” He felt smug saying it, but he knew that Lomax had no freaking idea.
"Hmmm, well it's interesting that you'd like to be assigned, because I’ve been talking to a few people and it seems that your work has not gone unnoticed. Special Agent Stephens who’s leading the task force has requested a fresh pair of eyes. Specifically, yours," he said as he sat back in chair and gulped the last of the coffee.
"Really? And what did you tell them, sir?"
“I said you'd start tomorrow."
Tyler smiled, because his hard work was finally about to pay off. He'd be on the task force to catch…himself. Which meant, of course, that he would always be miles ahead of the closest person trying to imprison him.
The only thing he wanted now was to learn the assassin’s trade from the best in the world, and follow her path.
He wanted nothing more than to find 15, to mirror her, and to excel in the craft. Then, maybe one day, he could get rid of her and take her place as the best assassin the world.
One day soon, he'd find the elusive 15, befriend her, learn from her…and then end her.
One day very soon.
Dear Ms. McHeyzer
Dear Ms. McHeyzer,
A friend of mine sent me your response after what you said about me went viral.
I’ve read and re-read what you said maybe close to a hundred times. I’ve screen shot it and saved it to my cell phone, and I find that I go back and read it time and time again.
My first reaction was to be incredibly pissed off at you. I mean, how dare you say what you did about me and how my parents would feel to know that they have a daughter like me. I would hope that they’re proud of me and everything that I stand for.
Once my anger subsided and I calmed down, I decided to go back and read the review that I left of your book Smoke and Mirrors.
At first, I saw nothing wrong with it. So I had a look at the other reviews that I’ve written of other ARCs I’ve received over the time.
I sat and analyzed the words I had written. Again, I saw nothing wrong with them.
So I thought your response was hurtful and definitely unwarranted. I’m entitled to my opinion and I can say what I want. This is a free country and when
last I checked, we enjoy this thing called “freedom of speech”. So I exercised that freedom to say what I wanted.
Or so I thought.
It wasn’t until three nights ago that I realized what I had been doing. Not only to you, but to anyone that I didn’t agree with.
Three nights ago, I was out with my best friend, her boyfriend, and my boyfriend. We went to a club and I got absolutely shit-faced drunk. I vaguely remember tripping around, and saying all sorts of shit to anyone who would listen.
When we left the club, it was close to two in the morning. We were stumbling home when we saw a homeless person lying under a shelter, covered in newspaper. Me being me, I did something that I thought was funny, and tipped my bottle of water over them.
When the girl awoke from the icy cold shower, I noticed she had Down’s Syndrome.
My friends were laughing hysterically, and so was I. At the time, I thought it was funny that I did something so daring. But when she sat up and her eyes focused on me I couldn’t help but feel something else.
The girl was maybe sixteen or seventeen. She had tears in her eyes, and her clothes were sopping wet from the water I dumped on her.
She said one word, and for some reason it cut straight through me. Her eyes were full of tears, her face red with frustration and shame and she was breathing heavily when she opened her mouth and whispered, “Why?”
She had been violated, and I, the perpetrator, was standing, not two feet away laughing at her. Yet I felt no shame in my terrible act, and she was the one that was embarrassed.
My friends continued laughing, and my best friend even murmured something about, “Nothing like kicking a bitch when she’s down.”
My boyfriend bought a soft pretzel from a vendor just outside the club when we left, and he threw what was left at her.
She just continued to cry, and I did nothing to stop my friends from saying horrible things to her. I simply stood back and watched. I was used to this, because we did things like so often.
That night, I sobered really quickly. I lay in bed and stared up at the ceiling, just thinking about the poor girl we had tormented.
I couldn’t sleep, and every time I closed my eyes I saw her gray eyes, filled with big, fat tears, and the look of shame on her pretty, young face.
The moments dragged out, time standing still. It was punishing me with images of the girl. She didn’t flinch or try to protect herself from our assault.
I could see that there was so much sadness and hurt inside her, and I couldn’t help but wonder why she was sleeping on the street. She had nothing more than the clothes she was wearing, and was sleeping under the thin layer of newspapers. What could be bad enough to make a person leave the sanctuary and security of their home to escape to the coldness and isolation provided by the streets?
Of course, as I tried to sleep, shocking images and gut-wrenching pictures of what her home must be like to make the streets a better option kept playing on my mind.
Was she a victim of physical or sexual abuse, or possibly an unwanted child because of her special needs? Or worse still, was she simply left alone?
At six a.m., I got up from bed and went to my computer. I turned it on and went over all the reviews I had written. It was then that I figured it out.
Or should I say, I figured me out.
I found that my negative attack reviews seemed to get more encouragement and popularity from my “friends” and followers than any of the positive reviews did.
People thrive on controversy, and it appears that I’m one of them.
As I sat and read over my reviews, I found the more I attacked, the more “likes” and “comments” I received. I realized it gave me recognition and power. And that power exhilarated me, because it meant that I was respected and listened to.
Then I put all the pieces of the puzzle together.
That power is false. Like the short stories in Smoke and Mirrors, I’m nothing more than an illusion. Simply smoke to hide the real me. Not even the accurate reflection of a mirror. Dark puffs of clouds that conceal who I really am. Nothing more than a counterfeit, a replica of a human being.
A soulless and empty person, filling my life with venom launched at others in order to feel better about myself.
I’ve re-read the review I left for Smoke and Mirrors and found that I am truly a callous and mean-spirited person.
I then went and re-read Smoke and Mirrors, and noticed that I really did enjoy it. What I didn’t like was how it made me feel. A few of the characters in your stories pushed boundaries that I never recognized or had buried so far deep down that I forgot about them.
The stories made me look at situations through new eyes, and where my initial response was that ‘I hate it because it’s wrong’, as I re-read the ARC you so kindly provided me, I was astounded to feel emotions that I had always rolled my eyes at.
I’ve rewritten my review of Smoke and Mirrors, and adjusted the rating to reflect the reaction I had when I re-read it. I wish I could give it a five-star, stellar review, but there were some grammatical and punctuation errors that lowered it from a five-star read to a four-star read. My review has been adjusted to reflect how I feel about the book, and not you as a writer.
It was wrong of me to attack you as a person, because I don’t know you. You yourself hit the proverbial nail on the head when you said I’m, “self-absorbed, narrow-minded, malicious, judgmental and deliberately cruel.”
I’ve since gone back and re-read all my other reviews too, and have removed anything personal that I wrote about those authors. It would sadden me deeply if I was to find that I was the cause of an author not writing, or even worse, self-harming because of something that I said. And let’s not mention the effect that my spiteful and hate-filled reviews might have had on their sales.
Ms. McHeyzer, this is my apology to you.
This is my one chance to hope that you find it in your heart to forgive me. I fear that without your forgiveness, there will be a weight on my soul that I’ll bear until my memory recedes.
I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But I’m hoping you will find it within yourself to allow me the grace of a pardon.
I also promise you something right now.
It was your words, your challenge that lighted a spark inside me. I vow that my heartless ways are now a thing of the past. I’ve dumped both my boyfriend and my best friend. I’d rather be on my own than be surrounded by negative, vicious people any longer. I’m enrolling in college to improve my education and I want to get into the field of helping the homeless.
Kind regards,
Jane
PS: I know according to your PS that your response was fabricated in order to shock me into looking at myself, but that actually happened to me. For a few years it’s happening to my thirteen-year-old sister. At first I was grateful that the bastard was leaving me alone, but now I’m going to fuck him up by taking my sister and reporting him to the police.
Sometimes it’s the decisions you have to make that’ll screw you up for life.
From now on, my decisions will come from strength and compassion…not hate.
The End
More from Margaret McHeyzer
Ugly
If I were dead, I wouldn't be able to see.
If I were dead, I wouldn't be able to feel.
If I were dead, he'd never raise his hand to me again.
If I were dead, his words wouldn't cut as deep as they do.
If I were dead, I'd be beautiful and I wouldn't be so...ugly.
I'm not dead...but I wish I was.
*This is a dark YA/NA standalone, full-length novel. Contains violence and some explicit language.
A Life Less Broken
***CONTAINS DISTRESSING CONTENT. 18+***
On a day like any other, Allyn Sommers went off to work, not knowing that her life was about to be irrevocably and horrifically altered.
Three years later, Allyn is still a prisoner in her own home held captive b
y harrowing fear. Broken and damaged, Allyn seeks help from someone that fate brought her.
Dr. Dominic Shriver is a psychiatrist who’s drawn to difficult cases. He must push past his own personal battles to help Allyn fight her monsters and nightmares.
Is Dr. Shriver the answer to her healing?
Can Allyn overcome the broken?
HiT Series
HiT 149
Anna Brookes is not your typical teenager. Her walls are not adorned with posters of boy bands or movie stars. Instead posters from Glock, Ruger, and Smith & Wesson grace her bedroom. Anna's mother abandoned her at birth, and her father, St. Cloud Police Chief Henry Brookes, taught her how to shoot and coached her to excellence. On Anna's fifteenth birthday, unwelcome guests join the celebration, and Anna's world is never the same. You'll meet the world's top assassin, 15, and follow her as she discovers the one hit she's not sure she can complete - Ben Pearson, the current St. Cloud Police Chief and a man with whom Anna has explosive sexual chemistry. Enter a world of intrigue, power, and treachery as Anna takes on old and new enemies, while falling in love with the one man with whom she can't have a relationship.
Anna Brookes in Training
Find out what happened to transform the fifteen-year-old Anna Brookes, the Girl with the Golden Aim, into the deadly assassin 15. After her father is killed and her home destroyed, orphan Anna Brookes finds herself homeless in Gulf Breeze, Florida. After she saves Lukas from a deadly attack, he takes her in and begins to train her in the assassin's craft. Learn how Lukas's unconventional training hones Anna's innate skills until she is as deadly as her mentor.
HiT for Freedom
Crave Page 55
