Mr. X

by Clarissa Wild

  Letting go of the pillow, I slip off the bed and let my feet glide onto the soft, warm carpet. It’s not a large room, but an expensive one—that I can tell. With huge windows and sophisticated wooden furniture, I can only imagine what it must cost to stay here each night. The chamber smells like sandalwood and ammonia, an odd combination, which makes me a little queasy. The closer I step to the painting, the more curious I get to find out what I saw. I don’t know why. I just need to see.

  The red turns into little dots and then I find out they are living beings. Humans. Bodies. Chopped-up limbs. A woman cutting them up with a butcher’s knife.

  A tiny shriek escapes my mouth as I gasp for air. My hand moves to my face as I keep the sounds from escaping. The horror this painting shows isn’t what made me frightened. Everything comes back to me in a flash. Billy. His death. The man with the scar holding me captive. The killing spree. Blood. Death.

  I’m surrounded by it.

  In panic I turn around and gaze at the bed, the window, the doors. Everything is locked, and all of the sudden I feel like I’m going crazy. It’s true. It really happened.

  My body is shaking vigorously as I hold myself and cling to the wall at the same time. I’m a bird caged by a beast, and there’s no way out of this one. He owns me now. What do I do? I feel so powerless.

  Feeling the sudden urge to throw up, I run to the bathroom and let it all out. My body is giving up the fight. I’ve been strong for too long, and now the realization hits me like a brick to the face. I’m a prisoner and I’ve lost control over my life. How much worse can this get?

  Wiping my face and mouth on a piece of paper, I flush the toilet and throw the paper in, then get up on my feet. I could use a drink to get rid of the rankness in my throat. When I turn around, I pause. There’s black tape all over the mirror. From left to right, not a single piece of reflection is available. What the fuck?

  I step closer and peel away one of the tapes. My brown hair peeks out as I spot myself in the mirror. A frenzy to rid this mirror of its cover overcomes me. I need to see myself. I need to know if I’m hurt. I need to look myself in the eye as I tell myself it’s all going to be okay. One by one I tear them down, each one faster than the last, throwing them into the bin as I go.

  As the mirror becomes visible I finally get to see myself again. I check my face, my body, my hair, anything I can see, anything that’s visible to me. Nothing seems off, nothing’s out of place. For a moment I almost thought he might have scarred me like he is scarred himself.

  It’s a ridiculous idea, because I would’ve felt it if he had. It’s just fear taking over control of my rationality. Luckily, I seem fine. Well, as far as fine goes. I look like shit. I have dark rings around my eyes, spots on my cheeks, and my body is covered in bruises, and I have no makeup to cover it all. Watching myself in the mirror like this really puts a dent in my confidence. With my hands on the sink I look myself in the eye and feel the tears filling my eyes again. Being here in this room scares me, because I’m alone, and nothing feels worse to me than being alone. Not just alone in the physical meaning, but in all its meanings. Because in the back of my mind I know there’s nobody who cares that I’m here. Nobody who will think about me and wonder where I am. Nobody who’ll even notice I’m gone. No one who’ll come looking for me. No one to rescue me.

  It’s just me. Me and him.

  Turning my head, I look at the clock hanging from the wall. It’s been a couple of hours since he left, so he’ll probably be back soon. I can’t afford to look weak when he comes back. It’ll be my undoing. So I wipe away the tear that rolls down my cheek and wash my face with some cold water. Feeling sad for myself won’t help a bit. I need to take control of my feelings, my surroundings, my situation, and do everything in my power to get out. Even if nobody else cares, I care. I should rescue me. I want myself to survive, get out, and be free again.

  And fuck it, when I get out I’m going to buy a condo in Hawaii and live my life in peace. No men. No drugs. No dancing. Maybe just the alcohol. Yeah, I’m going to start a bar right along the beach and spend my days getting tanned under the sun. That’s what I’m going to do.

  Suddenly there’s a knock on the door.

  A cold shiver runs through my body as I walk out of the bathroom and stare at the door. There’s another knock.

  “Housekeeping.”

  With furrowed brows I step closer. Why is there housekeeping? And why doesn’t she just come in?

  The lock rattles. A key goes inside. Some more rattling and then the noise stops.

  She unlocked it.

  A single thought crosses my mind right at that moment.

  Should I try to escape?

  With trembling fingers I open the door a few inches. I peek into the shadows. A woman with dark hair turns around after fiddling with a tray behind her. “Ah, excuse me. I’m here to clean the room.”

  For a moment, escaping crosses my mind. I could push her aside, run her over, and flee. I could. But for some reason X’s warning resonates through my head. If I leave, I will die. I don’t know if I can trust him; probably not, but what other choice do I have? Those men who were out there when we left my motel were out to kill us both. I’m not sure how many more there are. What if I get gunned down the moment I leave this room? Then it’s all been in vain. I don’t want to die.

  Even if he’s a murderer, a monster, I can still only believe him.

  I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I don’t know what to say. For some reason the first thing I think of is that I’m still in this hooker outfit, and her eyes confirm that thought. As I look down, my cheeks turn hot.

  She smiles and blinks a couple of times. Then she opens the door further, pushing past me, and steps inside, closing it behind her immediately. She locks it again.

  “Uh …” I stammer as I turn around to watch her scurry into the room.

  “Oh, no need to tell me anything, miss. I already know.” Her voice is eerie. Dark. It makes my skin crawl.

  “You know …?”

  “Yes,” she says, glancing back at me before hurrying her trolley to the bed. She starts taking off all the sheets and putting on new ones, while I stare at her, unsure of what to do. Unsure if I should try to pry the key from her hands and make a run for it, or grab something sharp to stab her with.

  I don’t know why I’m getting this sudden urge to attack a woman I don’t even know. Maybe it’s because of this room. Maybe it’s because I don’t trust her. Or maybe it’s because X told me everyone knows and nobody cares. Maybe he paid her to shut up. Maybe she’s in on it. She knows everything.

  I grasp for the bedpost, as wonky as I am on my feet. My life feels like a thin thread that could be severed at any moment by anyone. Everyone’s my enemy. No one is safe. X is always one step ahead of me.

  Except, when the cleaning lady takes her trolley to the bathroom, she forgets one thing. Her phone.

  It’s on the trolley with all the other items, but she herself has disappeared into the bathroom with a pile of fresh towels. An idea sprouts in my head, growing in my brain as I realize it’s my only shot at freedom. Reaching someone from the outside world, out of X’s grasp, is the only solution.

  Sliding across the room as quietly as I can, I slip closer to the bathroom. I hear her scrubbing something, and when I turn my head around the corner I spot her cleaning the toilet. She’s faced away from the trolley. A perfect opportunity. One chance I can’t blow.

  I reach for the phone and snag it away as fast as I can, tucking it deep into my ass crack. Yeah, that’s the only hiding place I have, unfortunately.

  She gets up, and I spring back, pretending to look at the painting. With squinted eyes she gazes at me, waiting. I break out in a sweat. It’s like she knows.

  Then she grabs the trolley and pushes it past me, going straight for the door. She hasn’t even noticed her phone has gone missing. All she’s doing is looking for her key, prying open the door, walking out, and closing it again afte
r glancing at me one last time.

  When it’s quiet, I get the urge to freak out.

  But I don’t. I have to calm down. Keep my cool. Take a breath. The phone is in my possession, and it’s my only way out.

  I pull it out from my panties and clean it with a towel before attempting to dial numbers. My fingers are trembling as I retype the numbers after pressing the wrong one from all the stress. It’s the first and the only number I memorized, because it’s the only thing that mattered to me before … this.

  When I’m done, I hold the phone to my ear. Tears spring into my eyes as I hear her voice. “Hello?”

  “Hannah?” My voice is croaky and broken.

  “Jay? Oh my God, Jay! Where are you? Why haven’t you called? We’ve been worried sick about you! Well … I have, at least. You know how Don is.”

  “I … I …” I run to the window.

  I suck in a deep breath and begin my sentence.

  “I need your help. I’m in a hotel. It’s near some street called … um … I don’t know! I can’t tell, but I recognize the Interstate thirty-five. There’s a Shell gas station right next to us. From the looks of it I’m in Austin … maybe the Sheraton.”

  But before I can blow out my breath, the door slams open. The sound of his shoes is enough to make my heart beat like thunder roaring in the skies.

  “His wings are gray and trailing, Azrael, Angel of Death, And yet the souls that Azrael brings Across the dark and cold, Look up beneath those folded wings, And find them lined with gold” - Robert Gilbert Welsh

  Chapter 8

  X

  Friday, August 16th, 2013. 9:30 a.m.

  My cell phone buzzes, and I check the message sent by Antonio.

  You fucking asshole, what the fuck do you think you’re doing? Where the fuck are you?

  I don’t respond, but focus on driving instead. That fucktard has some explaining to do as well. I don’t give a shit if it takes me all day, but I will find out who gave that order. Antonio might be gone from the scene now, but I know where he’s at. His hideout this week isn’t too far away from mine, which is unfortunate for him, but lucky for me. Especially since I didn’t tell him where I’m staying. He won’t be tracking me down, but I’m going after his ass. That son of a bitch better have a good explanation for this or I’m gonna blow his head off too.

  When I finally arrive at his wooden cabin I park my car right beside his house and take out my gun before stepping out. I check the area for hidden spies, but discover nothing out of the ordinary. It seems he thinks he can handle me.

  Oh, yes, I know he’s waiting for me.

  He and I both know we had this coming for us.

  Carefully moving toward his cabin, I keep my finger on the trigger. Sweat trickles down my forehead as I knock on the door and quickly move to the side. It opens, but nobody steps out. It surprises me. Not the fact that nobody steps out, but that he actually opened it. We normally run out the back or fire blanks at the door, so this is unusual behavior, even for him.

  I take a deep breath before walking inside, gun pointed at every angle of the room, trying to find him. When he pops up from behind the door, I shoot the wood in the wall.

  “Jesus Christ, are you insane?” Antonio lowers his gun and places it on the floor.

  Grabbing his collar, I lower my gun and shove him against the wall. “Did you arrange this?”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “Her! The girl!” I push my elbow against his throat. “Did you or did you not set me up?”

  “No, I have no clue what the fuck you mean. That girl was just an assignment. Nothing more. You blew it, you know that? You fucking blew it,” he scoffs.

  “Like I don’t fucking know that.” I let him go and he immediately grabs his throat, rubbing it like he was choked.

  “What the fuck were you thinking, huh?” he says after catching his breath. “Waiting while you have a job to do? Taking the girl? Killing our own fucking agents?” His voice gets louder and louder. “You’re in deep shit.”

  “I don’t fucking care; she wasn’t part of the plan.”

  “What plan? You were supposed to kill her and you ruined it!”

  “My plan!” I growl, stepping toward him again. “She is mine. Don’t you dare lay a hand on her.”

  “And our agents? You dared lay a hand on them,” he spits. “You know fucking better than that. You don’t know what you got yourself into. They’ll be going after you now. You defied the rules and you murdered some of our own.”

  “I don’t give a fuck about them or anyone else!” I point my gun at him again, and he freezes. “Who gave you the order?”

  “What’s wrong with you, man? Why do you even care? You were only supposed to kill her. You’ve done all your jobs magnificently until now. What went wrong?”

  “What’s wrong is that you went after her.”

  “I. didn’t.” He places his hand on the gun. “It wasn’t me who gave the order.”

  “Then who did?” I snap.

  “Higher up.”

  “And?”

  “I … We don’t know who the client is. It’s a class nine job. Nobody gets to lay eyes on the details. We were just supposed to take her life and that’s it.”

  “Don’t lie to me!” I say through gritted teeth. “You know who it was.” I can tell from the sweat drops rolling down his forehead and the skittishness of his eyes that he’s lying to my face.

  “Why is it so important to you? She’s just a girl. What does it matter? If you’d just gotten the job done you wouldn’t be in this mess. I don’t understand why you’re getting yourself into this mess and why you’re going through all this trouble to find out who did it.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I told you, she’s mine. She’s not just a girl.”

  “Right, but you’re blowing everything … for her.”

  “I don’t give a crap about all that. I want to know who the client is. Now tell me who it is!”

  “I can’t.”

  “TELL ME!” I press the gun into his skin so hard it’s starting to crack. “Or I swear to God I will put a bullet in your head.”

  I’m barely able to stop myself from pulling the trigger. This fucker lied to me. He knows who’s behind it and he is keeping it from me. He used to be my friend. Now I know better.

  “Okay, okay … I will … Just … calm down, okay?” He holds up his hands, trying to make me feel better about the situation, trying to give me the illusion I’m in control. There is no such thing as control. Only those who are killed and those who kill.

  Taking the gun off his forehead, I let him move. He’s slow and careful as I watch him like a hawk, walking toward the safe in the back of his bedroom. Unlocking it is tedious and takes its toll of my patience. “Hurry up!”

  “I’m trying …” he murmurs. When a click follows, I push him aside, still keeping the gun on his throat. My eye darts between him and the mobile phone lying on the cold steel bottom of the safe.

  “Is that it?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so.” He sighs. “Are you sure? If you do this, there’s no turning back.”

  “It’s already too late,” I snap.

  He shuts up as I pick up the phone and start scrolling through the names. Somewhere at the bottom is a name associated with the organization. I click his profile and a bunch of his messages pop up. One of the latest ones is a text message from Wednesday, August 14th, 2013. 12:00 p.m. A few minutes later I received a message to kill her. This is the one.

  As my working eye scans the message, my lungs stop expanding. My teeth are clenched. I grip the phone so tight, it shatters in my hands.

  I step away from Antonio, ready to start this war, but he grabs my arm. “Wait. Stop and think about this for one second.”

  “Think about what? I know who’s behind this.”

  “So? Does it matter? It doesn’t solve your problems.”

  “Killing him does.”

  “And then what?” He fro
wns. “Are you gonna kill everyone who stands in your way?”

  “If I have to,” I say, tucking my gun back in its holster.

  Antonio squeezes my arm, trying to stop me. “Are you sure? If you do this … it could mean the end. For all of us. For you.”

  I glance over my shoulder. “They went after her. That was their first mistake. Involving me was their second mistake. I’m not going to let this go unpunished.” I shake him off.

  “I hope you know we can’t let you do that,” Antonio says.

  “Oh, I know,” I muse, walking away.

  “I’m your friend … I don’t want to have to kill you.”

  “What’s done is done, Antonio. I’m following my own path now.”

  It’s quiet for a while, but as I open the door he says, “It’ll cost you your life.”

  “So be it.”

  ***

  Friday, August 16th, 2013. 11:17 a.m.

  My mind is filled with thoughts about killing people. Murdering them in cold blood. Splattering their blood all over the walls and floors. I want people to know I did it, and I want them to know why. I know exactly who I’m going to kill, and I’m already thinking about how I’m going to do it and what tools I’m going to use.

  However, when I find Jay in my room with a phone in her hand, I freeze and all thoughts cease to exist.

  The phone drops to the floor as she turns around and stares at me in shock. Within a second I pull out my gun, aim for the phone, and shoot.

  She shrieks as metallic pieces skyrocket through the room, hitting the furniture. Scrambling away from me as I walk toward her, she runs to the bathroom and closes the door. As if that’s going to stop me. She was fucking calling someone.

  I shoot the lock, destroying it in the process, and tear open the door. She’s in the back, hovering close to the showerhead. She picks it up and tries to use it as a weapon. “Don’t come any closer!”