Elektra

by Yvonne Navarro

  She was, however, surprised to find her father waiting for them… standing right next to a newly built wishing well.

  “Oh, Daddy!” The circular well was beautiful, its waisthigh walls hand-constructed of smooth river stones in a myriad of colors beneath a small roof of hardened cedar shingles. Elektra circled it, hopping up and down with excitement and happiness, then she threw herself into her father’s arms and hugged him furiously. He held on to her in return, his arms strong and tight. With her mother looking on and smiling, Elektra had never felt so secure. Her father was still smiling when she pulled away, and she eagerly took the silver dollar piece he offered her—she had a big future to wish for, long and bright and happy, and she would need a big coin to cover it all. Concentrating so hard that she was just on the edge of frowning, Elektra finally tossed the big silver piece into the well, watching it arc upward before it fell, twinkling end over end, into the darkness at the well’s center….

  A good memory, but by the time Elektra finally reached the beach house and climbed into bed, it was followed by one much darker and unwanted—

  Elektra stood off to the side, watching silently as members of her father’s staff worked together to drape dust covers over all the furniture in the house. Up and fluff, out and down. Up and fluff, out and down. They were quiet and efficient, talking in murmurs and being careful not to look in her direction. She followed them from room to room, starting with the foyer and working into each bedroom and the living room, counting each one without knowing it, watching as they spread the sheets in the air and let them flutter down like pallid, fragile snow ghosts that enveloped everything. They left only her father’s study, glancing uneasily at each other as they passed the door without touching it, not noticing that Elektra, who had followed them everywhere until now, decided to stay behind.

  When their footsteps had faded to nothing more than faraway thumps, Elektra grasped the handle of the study door and eased it downward, moving more quietly than she’d ever done in her life, more quietly than she’d ever thought she could. She felt the latch release beneath her hand but it made no sound, and she slipped into the room as if she were a ghost herself. This was a huge study, the room nearly as large as the library upstairs, and when she carefully pushed the door closed behind her, Elektra saw her father sitting at his desk nearly twenty feet away. His head rested on his hands and he looked almost as though he were sleeping, so she stayed in the shadows and just watched him. For a long time he didn’t move, long enough so that she began to worry; when she crept closer, she realized his eyes were open and he was staring at something on his desk—two large swords with wicked-looking handles that ended in a sharp point on each side of the main hilt. What were they called? Sais, that’s right. He had told her about them before.

  He stood suddenly, and only a quick backstep into the shadows kept her from being seen. Where before his mood had seemed dark and introspective, now it looked like he had made up his mind about something. As Elektra watched, he picked up the two sais and strode over to the wall on the other side of the room, where the cherrywood cabinets were built in place from floor to ceiling. He took a key from his pocket and twisted it into the lock of one of the upper ones, then slid the two blades inside, pushing them at an angle so they’d fit. That done, he closed the cabinet door and locked it, then went back to his desk and tossed the key into one of the drawers. He gave the room a final look around, then reached out and turned out the lamp.

  With the darkness now giving her even more camouflage, Elektra ducked out the door and scampered up the stairs before her father could notice she was in there.

  Elektra opened her eyes in the bedroom and frowned at the darkness permeating the beach house, ears straining. No, there was nothing wrong—no sound, no visitors. Just her and a traitorous mind that kept bringing back old memories that she would so much rather leave buried…

  Elektra’s woolen funeral suit was black, heavy and uncomfortably itchy; the white blouse beneath it was starched to a fault, and every fold and crease dug into her sensitive skin and made her even more miserable than she already was. But she wouldn’t be bothered by insignificant things like fabric today—there was something she had to do, a very important task she had to complete. It had taken her a few days to understand the why and wherefore of it, to realize that her father had decided not to avenge her mother’s death, but she would have none of that. Maybe she couldn’t do it now, but someday… oh, yes. And even though such a day was somewhere in a faraway and unseen future, Elektra already knew what she would need when she got there.

  Her father was off somewhere, talking with some servant or another, planning the closure of the house, the ride to her mother’s funeral, the wake where people would come to “pay their last respects.” He didn’t notice when she calmly walked out of the room, moving as though that was exactly what she was supposed to do. Last respects? This was something else young Elektra didn’t understand—why did grown-ups wait to visit until the people they loved were dead? Why not visit and “pay their respects” while that person was still alive to receive them? To her, it made no sense, but there was little in her life these last few days that had.

  The furniture in her father’s study had been the last in the house to be draped, but his massive desk was still uncovered. Elektra hurried over to it and checked the drawers as quietly as she could, going through each one until she found the key she’d seen him put away the day before. Clutching it in her palm, she dragged one of the leather chairs over to the wall cabinets, then pulled the sheet aside and climbed on top of it. She had to stretch to get the key into the lock, and for a long three seconds she didn’t think she’d be able to make it turn. Finally, though, there was a click and the cabinet door eased open.

  The sais were heavy and dangerously sharp, and she took them out of the cabinet one at a time. Moving as quickly as she dared, Elektra relocked the cabinet and tossed the key back into the drawer, then moved the chair back to its place and positioned the sheet so that it looked like it had never been touched. Carrying both the sais was a struggle, but she would not give up—someday, she was going to need these.

  It was bright outside, obnoxiously so. Today was her mother’s funeral—shouldn’t it be overcast? Pouring rain and thundering, crying from heaven? It always did that on television, but now that she was living the reality of it, Elektra realized it didn’t matter. No matter how bright the sunshine, how warm the breeze and sweet the birdsong, she was so sad that all she wanted to do was curl up on the cool, green grass and cry.

  But there was no time for that—she had to finish her task.

  Elektra found her way to the center of the maze and the well without thinking about it, and for a moment after she’d dropped the sais on the ground, she just stood there and glared at it. Wishing well? Where was the future she’d wished for, all the happiness and stars, and the live-happily-ever-after? She was just a kid, but already she knew that all that had died with her mother.

  Shaking her head, Elektra squatted and began digging into the soft ground next to the well, being extra careful not to dirty her suit or the white cuffs peeking out from beneath her jacket. When the hole was deep enough, she dragged the sais over and pushed them into it, making sure that no part of their bright metal showed through the soil she meticulously pressed into place over them.

  “Elektra! Elektra, where are you?”

  Her father—it must be time to leave for the funeral. She gave the ground a final, hasty smoothing over, then stood and brushed the dirt off her hands. If she had to, she could hide her dirty fingernails in her jacket pocket. She gave the well one last glance, then hurried to meet her father, wondering why, of all things, she could hear a telephone’s muffled ringing in the maze—

  Elektra sat up with a gasp and grabbed at the cell phone ringing on the nightstand. “What?” she demanded hoarsely.

  “You just got a delivery,” said McCabe.

  She’d been dreaming, another nightmare; she was soaked
with sweat and her feet were tangled in the sheets and she had to fight to get free. Cold, wet air blasted her in the face when she opened the door and looked down; between the outer storm door and the inside one was a manilla envelope—it was always amazing how McCabe could get something to her in the middle of the night, no matter where she was.

  Back inside, she ripped open the envelope and dumped its contents on the table. For a long moment she was silent as she stared at what had been inside. Finally, because she knew McCabe was expecting some kind of comment, she said, “It’s a double?”

  “That’s why the big bucks.”

  She didn’t say anything back, just kept staring at the two photographs and the information sheets. They read like something out of a statistics class—cold and impersonal, height, weight, age, eye and hair color.

  “What’s the matter?” McCabe asked. She could hear the suspicion in his voice.

  “Nothing.”

  “Good,” he replied, but she could tell he didn’t believe her.

  Functioning on autopilot, Elektra scanned the sheets of paper. “A kid?” she asked at last. “What’d the kid do?”

  “Talked back in class, had the wrong father, how would I know?” McCabe’s voice was getting more and more impatient. “It’s a job, E. When did you start asking questions?”

  “I’ll call you when it’s done,” she said coldly, and hung up on him.

  For a long time, Elektra simply sat there in the dark, head down and gaze fixated on the floor. Finally she made herself stand and go to the closet, where she pulled out the battered leather case. She carried it back to the living room and opened it, then almost reverently pulled out the fitted leather sheaths containing her sais. Working methodically, first she polished each blade with Simichrom, working it in with her fingers until the oil absorbed any dirt and turned dark. When that was wiped clean, she took a chamois and a tube of Japanese sword oil and meticulously oiled every ex posed area until the two blades gleamed like new chrome in the low light of her living room.

  That done, she sat back and waited for morning.

  She was up and dressed in a red leather jacket and jeans before the sunrise, with her sais tucked comfortably into her sleeves. The morning sky was painted rose and gold by the coming sun, making everything look deceptively warm even though the air was still holding on to the previous night’s chilly temperature.

  Striding up the beach, almost marching, Elektra tried to keep her mind blank, tried to focus on the job at hand and block out all the doubts and guilt that wanted to inch their way into her brain. She didn’t have time for things like that in her life, and certainly not in her line of work—assassins, professional ones, didn’t feel doubts, guilt, or emotions. They got their job, they did what they were hired to do, they collected their money, and, if they were wise, then they disappeared. So far, she’d been very good at all of that.

  Her pace picked up almost without her knowing it, but there was no outrunning the thoughts in her head. So be it—she would have to live with them, let them yammer away.

  She could still do her job.

  There was a small spillway behind the Miller cabin and Elektra used the sounds of the flowing water in it to disguise her approach. She ended up on a slight rise right by the kitchen window, which was more than adequate for her needs. She had a slanting view down and into the kitchen, and she could see both Mark and Abby as they moved around the house, passing in and out of her view as they got ready to meet the day. All she needed was a good shot—actually, two good shots—and then this job would be over and she could get on about the business of her life… whatever that was.

  Elektra waited, a sai in each hand. It was only a few moments before Mark ambled across her view, then stopped in front of the window and turned his back, putzing around with something on the table, unknowingly lining himself up perfectly in her vision. It should have been the perfect shot, really, there was nothing at all wrong with it… but maybe she could wait for something better, something with the girl closer to the window so she could get them both with more speed.

  In another blink of the eye, Abby stepped into view, standing next to her father, a classic case of actually getting what you wish for. Elektra’s hands were frozen on her sais—she couldn’t help listening to the warm, familiar banter between father and daughter, a casual conversation that showed affection and was never meant for someone outside the family to hear.

  Mark moved, and Elektra heard the sound of a can clanking against something metal. He looked over and she saw him grin at Abby. “How about some canned plums?”

  Even from this far away, Elektra could see Abby roll her eyes in amusement. “Dad, you are such a sugar junkie.”

  “What?” he asked defensively. “I used to love these when I was a kid.”

  Abby smiled but didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, instead of talking about breakfast, she asked, “When am I gonna see Grandma?”

  Elektra saw Mark’s shoulders rise as he inhaled. “I don’t know, honey. Soon…I hope. Soon.”

  Crouching above the window, Elektra pressed her lips together, growing more and more angry with herself for not just doing it, taking the two shots and getting this over with. But no, the timing wasn’t right, something wasn’t right…at least that’s what she tried to convince herself of as she finally moved away from the window. Still telling herself she could go with the shots, aloud she was muttering to herself. “Come on, damn it—just… push. Push.” She started to repeat herself, but all her air was gone, and she just couldn’t do it.

  Out of the corner of her eye as she left, she saw Mark and Abby suddenly freeze. Had they sensed her out there? Had they heard her?

  Without warning, Abby spun, fast, and made for the door. Her dad grabbed her before she could get there.

  “Dad, let me,” she said urgently. “I’m—”

  Time to go.

  He shook his head. “Stay here,” he told her as he leaned over the sink and peered out the window.

  But by the time he focused on the foliage outside, there was nothing to see but empty green, and nothing for him to do but exchange worried glances with his daughter.

  Enough of this, Elektra thought as she stormed back into the warm front room of the beach house. She was absolutely furious with herself for not being able to do what she was supposed to. For God’s sake, it was almost as if she couldn’t even think the phrase, use the words in her own mind. Well, damn it, she could—she had to kill them, both of them. She was the assassin—the paid assassin—and they were her targets. She’d never met them before yesterday, and she shouldn’t care if they were alive tomorrow.

  She strode to the closet and yanked out the tall box, then pried it open and began assembling the contents. The Martin Cougar Elite compound bow took shape rapidly beneath her experienced hands, and she barely had to think about what went where. This one had a hand-held trigger and a telescopic sight that made it almost as accurate as a firearm and could send an arrow off at nearly three hundred feet per second. She hated herself for admitting a weakness, but maybe if she could put some distance between her and her two marks— enough to where she didn’t have to hear them chatter at each other and therefore didn’t have to remember that they were people, people with whom she’d shared a Christmas dinner—maybe then she could do her job and end it the way she ought to.

  With a final tightening of the limb bolts, Elektra shouldered the Martin and stood. As she grabbed a half dozen aluminum arrows, Elektra realized she’d be leaving a mess, a telltale sign of her presence here, if she didn’t clean up.

  Too bad. She couldn’t worry about that right now. Right now she had to do something to stop the erosion of her own abilities.

  Right now, she had to kill.

  It took her less than five minutes to get back to Mark’s property, although this time she was well out of range of hearing, no matter how sensitive either of them might be. They were such innocent victims, the worst kind—only the inexperienced kept the
ir curtains spread wide, only the most ignorant didn’t realize that doors and windows should be locked and covered at all times. As they had earlier, Mark and Abby wandered at will across the line of Elektra’s sight, easy prey for the killer neither had any idea was waiting outside.

  Down on one knee, Elektra brought up the compound bow and pulled back on the bowstring, inhaling as she pulled against a nearly sixty-five pound draw weight. Mark was easy to fix in the center of the sight and Elektra’s hand was steady as she watched him; his back was to her again and rather than release the arrow, Elektra found herself wondering what he was doing. Paying a bill, chopping up a snack for Abby to eat, or spooning out those canned plums he’d talked about earlier this morning?

  Elektra frowned but kept the bowstring pulled taut against her cheek. One more second and—

  Abby stepped into the center of the window—obviously their nervousness of this morning had dissipated. She said something to her dad and he looked over at her and smiled; at that, Abby stepped slightly behind him and put her arm casually across his shoulders.

  Now would be good, no, now would be perfect. They were at a slight angle to her and she could get them both with one shot, accurate enough to pierce both their hearts and likely kill them instantly. Very little pain, no fuss—

  Abby’s arm dropped away and Mark stepped to the left, disappearing from Elektra’s view. Abby stayed where she was, looking downward. Maybe she was reading something, a magazine article her dad had noticed and told her about, a letter, a strip of brightly colored comics, anything. She was right there, centered in the kitchen window and in Elektra’s telescopic sight, motionless and so very vulnerable. An easy target, over in a flash—

  Elektra’s arm began to tremble from the pull of the bowstring. Ten seconds later she still hadn’t fired and the tremble turned into a full shake as her muscles hit their fatigue point.