Chapter V: Deus ex murder

Liz scouted their temporary surveillance base; the equipment was set, the monitors online. She could do nothing but wait now. It would be a shame for all this trouble to go to waste, and she could only blame herself for her ineptitude to catch a simple drunken slob.

She checked her watch again. Less than half an hour has passed since John left to continue his damage control but it still seemed like an eternity to her. There was nothing to do, nothing to set up. All the excitement that came with the preparations for this mission has already faded away.

Her mind wandered again to John. He may have been overly dramatic and a little stuck up at times, but at times like this she valued his experience. He was quick to blend in the neighborhood; no one could distinguish him as something different than a bum if he saw him right now. And his skills at getting the information that he needed seemed to her like a faraway dream of what her own skills could be honed to.

He had reported that there seemed to be no leakage of their whereabouts from the drunkard. In fact, no one but the liquor store merchant had even seen this guy before. It was like he was a ghost, unseen and unheard of. ‘Laying low no doubt for some crime he had committed’ 'her cynical mind shouted to her.

Yet, the suspense was killing her. John was out doing his rounds, Christian was in the van some blocks away, acting as their link to the outside world and Marcus was watching Loukas house. All doing something constructive, all having something to pass their time with, while she was stuck here, doing absolutely nothing, well… watching the surveillance of an empty warehouse…

She had to do something, anything, just to occupy her mind, to throw away the anxiety that was building inside her. Her mind drifted anew. Her gaze fell upon the leather-bound diary that she had found yesterday during her clean up of the house.

It made no sense. Who would drop such a book in a heap of broken bottles, and why. Surely, the one it belonged to cared for it; it was well preserved, clean, and even seemed expensive. Yet, someone has abandoned it here…

She tried to think if it would be such a bad thing to read it, maybe it contained one’s private thoughts, but if that was the case, why throw it away? As her mind was engaged in an inner struggle; as she was still trying to debate if killing her time with something that wasn’t her own was worth it, she found that her body had already took control and was already flipping its thick pages.

It wasn’t right. The text contradicted the container. She half-expected to find some kind of a diary, a structured accounting of one’s actions. The quality of the cover said, at least, that this belonged to someone who had enough money to spare for a decent education. But the words that this –thing- contained were nothing more than a lunatic’s ravings. They weren’t even complete sentences; just words hastily written one after another in a maddening pace. And the pages were thick, quality paper. Paper made to endure hardships and time’s decay. But the scribbling itself was, at least, hideous. She had to squint just so she could understand most of them. There weren’t even proper lines, just random notes about random things written wherever there was free space on a page...

‘Who could ever want to preserve such a thing?’ She wondered again.

Lazily, she turned to the last page. Maybe there were clues there about the reason that the owner of this book discarded it. At least it could occupy her mind with that until John came back.

Stained shirt and raven black hair come.
They look at the couple.
My husband returns.
A clock chimes twelve.
A gunshot.
Pain.
The blood runs freely out of me, paints the blond hair to a crimson color.

The whispering voice of John caused Liz to break her reading. “One of those days, I’m really going to kill Christian.”

Liz slightly pulled the shutters with her fingers and peeked outside; surely enough, she could see the disheveled form that John used as his disguise closing in. The way that he blobbed and limped looked absolutely natural. He wore some torn old jeans and a filthy brown shirt that seemed like it had seen its fair amount of alcohol and vomit being tossed upon it. Even the wig that rested on his head looked like it was made specifically for him, the same wig that contained his radio and made him look like a lunatic that was currently speaking to himself. But her eyes rested on the dirty paper-bag that he was carrying.

“Huh? What’s the matter John? You wanted to look so natural that you actually went and bought some booze for ya?”

“No… Stupid Christian and his pranks. He said that he had an important piece of equipment for us and I went to pick it up.”

“So…?

“It’s frigging donuts! They actually went to buy us some donuts just to tease us!”

“Hey, donuts are essential for a good stake out. Every movie shows so…” Christian peeped in their conversation merrily.

Liz understood Christian. He wanted to cheer them up. He was usually good at this sort of things, but really…

“DONUTS? I’ll cover you up John if any accident, like a bullet in the head, befalls Christian…” Liz snapped back while simultaneously trying to hold in her chuckles.

~~~

The door slammed in the wall as Loukas burst it open, causing the small painting of his wife that rested next to it to slightly tilt. He used to think that this painting was too small to contain her beauty. Yet, the painter had done miracles. He had chosen to work only with her face, and made her eyes the focal point of his drawing. He played with the light to make her almost shine in a, sort of mystical, halo. Even slight details, like the way that her golden locks portrayed her face, only added to the whole effect that the artist was trying to create.

It was in those same eyes that Loukas now looked with hatred.

“You bitch… You though that I wouldn’t learn?” His voice was calm, too calm. As cold as ice, and as sharp; as deadly as the pistol that he drew.

Next to the painting, an old cuckoo clock chimed twelve; a bullet went flying. Before the helpless body of his wife hit the floor, bathed in her own blood, Marcus was already screaming on the radio.

“They’re on to us. Quickly abandon the mission. Get the hell away from there…” He tried to sound calm, he tried to not scream, but the rapid succession of his words, the hasty decision calling, the anxiety on his voice were impossible to hide.

~~~

Liz’s watch beeped twelve o’clock the instant they heard Marcus shouts. She saw John pausing for a second, losing a step, trying to comprehend the severity, or lack of it, of the current situation.

Hot liquid dripped on her leg. It was blood from her hand. She realized that she was biting her own hand to muffle her screaming. Her eyes were glued to John as he was falling. It was like a scene in the movies, like it was on slow motion. Him, slowly falling, his hand grasping his dirtied shirt in a vain attempt to stop the blood from the bullet wound from gushing out. A paper bag stuck in mid-air, like time has frozen, a few donuts flying out. Liz couldn’t move, thoughts were beyond her screaming mind. The only thing that remained was a nauseating feeling of déjà vu.

Her gaze finally broke from the blooded scene, and as one by one insane pieces of a puzzle that her mind, even now, refused to accept, lowered to the leather bound book that lay on her hands; the last sentences that she had read still echoing in her mind.

A clock chimes twelve.
Stained shirt kneels and grabs his chest.
Donuts fall.
Raven black hair is stunned.
She panics.

It was at the moment that she had read that sentence that John had interrupted her. Yet, as the scene replayed in her eyes, she could do nothing but stare, once again, at the journal.

“…I’m raven black hair?” It didn’t make sense. Nothing around her now did. How someone wrote this passage? How did Loukas found out about them? Why John wasn’t standing up…

She knew the risks when she tried to become an agent. She knew that they were toying with death when they embarked for this mission. But she still couldn’t believe that her partner was lying in a pool of his own blood right now. From all the insanity going around her, this was the most difficult to accept. And yet, she felt her heart returning to its normal pulse. Her mind categorizing the things she saw as simple facts. Any emotion that existed moments ago disappeared from her eyes.

“I’m probably in shock” She whispered to herself as she meticulously continued reading the journal.

Stained shirt kneels and grabs his chest.
Donuts fall.
Raven black hair is stunned.
She panics.
Possibilities start spinning again. They dance around themselves, become entwined and choke the actual meaning of a decision. Most of them end in the same knot. Most of them spawn the same pattern on the carpet.
It almost doesn’t matter what she will choose.
Raven black hair jumps out of the window, towards stained shirt. The sniper’s bullet hits her before she can even stand up. She dies.
Raven black hair runs out the door, towards the alley, trying to reach her vehicle. She never notices the assassin that waited for that. Her back was turned to him as he pulled the trigger. She dies.
Raven black hair reads my notes… oh shit…

It ended there. No more scribbles, just blank pages, just empty spaces that denied any real clues of who wrote this, but most importantly of how she is supposed to escape. Only one sentence gave her hope.

‘Almost doesn’t matter is severely different that doesn’t matter at all. And for the record Oh shit doesn’t even begin to describe what is happening. So my actions don’t matter eh? You’ve given me enough to make them matter…’ Something inside her was screaming that at this point, there were greater issues than mocking a piece of paper… issues like how something like this was even possible.

Liz stood up instantly; adrenaline and blood rushing in her veins. Almost like a fine tuned machine she unhooked her pistol and checked the clip; her movements almost thoughtless, mechanical, emotionless. She found herself perfectly relaxed; there was nothing in her mind but one thing.

In one swift move, she kicked the door open and jumped out, her back facing the road instead of the alley. In the shadows, just across the street, her eyes caught the metallic glint of a gun that moved. Her hand was quicker, as she readjusted her pistol and shot. A slight bump as she landed to the ground with her shoulder returned her to reality.

‘Did I just shoot a man in the head while in midair?’ Her brain tried in vain to wrestle control of the body. But it failed. Her instincts prevailed over her logic again. This was no time to think, it was time to act… to survive. More assassins would close in her in mere moments. Liz broke to a frantic run. She had to reach the van, both for her life, and to show the journal to someone, anyone, just to make certain that she wasn’t insane…