Full intention. The last resort. I’m in your house. It’s my job to kill you. I’m looking at your photos. Your parents’ golden anniversary pictures are a nice touch. I remember how scared you were that day. How I had to talk you into going. We look so happy. The best of friends. So how did we get here? It had been easily 7 years since any one of us had spoken of personal matters. The three of us. Three musketeers. You changed. Politics. I never would have pegged you for it. Steven Malcolm. Male model, Yes. Superficial liar, No. And here I am, your best friend here to kill you. Hired by the other best friend who you’ve manipulated and he wants you out. I remember us in college. We all wanted to change the world. The three artists bent on making the world a better more beautiful place. What happened to us? It’s only a matter of time before you had Ethan killed. He just caught me first.
Ethan Lambrey. Artistic genius. GLAAD poster self made-man. Fashion Designer of the year. World wide extraordinaire. He was the CEO of a self made brand that just opened a chain of boutiques in Paris, Rome, Milan and New York but never in LA, far too tacky. According to Ethan, those starlets with their insecurities and stylists with a name to make were far too dangerous to his notoriety. One ugly red carpet moment and it would essentially all “go up in flames”. Ethan was never one to exaggerate about things he was passionate about. Ethan had been worried for some time about you. You financed his company and then shut him out. His success came at the cost of a lifelong friendship.
Steven Malcolm. Brilliant man. Charming and attractive. Hollywood came to court and you refused out of true instinct. Not one man could have ever competed with your own brand of glamour. Honestly its that charm of yours that makes you a true natural for politics. Someday you’ll rule the world. I’m sure of it. The maneuver into politics was by chance but successful nonetheless. The man you once called father, introduced you to a manipulative circle of society. The Hand. They were responsible for the placement of the last three presidents into office. You, the new poster child, ran for a senate seat and won. Youngest senator in history.
Which comes to me. At long last the lady with a dark secret. Professional killer by mistake. At least in the beginning it was an accident. I hadn’t planned on this becoming a career. Fell into it you could say. My fiancé was a bad man once. Kept me locked away in a sense; protected me from “the evil of the world”, according to him and hid the most terrible, unimaginable things. Until one day, I came across the girls. The ones he kidnapped, raped, mutilated, and tortured. His home was sprawling and quite extravagant. I never would have known, but by chance, my needlepoint fell that day. Needle rolling under the chair next to the wall, where there should not be a hinge let alone a door, but alas. No locks to stop an intruder. But I didn’t free them. I was shell-shocked and couldn’t breathe. Confronting him would have sealed my doom. So being the resourceful young woman, I saw no other option but to take his life. I poisoned his bourbon and slit his throat before bed that night. The next day “The Hand” contacted me. Of course they knew of his activities, but saw no reason to interfere due to his discretion. They offered and I became an anonymous killer. Beautiful by day, Deadly by night.
We all have our small beginnings though.
Back to me in your house. Surprise, the key still works. It’s a miracle you still use this house. You have 20. This one is the most like home though. It’s the one your parents left you before they died. You always were a sentimental fool. I can still find my way through this place blind folded. Ranch style. Recessed ceiling in the living room. Kitchen/Dining room. Wooden floors. You’ve changed it a bit with your modern flairs, the Mies Van der Rohe Chair with matching table and Japanese wood block prints. I slink through the hall, glancing at pictures of happier times. Occasionally I find myself staring back at a mirrored younger version. I reach the far end of the hall where a light is on in your office. I open the door which is already slightly ajar, to find you asleep at the oversized wooden desk. No security here. You are brave. And all alone. I’m surprised again. I walked over at look at the computer. You were working, but something is wrong with the screen. Shit. You weren’t alone. You’ve been drugged. I take action. Damn. Wasn’t I supposed to be killing you?
AHA! This one is different. Call it ‘part’ of “something bigger”. I don’t know if anyone recalls me talking about a larger piece. This is part of it. It was originally a rough draft I’d began years ago. About 10 yrs to be exact. I can not believe I held onto those notes! Back then its origin was inspired by a song (Pigeonhead - The Full Sentence) and a couple of friends. And I think one friend out there will be quite shocked to realize its manifestation. I was actually a little shocked myself, after resurrecting the original and finding that I had to do very little tweaking. On another note, in case you hadn’t noticed, I’ve been adding some individual touches to each of the last few stories to personalize them. These are very small details. PLEASE re-read them if you missed any. Well, for today I’m still off playing in the city and will return home soon. Good night. m.
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