The doors slide open, acknowledging my presence as my black Vans tap the tiles of the floor. I feel a burst of cold air, see the flash of fluorescent lights in my eyes. Some moronic country music song fills my ears. I can’t help but raise my lip in a snarl. It’s a far too beatific scene for my taste.
There’s plenty of people milling around the local Kroger at four in the afternoon today. I loop my thumbs into the small pockets of my black cardigan and begin to meander up the magazines aisle.
He’s in here somewhere. The person I have to kill.
Master said that his name is Logan Kromer, a taller, brunette man in his early twenties with bright blue eyes and a halfcocked smile. The small GPS chip inside of his iPhone 3S led us to find him in this grocery trip today. So, now I have to find him and make it certain that he never inhales sweet air again.
Why he has to fall at my hands, I haven’t a clue. Master always tells me it’s against his Seven Rules.
Rule #1: Never question Master’s intent to obliterate. The person who must die has done Master wrong, and their name shall never be whispered again.
I’ve reached the end of the aisle. Quickly turning, I grab the nearest four-dollar romance novel and pretend to be skimming the doltish story. My eyes jump above the page to see a tall, thin man flipping through a copy of this month’s “Men’s Health”. He has wavy brunette hair, stopping short on the back of his neck, and from the looks of his profile when he turns the page, his eyes are a bright and gleaming blue in the reflection of the lights.
“Logan?” I pretend to inquire after his identity. “Logan Kromer?”
He lowers the magazine and looks over his shoulder, pieces of his hair covering his eyebrows as he raises them.
“Yeah?”
“I thought that was you! I feel like I’ve met you...at a party or something of the sorts.” I say with a sly smile, romance novel folded behind my back, my thumb stuck somewhere between pages 76 and 82.
“Really? I’m sorry...I just don’t recognize your face. And I think I’d remember eyes that purple.”
I sigh. My electric, nearly purple eyes always tend to give my identity away. But I can play this vixen game with the younger men. I twirl a strand of my dirty blonde hair around my fingertips and smile.
“I get that a lot. Guys say it’s like an..Achilles’ Heel for them.” I flash my red lipstick-coated smile, the soft one that typically receives a wink from a man, or a sudden change in attitude from the doubters.
He smiles mischeviously, and quickly too. I can tell I’ve won him over.
“You don’t say?”
“Do you think eyes like this can lie to eyes like yours?”
“Doubtful. You have a name?”
“Thaila.”
His eyes are glimmering now, sparkling with the pizzaz of a newly uncorked bottle of champagne.
“That’s a fancy one.”
“Indeed.” I say, trying hard not to let down the mask of my smile.
I’ve got to find a knife. I have to keep him here for just three minutes, grab a weapon, and dash back to finish this whole ordeal up.
“Shit!” I say, smacking my forehead and letting the novel fall to the floor behind me. “I forgot where I left my cart!”
“Oh.” His expression changes to a bit of shocked dismay.
“No, I’ll come back. Wait here, alright? I’m enjoying our dialouge.” I run off, aglets of my shoelaces hitting the floor with tiny pops as I move.
The first thing that meets my panicked eyes is a bakery demonstration. The TV above the small kiosk shows a video of vegetables in a pan, grease bubbling all around in the spaces. Just below it, I see a large man dressed in a chef’s outfit. He yawns, placing his large, hairy hand to his mouth, and walks off towards the restroom.
I dash forward, quickly swinging my left hand at the rack of chopping knives next to his pan setup. Closing the handle in my left hand, I wrap my cardigan around the blade while I walk slowly back to the aisle where Logan Kromer waits.
Waits to die.
The instant I see him, he smiles slightly.
“Find it?”
“Oh, yeah. Not too far back, really. It was all too mindless of me.”
“So, then, Thaila...what do you do for a living?” He asks, clearly trying to disregard my age of seventeen.
I tap my shoe on the floor once, slowly leaning in to him.
“I obey Master’s wishes.” I whisper.
The knife sinks into his skin, just below his rib cage. He gasps, eyes widening. I can see my face reflected in his eyes, iced over and malicious, as he falls to his knees, struggling to breath. I look down at my red jeans and see the blood splattered, in one, two dots just above my knee.
Rule #2: Always wear red jeans when on a mission. The rich color conceals any bloodstains.
“Goodbye, Logan Kromer.” I hiss into his ear as he falls to the floor, blood flying from him quickly. I dash to one side of the book display, keeping my head down and walking away fast, thumbs back in my little pockets.
My name is Thaila, and I’ve been trained to be a small town assasin.
I am the one who hides in the night
waiting to take your life, for your spite
has created the painful cries of my Master.
I run from you, fallen, and hear his sweet laughter.
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