Unexpected Assault

MIDNIGHT - ARIA

The humid air clings to my skin, suffocating me. A thin layer of sweat covers my whole body. I feel drops sliding down my neck, my back. Silence encloses around me, making me forget how to breathe. The air is stuck in my lungs. I have been staring at the picture for - I don’t know how long.

The two of us wearing our military uniform, her eyes meeting mine, my arms around her, holding on tightly, not wanting to let go. But I did, and we went our separate ways.

I close my eyes, trying to pull myself together. The crackling sound of the burning candle sitting on the bedside table fills up the room. My eyelids feel heavier than usual. I can barely open my eyes, but I still manage to do so. The dim light from the candle casts shadows on all four walls, each one more dreadful than the latter. Night sounds slip through the open windows: the piercing sound of a guitar from the bar down the street, drunken people’s shouts, bats shrieking. I swallow, trying to get rid of the dryness of my mouth, yet, it worsens the feeling. The thickness of my saliva drags along my throat. I need a drink. I try picking up the water bottle that is beside the candle, but as soon as I start crawling across the bed, my head starts spinning. Shit. The alcohol from last night makes its way up my throat. I move away from the mattress just in time. Vomit splashes all over the floor. My already-stained carpet welcomes another stain. Great.

I press my fingertips against my temples, as a growing pressure threatens to burst my head into a million pieces. For god’s sake, how much did I drink? I hold onto the border of the mattress, standing up as gently as possible. My knees wobble, and I can barely lift my legs, but as the pain of the headache mitigates, I make my way to the fridge. I try not to step on any of the bottles that lie on the floor. “Rough night, Aria” I whisper. I open the fridge. Beer, wine, two eggs, mouldy bread. Water. I get hold of it and chug the whole bottle in a matter of seconds. I toss the bottle aside and use the back of my hand to wipe my mouth. I remain standing in the middle of the kitchen for a couple of minutes. Thinking. Over and over again. About my life. About her. About how badly I miss her.

I need to go outside, clear up my mind. As I approach the door, I hear footsteps outside. I look at the clock hanging next to the fridge: 1AM. I hear someone shuffling with the key lock, as if trying to unlock it. Holding my breath, I creep out to the nearest room: the bathroom. I leave the door ajar, hoping I will be able to see through. The white light from the corridor outside my studio is now lighting up my apartment. Someone is inside. And that someone is here to get me.

MIDNIGHT - SHILA

I hang up the phone. The words from his deep, rousing voice are still running through my mind.

“Bartlett St, Studio 3. You know what to do.” How often have I been thinking of getting another call. How much have I longed for the thrill, wanting to overcome this slumber state that I have been living in.

My phone buzzes again, but this time it is not a call.

“$20,000 from: Anonymous.” $20,000? This is insane! When has he ever given me that much money? What the hell am I supposed to do with it? I could make a donation, contribute to some significant cause. I really should do that, but will I? Of course not! It’s $20,000 we are talking about! I will keep it, save it for the future.

I look at the clock: 11:15PM. I put my blue hair up in a ponytail, grab the keys and rush downstairs. I try not to slip on my way down, but my legs shake uncontrollably. The light from the fluorescents flickers as my feet hit the floor. I reach my mailbox seconds later. I enter the key into the keyhole, and see the little black book instantly. I grab it and open it where the bookmark is, hearing the blood rushing through my ears as I read the details of tonight’s assault:

“Women in her 30s. Ex-military soldier, now a mercenary working against the government. A highly dangerous individual considering her past. Search for locker number thirteen in Greyhound’s cloakroom. Inside will be a black case containing everything you need, including a plane ticket, new passport and keys to her studio. Meet me at Asheville Airport, Gate 2, 6:15AM. ~ Anonymous”

Seven hours to go. I pick up the little black book and shove it inside my back pocket. Time to leave.

——

“Bartlett St, Studio Apartments”. The three-storey sombre building stands at the end of Bartlett St, next to a park and a bar. The street is quite barren tonight, yet the bar seems to be quite packed. In that precise moment, a man leaves the bar, heading straight for the building. He unlocks the front door and steps inside. I rush after him, hoping he will not notice me. I reach the door before it shuts.

I slide past the door while checking my surroundings. Empty. I open the case, put the gloves on, grab the keys and the knife. As I put the knife inside my back pocket, I pull the little black book out. Should I get rid of it before going upstairs? No, might as well deal with it once I finish the job. I toss the little black book inside the case, shut the bag, and head upstairs.

The quietness of the building is unsettling. Not a single noise can be heard, except for all the night sounds. I get to the first floor and see studio 3 at the far end of the corridor. As I come near the unit, I hear someone throwing up. Then, footsteps and bottles clinking. I check my watch: 1AM.

I put the case down. Get the knife out. My other hand reaches out for the key lock. As the key enters the lock, I carefully begin turning the handle. The door clicks. I shut my eyes, hoping she is either too drunk to notice or too careless about her own life. I push the door open. The apartment smells of white tea and lavender. And vomit. I walk past a room and the kitchen, heading for the unmade bed in the small living room. There is no trace of her.

“I see you want to play hide and seek? That’s fine by me. You hide, I seek.” I say with a wicked smile spreading through my face.

“I know you are here.” Nothing. No response. I turn around, looking out for any movement. Suddenly, I see a shadow moving. “There you are”. I lift the knife in the air as my footsteps become faster, lighter. I can already imagine her eyes wide open, her whole body trembling, begging me to let her go. My smile widens as I lift my other hand to push the door open. I stand there for a few seconds, confused. There is no one here. “Where have you gone, you little bitch?” Not having time to react, I see a black mass throwing itself against me, making me hit the door violently.

“Right here.” Aria whispers.

The light from the hallway reaches her, allowing me to see her face. My eyes dart for her neck before it’s too late. I recognise the dragon neck tattoo. Aria? I try to scream, but the knife cuts through my skin, taking all the air from inside me.

DAWN - ANONYMOUS

6:30AM. She is never late. I look around to see if I have missed someone, but this area has been empty for a while now. Not many people take international flights early in the morning.

Suddenly, I hear footsteps. I turn around, expecting to see Shila, but instead I see a family sprinting down towards gate 3. I follow them. As I hand the ticket to the stewardess, I look back, thinking she will show up.

But she never does.

DAWN

The sun is rising in Asheville, peeking over the mountains. The birds tweet and flap their wings all around. A taxi stops in front of a hospital. A couple gets off, holding hands. They carry a black case and a little black book. The girl with the dragon tattoo holds the blue haired girl’s arm, enclosing her hand around a knife wound. They look at each other, glowing eyes, as if it was the first time. In reality, they have found one another once again.