Her Calling Card

The bullet was cold and smooth as she rolled it gently between her fingers. The to and fro motion soothed her nerves as she waited. Maricelle had learnt long ago to keep her breathing slow and her brain focused on the job at hand. The key to a successful hit had always been patience and calmness. Loading the bullet, she looked down the rifle's scope, placed her finger on the trigger, and waited.

The Harley Davidson motorbike could be heard long before it could be seen. The heavy rumbling sound as the bike topped the hill's crest would be considered thrilling to a motorbike lover but annoying to most anyone else. Veering around the corner at a low roar, the bike stopped suddenly, halting before a tree that had fallen across the road. As the rider placed the stand on his bike and began to get off, Maricelle pressed her finger down on the trigger and pulled. Without warning, the rider's body crumpled to the ground.

The shot rang out through the countryside, but out in the middle of nowhere, there was no one to hear. And even if someone did, Maricelle would be long gone before they arrived. Grabbing her rifle and returning it to the carry bag, she checked the ground to make sure she had left nothing behind that could be identified. Without bothering to look behind her, she walked quickly and surely towards the ravine before her. Following a rocky path downwards, she found her horse Bodhi, tied to an oak tree where she left him. Tying the rifle bag on securely, she climbed into the saddle and turned the horse towards the path that led into the mountain forests. They had a long way to go, so she had better get started.

Looking at the scene before him, Detective Jacob Harlow knew this was no random, opportunity killing. No one would go to this much trouble unless it was premeditated. The tree blocking the narrow back road, while not excessively big, hadn't fallen accidentally. Instead, it had been cut and pushed over. There was nothing to distinguish why this killing had occurred. No clues and no tell-tale signs, other than the tree. The body would be taken to the morgue and the bullet removed and sent to ballistics, but he had nothing until the report came back.

Entering the shower, Maricelle turned the hot water up high to wash away the fatigue and sore muscles. Three days in a saddle would do that to one's body. But the job was done. She felt no guilt, no regret. She had trained constantly for fifteen years to reach this moment, and failure was not an option. Maricelle knew her career was not a traditional choice for a woman, but not everyone wants a husband, children and the cliched house with a white picket fence. Mediocrity and a tedious life may be the dream goal of many, but she needed, no demanded, more from her life. Social expectations be damned; being tortured with domesticity was not for her.

Drying herself off, she stopped to look at her face in the mirror. Wide blue eyes, high cheekbones, and full lips, all a gift from her dead Slavic mother. The black curls framing her face could be attributed to her deceased father. Pushing a curl behind her ear, she glimpsed the tiny tattoo that had been placed there. A delicate marigold flower, the yellow and orange tones vibrant beside the darkness of her curls. Looking at that marigold was a constant reminder of a life she had lived before it all went to hell. Sighing, she wrapped a robe around herself and headed to the bedroom. The next hit needed to be prepared and planned, but a good night's sleep would be needed first.

"Hey, Harlow! I've got something for you", said his partner Stephenson. The ballistics report has come back, and you won't believe what they found". Handing the information to Harlow and pointing at a photo on the second page, Harlow could see a faint image on the base. Upon closer inspection, he noted the shape of a flower. Scanning the report quickly, he found that it was a marigold flower, specially engraved and that the hollow-point bullet was a .308 Winchester used in rifles.

As to be expected, the dream returned to haunt her sleep. It didn't come as often as it used to, but it still causes her to wake up screaming. After dinner, Maricelle had gone out to the barn to check on her horse Marigold before retiring for the night. She always made sure to take her a treat and make sure she was warm and safe. This routine had saved her life. Marigold had saved her life.

Walking out of the barn, she had heard the first shots fired. Every instinct warned her to run away, but instead, she raced towards the house to her family. Silently reaching the back door, she looks through the glass window facing the lounge room. She vividly recalls watching her parents and brother being shot execution-style before her eyes. The blood splatters on the walls as the bullets passed through their brains, and out the back of their skulls, as if in slow motion. Not knowing she is watching, three men kick the bodies to ensure they are dead. Maricelle gasps, recognizing their faces from her father's workplace in the military department. Turning, she flees towards the barn before they spot her, mounts her mare bareback, and takes off into the night. This is when she wakes screaming from the nightmare.

Preparations for the second hit didn't take long; her meticulous research had ensured that she knew precisely what his routine was and what he would do next. This would be quick and simple. Once a month during hunting season, he headed to the mountains and his log cabin. But this year, Maricelle would make sure he was the hunted, not the hunter. With time, she had learned there is one fatal flaw that all her targets have believed - that a beautiful woman is not capable of killing in cold blood. They let their guard down because she is young and attractive. Men are the worst because their egos never viewed her as a threat. And every time, this has cost them their lives. It would be no different this time.

Hiking had never really bothered Maricelle as it had been part of her specialist training, but she would need a quick escape, which meant riding Bodhi into the mountains. She would leave him at a deserted cabin about three miles from the campsite. Looking the part of a lost hiker in the woods wouldn't be an issue, and stumbling onto the man's campsite would be easy since she knew exactly where it was located. As she expected, it all went to plan. The metal surgical blade she used to slice his throat as they sat in front of the fire was quick, clean and silent. The spray of blood was another story, but she had made sure to stand behind his body as she made her move. Working quickly, she wiped down the blade to remove fingerprints and threw it on the ground. Fingerprints and DNA evidence didn't really concern her as the police would find nothing in the system, but why make it any easier for them?

Sitting in his car, Harlow looked at the report and everything that had been found at the campsite. Only one thing jumped out at him: the surgical blade with the marigold flower engraved in the blade. But he was at a loss to see how this murder and the motorbike rider's murder were connected. Nothing made sense, but here it was again - the image of the marigold. What did it mean? There was a killer out there leaving no clues, no fingerprints, no DNA, and no witnesses, and all he had to go on was a marigold. Maybe he was looking at this all wrong? What was the connection? Perhaps he needed to go back to the beginning and take another look? He started the car engine and headed back to his office and desk.

Another sleepless night had haunted Maricelle, but this was nearly over, so she didn't dwell on her tiredness. Fifteen years of training in martial arts, hand-to-hand combat, and a good dose of military training with a specialized force had made her a hitwoman to be reckoned with. Her father had begun to train her when she turned seven. She had continued training after he had been murdered, but now with a purpose and goal. All those years of focus and sacrifice were finally coming to an end. She carefully checked and packed her weapons bag before heading out the door.

Maricelle had spent ten years training Bodhi after Marigold had retired. She knew his every move, and he seemed to know what she was thinking before she even asked. They made an incredible team, but this would be their final job together. He had a new home and owner waiting for him, and he would live out the remainder of his years eating grass in the fields and being loved. He could not go where she was going, so she knew this would be best for him, even though she would miss him terribly. He had been her everything and had always brought her home safely.

Leaving Bodhi safely secured to a fence post near the bottom of the hidden driveway, Maricelle turned and started the uphill trek towards the elegant house hidden at the top. It was dark and moonless, and the surrounding trees hid her from view. Living away from neighbours may be quiet, but it was beneficial for someone like her. Walking quickly around to the side of the house, she walked past the pool and silently worked her way up the stairs to the back door.

Since becoming a detective, Harlow preferred to spend his evening in his library with a good book and a scotch on the rocks. Years of both living with and witnessing violence had left him with a desire to think upon other things. He had started his career in the military, working his way into the special forces, but had been given an honourable discharge after being injured during a tour of duty. In all honesty, he had been sick of looking over his shoulder, waiting for karma to catch up. He shuddered to remember some of the things he had been ordered to do. And all good soldiers followed orders without questions.

Picking up his newest book, it fell open on the middle page, and something fluttered to the ground. Bending over, he found himself picking up a dried marigold. He froze. Harlow placed the marigold back in the book and closed the pages, fear passing across his features. Was this some sick joke? He put the book on the desk and went to rise from his chair, but before he could move, he felt the butt of the gun against the back of his skull. It was hard and cold and sent a shiver of terror down his spine. Looking in the window's reflection, he could see her standing behind him. His last thought before darkness descended was, "It looked like karma was a bitch and had finally caught up with him".

The sound of the shot echoed through the house. Blood had splattered across the shelved books, but that was no concern to her. Picking up the book on the desk, she flipped it open to the middle and smiled. Oh, Marigold, thank you for saving me that night. Placing the book back on the desk, she turned and walked out the front door, leaving it wide open behind her. The job was done, and she no longer needed to hide in the shadows. Her life could begin now.

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