The Lamplight Exchange

Thick fog, dense and blinding. Trees, dead and silent. Flickering lights, doing their best to illuminate the darkness. Cobblestone beneath the man’s feet, yet he walked with no sound, his shoes barely scraping the ground. The coat he wore was enough to keep the cold at bay and still offer some freedom of movement. Pockets, deep enough to hide his goods. Not a soul wandered but his and the client, who had surely been waiting at the agreed-upon spot by now.

As he approached the lonely lamppost behind the statue of a mounted cavalry officer, the dealer noticed two figures, not one. It made no difference. Still, it was a curious thing that the client brought someone else along in the dead of a dangerous night. They both sat on the bench two metres away, a hooded figure looking in the other direction, the familiar client watching closely for any unexpected passers-by.

Stopping a couple of strides away, the dealer spoke in a calm, low voice:

“Lotus blossom, Summer morning.”

“English primrose, Winter night,” replied the client.

He got off the bench, standing tall and dark in a similar get-up; coat, black shoes, hands in pocket. He wore a small hat to cover his ears. “Do you have what I need?” he asked, patiently as always. Still, his companion said nothing and did nothing. Though from this distance, the dealer realized it might have been a woman. Who was she to him? Contrary to her escort, she was in a more casual winter top and black jeans, little locks of golden hair poking out of the hood she had down.

Without waiting too long, the dealer presented his hidden wares; a selection of rare poisons, some in liquid form, others as batches of small powders in glass. He pointed to each and explained their strengths and weaknesses.

“This one can be dissolved in any large barrel or tank, or even a water heater in any household. That would then turn it to vapour during a hot shower and choke the subject.”

The poisons merchant paused to subdue a smile, excitedly continuing his talk of how deadly each product was. A sadistic nature of his, maybe, but the man truly found this line of work interesting.

“This one, however, is trickier but more reliable and a sure thing. But you have to get ingested. This last one; same thing, though the good thing about it is it takes days to work and it’s chemically untraceable by modern autopsies.”

The client pondered for a moment, the street lantern’s rays revealing half his solemn expression. He remained silent, in the same position and only moving to scratch his face. Then he walked to the woman, who leaned upwards towards his ear and whispered something. This, the dealer found amusing. In all his time providing services to this particular business partner, he never once had seen him ask for somebody else’s opinion on how to do his job. There was an apparent relationship, though it wasn’t so obvious what the nature of it was.

They whispered for some time. Then, satisfied, the man walked back and the woman sat upright, looking straight ahead once more. Sounds of crushed grass and cobblestone were deafening in the silent night. Mating calls of insects did their best to mask them. Standing right next to the dealer, now, the man raised his finger carefully and pointed at the last product that had been revealed beneath the coat.

“This one happens to be the most expensive as well,” the poison salesman felt the need to add.

With no concern for cost, the client pulled out a big load of cash, neatly stacked and rolled with a rubber band. Then they made the exchange. Afterwards, the dealer bowed, concealing a grateful but playfully sinister grin, and made his way back to his car on the South side of the area.

When all trace of him disappeared, the inconspicuous couple glanced at each other soberly in the lamplight. Before them lay a few paths, dirt between grass and trees. The town was so silent, even the houses at the edge of the park were asleep.

“Let me do it, J. I’ve done this a thousand times before. There must be no mistakes.” His voice was low and rich.

The woman clasped the jar of poison from him; it was a pink mess of a small, mineral-like substance. She oddly found it pretty.

“My love,” she stroked his cheeks adoringly as he sat next to her, never breaking her stare into the darkness in his eyes. “I must be the one to do this. It’s my burden, my revenge.”

“It would not be a burden on me. It would be just another job,” he took her caressing hand in his.

Through that darkness, she could see her own. The images flashed torturously, memories stronger than nightmares; A body pressing her down, heavy and unrelenting. A laugh that was sinister and cruel. She could recall it all. The feeling of cold stone and dirt that marked her delicate face. The hand covering her mouth that suppressed any call for help. The unbearable pain.

She remembered the emotions that haunted her since that day. Helplessness. Panic. Anxiousness. It took her down a road that would forever change the life she lived. A road where, along the way, she met this knight in tainted armour, who offered to exact her revenge for her countless times. But that also meant he did not fully understand. Revenge must be hers. The feelings of weakness must be conquered. The act of taking back her dignity, and peace of mind, could only be done by her.

As she pulled her hood back, the scars and bruises became clearer in the light. All of a sudden, the darkness she saw in his eyes fell away and she felt his sympathy pour out, his concern, and his love. With a fake smile and a weak kiss on his hand, the woman rose to her feet, staring into the abyss again, before finally muttering under her breath:

“It has to be me.”