Carolina

         Carolina ran for what seemed liked hours; she ran until the rending pain in her side finally sprawled her onto the ground--unconscious, cold, and very, very alone. Gunshots and screams bloodied her dreams, memories of what had come before. Before she started running, before she had been an orphan, before she had witnessed so much unnecessary death...
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         Seven hours earlier Christof Mazlov surveyed a slim twenty-somethings movements through his worn binoculars, unconsciously fingering the scar that disfigured his left cheek. He had been studying her all day. The vitality of the woman-child set his veins singing. She was the one--she had to be. Before the end he would strangle her pretty, pale neck with that blue-black hair of hers and everything would be fixed.
         "Mr. Mazlov?"
The quivering, nasal voice of his servant, Jeffers, filtered into the grotto like poison, disrupting the beautiful scene tantalizing his twisted mind. Mazlov's cold, beady eyes snapped open to rest on Jeffers with barely contained malice.
         "What?" He ground out the words between bared teeth, his thin lips curling in disgust. "What could possibly require such immediate attention? Nothing as trivial as last time, I trust."
This caused Jeffers to rub his glass eye self-consciously, nervously recalling their last meeting. The other damn servants were just as sadistic as their master! All of this was their fault--his new disfavor with Mazlov, his glass eye, all of it! He would pay them there dues--and win favor back with his master. But until then...Christof Mazlov was one scary psychopath, and Jefferers wanted to keep his remaining eye. Fearful reverence was the best choice..for now. With trembling hands, Jeffers wordlessly thrust a badly crumpled manila envelope toward Mazlov, wincing when their hands met.
         It was from the Senator, of course. He'd known that as soon as he felt the thick, heavy weight of the paper. Only Washington would waste money on paper like that. Mazlov dismissed the first few paragraphs as bureaucratical nonsense, red tape, double speak...those sycophantic higherups were always covering their asses, especially higherups acting illegally behind their countries backs. Chuckling silently to himself, Mazlov quickly scanned through the rest of the letter; troop movements, agent assignments, bureaucratic bullshit...and then, her. He felt a thrill of pleasure and excitement as he opened the dossier and gently caressed the grainy, black and white photograph of Anna McCafren.
         Anna--beautiful, brilliant, elusive little Anna. You can't run from me much longer, little one. Mazlov shut his eyes, lost in memories of a slim young woman with dancing eyes and long, shinning hair. His eyes opened abruptly, rage clouding their slate grey depths. Her beauty, her fire, her youthful spirit--it had never been his. She had never looked at him with those deep green eyes, with that expression of adoration, and love. Bitch. Stupid, foolish, lovely little bitch. His eyes snapped fire--she wouldn't trap him with her whore's charms like she had twenty years ago! Crawling on her knees, begging like the lowliest dock whore, that's where she'd be before too long.
         It wouldn't matter though; she'd made her choice those twenty years ago when she choose that bastard Eric Stone. That rich, deceiving pretty boy--no...he wouldn't think about Eric. The traitorous deceiver had come to Mazlov with smiles, respect, admiration, friendship...Mazlov firmly shut his mind to the past, to Eric. to Anna. The daughter would pay for the mother's transgressions; he'd kill that bastard Eric, and then everything would be right, and Anna would be his. She would love him, he vowed. He would make her.
         The malicious smile that disfigured Christof Mazlov's knotty, scarred face made Jeffers shiver. Only terrible, sadistic things made that monster smile. But still, that monster was his master, his savior...Jeffers slipped quietly out of the grotto, twitching nervously when that terrible smile was turned on him.