The Last of Twenty

"You ain't know nothing," he muttered harshly, throwing his daunting green eyes straight at me.

"I know more than you will ever know," I managed. Although I sounded immature and stubborn at the time, I didn't feel it. In my mind, I was a big shot, a man with an unfaltering idea about myself.

He tugged at his tie, freeing it from his collar. I swallowed, distant at the idea of his theory. I shouldn't be around people who tried to me make me feel like crap. It wasn't good for my well-being, wasn't good for myself, my confidence as an assassin.

"Here, take it," he said, handing me his tie. I took it, snatching it from his fingers. "You're gonna do this. Listen, when you see her--"

"I know, dammit. I know."

"You ain't--"

"You flatter me, but not that much. I know the freaking plan. We've gone through it five hundred times. It'll get done."

"If you screw up, you're gonna get it," he spat, his finger shaking at me. He turned to the door, then toward me, his grim face reminding me of the consequences.

Shortly after he left, I slapped my hands together, letting the vibration and sound thrill me.

I was going to go through with it. I was going to kill the witch as planned. She was going to be strangled without mercy. I volunteered to do this, because it wouldn't hurt my reputation among the Blacklog society. Besides, I could always use a thrill.

The witch was supposed to meet me in this apartment and think of me as the man whom she agreed to have sex with.

I sat myself on the bed, taking deep breaths. I wasn't nervous, and even if I were, I was prepared. Causually, I pushed myself up, towering over the television, switching it to a familiar channel.

Half an hour later, minutes after a rerun of Friends, a knock demanded my attention. I steadied myself off the bed, barged into the bathroom for a piss. Three impatient knocks pursued. "I'm coming," I shouted. "Hold up."

As I started for the door, I remembered the tie Jerry had handed me. I hurried back to the bed, scooped it up and adjusted it around my neck.

When I opened the door, a shapeful figure against the darkness of the night greeted me with a nod. Then without warning, she began smiling, "Sorry I'm late. Traffic. Can I come in, or are you just gonna stand there?"

I stepped aside, more than welcoming her in. She enthusiastically went for the bed, chattering off like a radio, "Been waiting long? I'm really sorry about that. I didn't mean to. Hey, it wasn't my fault anyway. Traffic... I'll make it up to you." She spun around and made an effort of undressing.

I followed her to the bed, my eyes strictly on her, her golden locks and blue eyes. Her teeth shone through busty red lips, surrounded by blushing cheeks.

She wrapped her arms around me as if she knew me for years. My hands reached for her cold arms, unraveling them. She quickly drew back, "Is something wrong?"

Causually, I took my time replying, "Yeah. I... ugh..." Gonna kill you. How could such a beautiful creature be killed? I wasn't warned of her devastating beauty. Perhaps the fellas had planned this on me, confident that I would back out. "Nothing."

"Okay then, let's do it. Panties off or on?" As she turned around to check the time, my hands darted for her neck. Surprised, she grasped, her eyes sprinting frantically, pleading in a way I've never seen anyone plead.

I tried to get angry, urging myself to tighten my grip. Compassion flooded me, overwhelmed me. She was so beautiful, so innocent. She couldn't be the witch I was supposed to kill. She couldn't be one of those from the sisterhood. She couldn't be.

Immediately, my hands slackened, releasing her in a rush. She stumbled back against the wall, head first. She retreated, afraid, shuddering, "What do you want?"

I didn't answer. Assassins don't reveal their motives, not the ones in the community I belonged to.

I kicked her and watched her shudder with the pain. She tried to scream, but I didn't give her the chance. I was in control.

While I was atop her, my tie strapped around her neck in a dangerous position, I heard her grasp for air. The veins in my hands rushed with blood, the excitement racing through me.

Her eyes implored for mercy. However hard I tried not to look down at them, I failed. Through her eyes I saw a demon, a monster, not a sophisticated assassin. My job was indecent. I was abusing a witch of a limited power, with a power she didn't even know she possessed.

I forced away those thoughts, simply abandoning them to the next coward.

People don't see what others see, I told myself. Were I to lose myself in her eyes, I would kill to no avail. I would fail this valuable mission. I couldn't disappoint.

The witch, nameless to me, fell limp, became nothing to the world. The witch was gone, along with her ideas of me.

I spent four hours watching her body disperse, practically evaporate. In the world of the supernaturals, they don't leave their bodies after death; they fade into nothingness, leaving nothing behind but their legacy.

In my eyes, I no longer saw myself the way I did. This death was the last I inflicted, the last of twenty.