The Assassin

The Assassin
Becky Gribble


He stood on top of the lonely hill that looked out across the valley; it was a desolate place more at home to rocks and emptiness than to anything living. The stormed wreathed around him as his cloak billowed out in all directions. It distorted his silhouette, so if you looked at him, you wouldn’t see a human, in fact you wouldn’t see him at all, simply a dark shadow on a darker night, a trick of the storm maybe, nothing more. He looked out over the old village and thought about what it had once been. A place filled with cattle and a few metal horseless carriages ever to be seen running the length of the roads. Now, you couldn’t look anywhere without seeing one of these carriages, or something similar. This new filth must be the change in the times, though the word “modern” stuck in his throat. It sickened him.
He was looking without really seeing in the sense that anyone normally means. He wasn’t looking with his eyes. His mind floated back, past the generations that he had watched wither and die. Whilst all the time the things outside had changed in so many ways. It saddened him that he was one of the few left alive.
One of those metal horseless carriages caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. The twin glint of the headlights hurt his eyes. It was like an intrusion into his world. Turning towards the old manor, it traveled up the gravel path, maybe out of curiosity, someone else to dirty my place of tranquility this night. Perhaps, the figure mused, it was wounded for he noticed that one of the lights appeared less bright than the other, and it sought a place to rest and recharge. Maybe, and here he narrowed his eyes, this was the one he had been watching for. He moved silently from his place on the hill towards the manor. From a distance they all looked alike, these shiny machines. What was contained within the inside was more to his taste. It wasn’t whom he had been waiting for. The carriage reversed and went back the way it had come, sprinting off into the night as if carried by horses. He returned to his place on the hill. He watched many more carriages sprint past him with their headlights beaming before another one turned down the path to the old manor.
He walked down the hill toward the manor again. Lightening suddenly cut the night in half and illuminated his victim sitting in her warm carriage, searching for something in her bag. He briefly wondered what she could be looking for, but his mind didn’t stay on the subject for long. He walked straight toward the humming carriage where his prey waited unknowingly for him and opened the car door on the driver’s side, a split-second before the victim was going to. She looked into his eyes and for a brief second fear and confusion clouded over them. But only for a second.
‘Who are you?’ she asked in a whisper
He smiled at her, being careful not to show his teeth, ‘I’m your new assistant.’
The victim sighed and muttered to herself, ‘I told him not to get another one.’
He helped her from the car and took her to the front door. Pretending to drop something, he bent down to pick up the imaginary object. At the same time he pulled out his Casull 454. It glinted silver in the false light emanating from the lightening. He straightened his back gracefully and lent the end of the barrel of the gun against the victim’s head. Fearfully, she turned to him. She looked into his eyes that showed no light, just a dull grey. He kicked the door open and thrust her inside.
‘Don’t shoot me.’ She whimpered and pleaded with him. He took no notice. He stopped noticing after the firstsix of them. He entered the first room he came to which had a couch in it. It was a medieval style room with black gothic curtains and a cold fireplace. A low carved table sat in the middle of the room.
He sat her on the couch and removed his cloak so as not to get blood on it. Light poured in from the window and he gently pulled the curtains across and plunged the room into darkness. He lit the gas lamp that was on the table with a wave of his hand and put his gun down on the table and sat next to her. ‘I’m sorry.’ He said softly to her, ‘I just can’t help it anymore. It’s your fault, if you weren’t so warm, there would be no problem.’ He brushed her face and pulled the hair away from her eyes and pulled her close to him, so he could feel her sharp breathing against his chest. Her hair, although it was wet from the rain, rain smoothly between his fingers and smelled sweet. He touched her neck. She flinched. They always flinched. They really shouldn’t. He moved his hand down her spine and felt her move toward his chest to get away from the hand. Don’t they realise that that does nothing? Apparently not. He opened his mouth slightly; the woman saw pieces of metal glinting in the light. She stared horrified at something in his mouth. Her body went rigid and he realised she had seen them. ‘This won’t hurt,’ he paused ‘much’ he finished. She struggled to get away from him, which was a bad idea. Her blood pumped faster around her body and he had to resist from biting her, lest he scar her face. Hers was a face too beautiful to scar. He held her tightly against his chest until she finally lost strength.
‘You’ll thank me for this later.’ He whispered in her ear. He moved his mouth to her neck and kissed it once. He felt the blood pumping though it and could wait no longer. He felt her stifle a scream as he punctured her skin.
Her blood slowly poured down his chin as he relished every moment of tasting another human being again. It had been too long. Once he had finished drinking, the woman laid softly in his arms. She was nearly dead, but that was her choice. ‘Do you want to live?’ he whispered in her ear. She stirred slightly. ‘You won’t be exactly the same but isn’t it better than dying? And so much more fun?’
She didn’t have enough energy left in her to say anything, but she shook her head slightly. ‘Pity, you would have made a good Lamiae.’ She looked strangely at him, which he took for confusion. ‘A female vampire.’ He said gently. Seeing as she didn’t want to continue her life, albeit a different one, he took one more drink from her neck and laid her down on the couch. He picked up his cloak and threw it about his shoulders. He took one more look at her face, held her close one last time and left the house.
He repaired the door after him with a wave of his hand. And drew the curtains back. The light shone once more on her face. He ran back up the hill; his cloak enveloping him and he was lost to the shadows.