Ali(untitled)

Sitting cross legged in the overstuffed chair that I claimed as my own I watch the young man with fire red hair talking to Margie at the customer service desk below my second story perch. He didn't look around as he slipped something into Margie's hand and walked quickly out the door. I shook my head a little, a veil of black hair falling across my face. I looked down at my book again and tried to act as though I was reading, all the while watching as the people all around me searched for the book they couldn't live without. Its always amused me, the way people act as though they can't live another second without that curtain thing that has caught their attention for the moment. Our world has become so materialistic and confused about what is really something “You cannot live without.” I chuckle to myself as I watch an elderly women with spiked dyed red hair stomp her foot from the frustration of not finding the right book she was looking for. She shuffles through the isle one more time scanning every title before heaving a final sigh of defeat. After a few moments of people watching, Margie's thick form appeared in my vision and I looked up at her. She looks away a little as though, never letting me catch her eyes as she hands me the white letter envelope and smiles. The moment I see the white envolope I let out a sigh so much like the elderly woman's just a few minutes before.

“Its kinda interesting when one of our regular customers starts to get mail here,” Margie says in an almost whisper as though she is not sure she should say anything. I know what the real meaning behind her words is. Her comment is meant as a pry into why I come here every day and sit in this little nook reading books without ever buying any, but I cannot tell her, and even if I could she wouldn't believe me, no one ever does so I just shrug in response. She walks away without another word, without even looking at me. I think I hear another little sigh coming from her, another person excepting defeat, and I smile a little to myself.

Two things are apparent to me as I duck my head back down and pretend to read again. The first is that Margie has caught on to the power behind my eyes, the lime green hypnotic abyss that makes you want to spill your heart out to me. The second is that HE has found my safe haven. Looking down at the black ink, the way the A in Alissyia is curled at the bottom, the way it seems to hold both danger and elegance by the thickness of the mark, I know HE has found me. I could never mistake HIS handwriting, it is engraved in my soul. I slide a finger under the flap breaking the red wax seal of a dagger plunged into a heart and take a deep breath before pulling the thick cotton made paper out of the envelope. Letting the breath out, I look down and read the single sentence note.



Alissyia, Meet me tonight at midnight.



I sigh and start to twirl a lock of hair around my index finger my head tilted slightly as I pondered what HE is going to say this time. Closing the book that I had been staring at for the last two hours, I get up from my chair. I raise my arms over my head and slip up onto my tip toes, feeling the delightful sting of stretching, before putting the book next to my chair and walkout.

I smile a little as I feel the warmth of the sun against my cheeks and peoples eyes watching my walk. The feeling of being watch used to bug me, but now I tolerate it knowing that there is nothing I can do. A couple of girls glare at me as I wink at their boyfriends who I notice are watching me, mouths open a little. I'm definitely not your average looking girl and I have come to grips with the fact that many girls are jealous and many boys are filled with sinful thoughts whenever I am around, its a fact that makes me so good at my job.

“It's rude to stare boys,” I tease looking at them through my thick black eye lashes. I know what they see, a tall porcelain skinned, toned figured woman with red luscious lips, unnaturally colored eyes , a dusting of freckles over my small nose, and high cheek bones. A model wearing a long gipsy style pale green skirt and a white peasant top that rested softly across my shoulders and has a neckline made to leave men wanting to see more. I look like a statue of the goddess Venus in a way, all curves and beauty, I hate it. It is why I get letters from HIM whenever he sees the need and the reason I had to make a fake bottom to one of my dresser drawers. I wish nothing more then to get away from HIM, to get away from the life that I am forced to live.

As I walk down the street from the bookstore properly named “Knowledge Safe Haven” I think about what HE will want this time. I can imagine HIM sitting in HIS large high backed crimson velvet chair smiling at me as though HE knows something I don't. HE always has that look when I got to see HIM, always condescending always stuck up, I hate HIM. I know what HE'll do, HE'LL slide a piece of paper across that too large solid oak desk that HE is so proud of and then HE'll explain.

“The client wants this man/women out of the picture and I knew just who to call. It will be dangerous but you'll do what you have to do,”HE'LL smirk at me and wink as though we are in on something together, as though I have a choice. I wish that I could just once throw the paper back in HIS greasy pimple scarred face and turn away from HIM and never ever look back.

“I will never do this again! I'll not be your puppet anymore you ass hole! Find another SLAVE!” I'd scream at HIM before slamming the door in HIS face. If HE followed I would force HIM to prick HIS finger on the sabotaged plastic black roses that I am forced to hand out even though I know what will happen to those that receive my cursed gift. I'd make HIM the mark damn it, I'd force HIM to confess first then send HIM to the fate that HE has sent so many others. I'd laugh in HIS face if HE told me I couldn't get away with it. Thats what I wish I could do at least, a wish is only of wish though and will never come true, not while HE still thinks I am useful. Snarling a little I tug on the ruby teardrop pendant that rests at the base of my throat and feel the sharp burn of the fire within it.

I sigh again, feeling the same feelings of being defeated and enslaved again, that have often visited me just when I start to think that maybe I'd be able to find a way to get away. It will never happen and for the moment I have no choice but to except my fate as I head up the flight of cement stairs that leads to my apartment.

I push open the door and enter, heading for the bedroom wanting nothing more then to take a nap. I love my bedroom, it shows my true personality and hides all my secrets. Someone just Walking into the dark lilac painted bedroom would notice is the large four post canopy bed. Its curtains are a deep crimson color, always as dark as blood and the sheer hangings are pulled closed except for in front. The front curtain was quickly pulled closed to cover the messy, unmade bed covers and still hangs slightly open parts of the bottom caught on the covers. A pastel patchwork quilt lays partly off the bed, a sharp contrast to the rest of the room. Running a hand over the quilt you can feel the hidden design by the raised threads that twist and turn as though it were a vine. I pick it up and press it against my nose breathing in the smell the wild tinge of sunflower oil, jasmine and something else more exotic and tantalizing. Looking past the bed you'd see a large, oval mirror made of dark wicker being supported by a dark wicker dresser. Atop the dresser is a scattering of cosmetics and perfume. The perfume is in box like container wrapped is multi colored cloth. You might run your fingers over the cloth and find the elegant smoothness of silk. Little strands poke up out of the silk and you'd look down to fine that the multi color is actually a punch of little embroider threads weaving in and out. You might spray a little in the air and the same exotic smell caresses your nose. You'd breath in deep and find yourself falling into a tranquil type of mood. Each breath of the perfume brings another wave of calm drifting over your body. Looking down you'd notice one of the drawers in the dresser slightly open and something glittering inside. Opening the drawer you'd find the source of the glint to be the sharpened steel of a double edged dagger sitting on top of another silken cloth. Curiously you might pull aside the cloth to reveal a drawer with a false bottom which opens up to a large space crowded with knives, daggers, a spiked bull whip, a cat-o-nine-tails and a large chain with something brownish red on it. You might pull out the chain and the brownish red thing that you'd realize is blood flakes off a little.

Looking over everything again I now notice the thick envelope that's sitting on the windowsill, the window pulled open wide. I go to it knowing what it was without having to see who it is from. I break the wax seal and read.



The Club Car 15120 Main Street. Stanly Deran





I shake my head a little and cram the letter back into my pocket. I give my bed one last longing look as I head back out and towards main street picking up a few choice items from the dresser and shoving them into my bag as I leave the apartment.

It takes me twenty minutes to get to the club and another five to find a good parking spot. I drag a black leather bag out of the back seat as I head into the large brick building with a neon sign proclaiming it The Club Car. Going into the bathroom I pull out my black jeans, black tank top and stuff my other clothes back into the bag and head out to the bar. Teddy is bartending and I smile at him as I sit in the middle of that bar. He gives me a toothy grin and pulls out two bottles. One is filled with vodka and the other with strong jasmine black tea. I point to the vodka and he pours me a shot, his smile fading a little at my choice.

“I was hoping this was a social visit not a working one,” Teddy mutters as he passes the little glass my way. I don't look at him, fearing that he might see that I wish the same thing.

I looked up as the heavy door is yanked almost off its hinges and a rather tall man walked in. I can tell right away that he is my target. He acts just like all the other pompous men that seemed to end up on my list. His shaggy blond hair crossing his blue eyes a dark look on his thin lips. I slyly watch him come up to the counter and order a Corona. I silently applaud his taste in beer and then turn my attention back to Teddy wanting to seem natural. Teddy and i chit chat for a moment all the while I watch Stanly, my target, from the corner of my eyes making sure that no one is coming to join him.

As the Teddy finally leaves me to help some other people that just showed up, I try and think of something clever to say to break the ice with Stanly. I have never had a problem with this before but somehow tonight, I just cant seem to get out a clever word.

“I think that bartender has a crush on you,” his voice was deep, rustic and oddly seductive. I feel my insides shake as I turn towards him and then curse myself for such a reaction.

“He his a nice boy, but I tend to go for a man,” I take a sip of my vodka and smile a little at him as he sticks out his hand.

“I'm Stanly Deran,”

“Alissyia Smoke,” I answer taking his hand and trying to catch his eyes which he successfully avoids. He takes in a sharp breath when he hears my name as though he knows me. I smile inside

wounding if my secret life as death dealer was becoming known to the higher class of men. I had yet to fail.

“Nice rose, do they still sell those this time of year?” he asks nodding towards the black plastic rose that is laying next to me completely forgotten. His voice broke a little and I could sense that he was trying to suppress his fears. I look down at it as though seeing it for the first time and then pick it up.

“I stock up on them during Halloween. Want to know a secret?” I reply and look at him slyly. He laughs a deep throated laugh and shakes his head.

“I bet I could guess what secret a pretty thing like you have,” his words have a teasing tone but his eyes speak of fear. Perhaps he actually did know why I was there.

“Oh? Take a guess then,” I say liking the game we are playing. It is refreshing to be challenged.

“You were hired to kill me weren't you,” his words are so matter of factually that I actually jerk a little from shocked. T look down for a moment and take up the black rose running my figure gently over the hidden razor that I forced into the thorn.

“How did you know?”

“My ex wife hires a lot of people to try and kill me because of the two million dollar life insurance policy she took out on me a couple of years ago. I figured that tonight would be the night I would finally confront someone on it. Its a shame that you were hired though,”

I stare at him, my mouth open a little. No one had ever guessed my intentions before and I felt bad when I shrugged him off, placed the black rose of death in his hands , forced his fingers to wrap around the thorn with the razor in it, and then, once I am sure that his figure has been pricked, I bend my head towards his ear.

“I am not the one thats going to kill you. I am the go between that marks a person for death. The rose is my trademark. When you go outside you will be ganged up upon by five guys and that will be the last of you,” I pat his shoulder and walk out refusing to look back and see the reaction my words caused. I hear him suck in his breath but I refuse to acknowledge it.

I walk outside and see Nole, the head of the gang, his black eyes intensely staring at me. I nod to him as I walk by, my signal that I have done my part. Now it is all about the waiting game, though I doubt that I will be waiting long. As I lean against the wall I can feel my heart pounding in my chest trying to attack me for revealing to Stanly that he is in fact going to die. I have never done that before and I feel a little bit liberated at least until he walks out of the club, his whole body shaking fiercely. I watch as Nole goes up to him, hear the pleas that Stanly cries out and then I cover my ears knowing that the next sounds are not something that I want to hear. Of course I hear them anyways, as it is my curse. I hear the thud as he is knocked over the head with a baseball bat, the scrapping of his shoes as Nole drags him behind the bar and then the screams. Its always the screaming that gets me, even with my ears covered it still sends shivers of terror up my arms and into my very soul. Its the scream of someone once so full of life and love, someone that got above themselves and thought that they were invincible only to find at the end that they can die just like everyone else. Its the scream from the nightmares that keep me from wanting to sleep for any length of time.

The tang of metal and salt hit my nose and I drop my hands to my side just as Nole and his friends reappear from the ally, all of them covered in wet blood, and wearing big grins. They take pride and joy out of the killing of innocent people and as they come to my side, Nole grabbing my arm and pressing the still warm blood against my skin, I know that they will never see that doing this is bad. I let them drag me along to HIM knowing that fighting will only get them even more excited. As we walk all I can see is Stanly's eyes, the joy and laughter that was behind them before I told him the truth.



HIS office is in the basement of a large three story building that fronted as a life insurance company. I slam my knees onto the concrete floor as Nole pushes me through the door. He stands with his back against the door, arms crossed and a slight smile playing across his lips. The stance that he always takes whenever we end up in this room together. The stance that I knew was just waiting for me to try soemthing.

I keep my head down and grind my teeth against the pain that is radiating through my knees. He shuffles some papers on his desk before even acknowledging my presence.

“Hello little Alissyia. I see that you and Nole are still working together,” HE remarks and I feel Nole come to stand next to me. My arm starts to tingle on the side that Nole is standing on. My head starts to go in and out as my knees start to get weak. Biting my lip I try to ignore the feelings that are radiating from Nole but my mind flashes to better times, times when Nole was Jonathan and I was an innocent young newly wed woman.

Nole was so handsome, so intelligent, and seemed to know me better then I knew myself. He was Jonathan, the stranger from America who stole my breath away every time he came near me. We would spend afternoons sitting in the garden talking about the world and everything that my husband refused to talk to me about. I was a woman after all and a woman had no place talking about the politics and wars of men. Nole wouldn't laugh at my opinions and he always brought a perfectly shaped blood red rose, the bloom just opening. Roses were my weakness, though my husband rarely ever gave me one. I only remember roses from my husband when he was trying to win my affection.

A cough from Nole brought me back to the present and I looked sharply up at HIM confused. I hadn't heard what HE had said and HE obviously knew it. HE was at my side instantly, dragging my to my feet before HE slapped me so hard that I was knocked back to the ground. I dared not touch the fire on my cheek or utter a single sound though I wanted to cry from the pain my body was being dealt. First with my knees, my poor bruised knees, then my arm where HIS fingers left deep red spots that I knew would become bruises from when HE forced me to my feet and finally my poor cheek which was bleeding on the inside from being cut by my teeth, the tears were blinked away and my lip was bitten through but I didn't utter a sound.

“You will continue to report to Nole and I shall be watching to make sure that you behave child,”HIS voice was hard as marble. I nod and let Nole take me by the arm and lead me out of the room.

“what were you dreaming about that was more important then listening to the master?!” Demanded Nole after the closed the door. He pins me up against the brick wall and looks sternly into my eyes. His eyes, the color of sapphires bore into me demanding answers. My only answer is to push away from him, ignoring him as we both leave the building and go our separate ways.

My apartment offers my aching body much relief as I sink into the plush couch and turn on the TV for a long time of nothingness. Its times like these that I really know what my life is for. I am a slave because I wanted love and acceptance more then anything, only problem was I didn't realize that it came with such high costs. I play with the ruby tear drop pendant at the base of my neck, it tingles with warmth from the power within it. Such a pretty thing, yet it was the such a burden and torturous device. I refuse to close my eyes, I know what will meet me when sleep comes.