Vile Amity 4
Rosalie Sierra had an exceptionally normal life, being a homosexual homicide detective, her sister a deranged psychopath on the loose, her mother and father murdered by her sisters ex-fiance, Fredric when she was 14. Now she’s fallen in love with an assassin who was sent to kill her in the first place, and blessed (or cursed) with eternal life. Suddenly, her oh-so-normal life takes a turn for the worst.
At first she blinked a couple of times expecting something else to be new but nothing was. She continued to stare at the bed, admiring the woodworking.
"How?"
He completely ignored her question.
"I’m sorry, is this giving you ideas?" Liam asked watching where her eyes moved to.
"No. no. " She said shaking her head. "I was looking at the woodworking" she flushed.
His mood abruptly changed.
"Oh, do you like it? I did it myself." she smiled and nodded as she turned to look at him. His green eyes were calling to her, reaching for her soul. Those green eyes had seen to much violence in his young years. He looked twenty four. But his eyes seemed ageless and ancient at the same time. As she had seen before he had prominent cheekbones and a hollow face, as if he hadn’t been eating properly for the last 15 years. Yet it seemed to be regaining its natural shape. He had an auburn colored hair that flipped out at the ends as if he had been wearing a cap while he slept. His locks swept past his ears and he continuously swished his head to the side to get the hair out of his eyes. He cocked an eyebrow as she memorized his features. She smiled slightly and continued looking at him. His skin was completely un-blemished and flawless with the acceptation of a faded scar stretching from his left ear underneath his chin all the way to his right ear. She put that out of mind for now. She frowned when she saw a black bandana covering his neck, blocking her vision of his perfect skin. She took a tentative step towards him. As if hearing her thoughts, he reached to the back of his neck and undid the bandana. What she saw made her gasp.
Liam’s throat was covered, no, veiled by scars, rope burns, chain indents and stitches. She stared mouth agape and eyes wide at the destruction of Liam’s neck. He smiled sadly at her reaction. On the left side of his neck there was a bandage with fresh blood soaking through it. Right underneath his jaw line was a line of red dashes so close together they almost looked connected, diagonally down the right side of the throat.
"My kind began to die long ago," he began "I and only one or two others are left. We were killers from the day we could walk, born assassins. We were called Ausschnitt Attentäter, for neckline assassin. There are two meanings for our names meaning for our name is that we can only be killed by slashing open our throats, and two, its our main style of…extermination. We were hired in secrecy usually for politics until our…breed got out. People became afraid." he led her by the elbow to a chair by a small table in the southwest corner of the room. He sat across from her and picked up where he left off.
"They began to search us out. They had teams of regular human assassins find us, and kill us." he sighed "of course, anyone who had required our services denied the fact, and were left alone. We all knew how to take on a group of up to 15 men at a time, easy." his body began quavering "first they sent fours, not knowing the destruction we could do. Then 10 and finally 15. Only a few of us existed in the first place, with so many men sent to knock us off, we diminished quickly." his figure shifted as if something had poked him in the side. "In a way we are immortal, only killed by a vicious cut to the throat. Our defences are good but not so good we can take on 10 men throwing knives at one man’s neck," his tone made Rose jump. She realized that he was holding something on his shoulders, he carried a burden that she would ask him again in time. His tan arm shook the table as Rose watched.
She watched his facial expressions change from enraged, to sad, and to frustrated and finally full of remorse.
"You lost someone?" she ventured.
He nodded. "My brother."
She made a sharp intake of breath.
"You think that being hard, and killing so many makes you uncaring, unemotional and completely oblivious to others pain. That there’s no love left in us except for the love of blood shed and watching ones terror as they perish. But no, it makes us even more compassionate to see our loved ones die." he chuckled harshly as he put on a mask of no emotion.
"It’s an off day when I don’t have someone hiding under my bed trying to kill me."
"Your brother. Was he one of you?"
Rosalie watched as he smiled painfully at her.
"No, we were identical twins."
She nodded and bit her lip at the awkward moment that lay between them.
He stood so suddenly that she jumped up as well.
"No, no sit. I’m going to get some gauze and bandages."
She nodded and sat back down. He walked briskly out of the room, his cat following him out the door.
She noticed that there were absolutely no cobwebs, dust or muss (save the bed) in the entire expansive room. And she understood why, obviously, one such as him, someone who was constantly hunted, needed to stay inside, so therefore, probably had nothing better to do with ones time. Thus resulting in an absolutely immaculate area. All she could think, being absolutely intoxicated by the vast room and the thought of his malicious eyes, was that for the past couple of days, she had miraculously been able to remain sober.
But the room was anything but sober, just…uncluttered. An indescribably small oil painting hung in the center of the wall. Rose got up on unsteady legs and walked over to the small painting. As she got closer she noticed that the painting was covered by the wall paper and that’s why it had looked so small. There was a torn patch of creamy coloured wallpaper ripped from the wall, revealing a painting of a blue eye staring back at her. Her hand ran over the paper while she wondered why she hadn’t noticed it before.
With one fluid movement, she ripped off the sheet of paper and flung it on the floor. The walls were covered in photographs of mostly men in house coats or expensive suits. Each and everyone of them, their necks slit from ear to ear. Her jaw dropped at the photos of cadavers. She noticed one in particular, overlapping the rest of them. A Polaroid of a woman in a short cream colored dress with red polkadots on the print. The woman in the photo had luscious blond hair spread out on the floor. She was holding a razor in her hand and her neck was cut from ear to ear. Schön.
She tore the photo off the wall and jumped when she felt Liam’s warm hand touch her shoulder. She whirled to face him and before she realized what she was doing, her palm met his jawbone with a crack and his eyes snapped shut as his head turned in the direction her slap sent him. A red mark, in the shape of her palm immediately began to show up as her hand fell to her side.
"You killed her?" the question was more of an accusation
A tremor raked down the length of his body and she flinched. He turned his head back to her and opened his eyes slowly. Furious, he took a shaking breath and closed his eyes again. He set his jaw.
"How could you do this! What has she ever done to you?" Rose pushed the photo in his face while she dug for her pocket knife.
He spoke through clenched teeth.
"Rose you don’t know the half of it. She-" she cut him off
"NO! I will not stand here, helping you uncover your victim’s photos! I respect the fact that you are an assassin but why must you photograph your victims?! And what order did you have to kill her."
Her own reaction startled her but at the look in Schön eyes she felt a connection and sympathy for her. The look in Schön eyes seemed to haunt her, her eyes seemed to say that at the moment she stopped breathing she remembered her life.
He remained calm.
"Rose, she tried to kill Me." he waited to see her reaction. When her fury faltered he began again.
"She had seen me around, I walk once every few weeks to the store, witch is hardy ever, and she called me in, to help her. She seemed frantic. Most people can recognize us by the bandanas around our necks but I wore a blue scarf instead. She called me over and I went inside, she led me upstairs and I had a different idea in my mind. Then she just came at me and stabbed the side of my neck." He poked the bandage on his neck, with the fresh blood. "The knife didn’t hit my windpipe though so I was still able to function…with minor interference." he chuckled quietly to himself "it was incredibly rude on my part, she had no evidence to the fact that I was part of the Ausschnitt. That is until she ripped off my scarf." he glowered at the photo "I acted in self defense of course. I knocked her out by kicking her in the side of the head. Not with too much force but just enough to keep her unconscious for at the very most, half an hour." he sighed cautiously "this is the worst part about being me."
Rose watched his eyes shift from hers to the photo and back again.
"Anyone we know, or even have the slightest hint that they know who we are, we have to eliminate. So being used to slitting ones throat, I proceeded to do so with my own knife when I heard someone coming up the stairs. I noticed her knife was still in her hand so I jammed the knife, with her hand still around it, into her neck, and then jumped out the window. And about the photography, we have to keep a record of who we have…knocked-off, so our employers know if they are already dead. The people we usually need to get are ones who like to change their names a lot, so we go by psychical description. We also need it for proof. Some of our kind have tried to fake a death and it always backfires."
He heaved a sigh and looked to Rose for her approval.
Rose bit her lip and looked to the floor; she couldn’t meet his intense gaze on her. She thought about this for a moment. If he jumped out the window, it didn’t explain the spot of blood on the stairs. She saw a drop of blood splatter on the floor and she knew it was from biting her lip so hard. She released her lip from between her teeth and licked the blood. Tastes like metal.
"How?"
He completely ignored her question.
"I’m sorry, is this giving you ideas?" Liam asked watching where her eyes moved to.
"No. no. " She said shaking her head. "I was looking at the woodworking" she flushed.
His mood abruptly changed.
"Oh, do you like it? I did it myself." she smiled and nodded as she turned to look at him. His green eyes were calling to her, reaching for her soul. Those green eyes had seen to much violence in his young years. He looked twenty four. But his eyes seemed ageless and ancient at the same time. As she had seen before he had prominent cheekbones and a hollow face, as if he hadn’t been eating properly for the last 15 years. Yet it seemed to be regaining its natural shape. He had an auburn colored hair that flipped out at the ends as if he had been wearing a cap while he slept. His locks swept past his ears and he continuously swished his head to the side to get the hair out of his eyes. He cocked an eyebrow as she memorized his features. She smiled slightly and continued looking at him. His skin was completely un-blemished and flawless with the acceptation of a faded scar stretching from his left ear underneath his chin all the way to his right ear. She put that out of mind for now. She frowned when she saw a black bandana covering his neck, blocking her vision of his perfect skin. She took a tentative step towards him. As if hearing her thoughts, he reached to the back of his neck and undid the bandana. What she saw made her gasp.
Liam’s throat was covered, no, veiled by scars, rope burns, chain indents and stitches. She stared mouth agape and eyes wide at the destruction of Liam’s neck. He smiled sadly at her reaction. On the left side of his neck there was a bandage with fresh blood soaking through it. Right underneath his jaw line was a line of red dashes so close together they almost looked connected, diagonally down the right side of the throat.
"My kind began to die long ago," he began "I and only one or two others are left. We were killers from the day we could walk, born assassins. We were called Ausschnitt Attentäter, for neckline assassin. There are two meanings for our names meaning for our name is that we can only be killed by slashing open our throats, and two, its our main style of…extermination. We were hired in secrecy usually for politics until our…breed got out. People became afraid." he led her by the elbow to a chair by a small table in the southwest corner of the room. He sat across from her and picked up where he left off.
"They began to search us out. They had teams of regular human assassins find us, and kill us." he sighed "of course, anyone who had required our services denied the fact, and were left alone. We all knew how to take on a group of up to 15 men at a time, easy." his body began quavering "first they sent fours, not knowing the destruction we could do. Then 10 and finally 15. Only a few of us existed in the first place, with so many men sent to knock us off, we diminished quickly." his figure shifted as if something had poked him in the side. "In a way we are immortal, only killed by a vicious cut to the throat. Our defences are good but not so good we can take on 10 men throwing knives at one man’s neck," his tone made Rose jump. She realized that he was holding something on his shoulders, he carried a burden that she would ask him again in time. His tan arm shook the table as Rose watched.
She watched his facial expressions change from enraged, to sad, and to frustrated and finally full of remorse.
"You lost someone?" she ventured.
He nodded. "My brother."
She made a sharp intake of breath.
"You think that being hard, and killing so many makes you uncaring, unemotional and completely oblivious to others pain. That there’s no love left in us except for the love of blood shed and watching ones terror as they perish. But no, it makes us even more compassionate to see our loved ones die." he chuckled harshly as he put on a mask of no emotion.
"It’s an off day when I don’t have someone hiding under my bed trying to kill me."
"Your brother. Was he one of you?"
Rosalie watched as he smiled painfully at her.
"No, we were identical twins."
She nodded and bit her lip at the awkward moment that lay between them.
He stood so suddenly that she jumped up as well.
"No, no sit. I’m going to get some gauze and bandages."
She nodded and sat back down. He walked briskly out of the room, his cat following him out the door.
She noticed that there were absolutely no cobwebs, dust or muss (save the bed) in the entire expansive room. And she understood why, obviously, one such as him, someone who was constantly hunted, needed to stay inside, so therefore, probably had nothing better to do with ones time. Thus resulting in an absolutely immaculate area. All she could think, being absolutely intoxicated by the vast room and the thought of his malicious eyes, was that for the past couple of days, she had miraculously been able to remain sober.
But the room was anything but sober, just…uncluttered. An indescribably small oil painting hung in the center of the wall. Rose got up on unsteady legs and walked over to the small painting. As she got closer she noticed that the painting was covered by the wall paper and that’s why it had looked so small. There was a torn patch of creamy coloured wallpaper ripped from the wall, revealing a painting of a blue eye staring back at her. Her hand ran over the paper while she wondered why she hadn’t noticed it before.
With one fluid movement, she ripped off the sheet of paper and flung it on the floor. The walls were covered in photographs of mostly men in house coats or expensive suits. Each and everyone of them, their necks slit from ear to ear. Her jaw dropped at the photos of cadavers. She noticed one in particular, overlapping the rest of them. A Polaroid of a woman in a short cream colored dress with red polkadots on the print. The woman in the photo had luscious blond hair spread out on the floor. She was holding a razor in her hand and her neck was cut from ear to ear. Schön.
She tore the photo off the wall and jumped when she felt Liam’s warm hand touch her shoulder. She whirled to face him and before she realized what she was doing, her palm met his jawbone with a crack and his eyes snapped shut as his head turned in the direction her slap sent him. A red mark, in the shape of her palm immediately began to show up as her hand fell to her side.
"You killed her?" the question was more of an accusation
A tremor raked down the length of his body and she flinched. He turned his head back to her and opened his eyes slowly. Furious, he took a shaking breath and closed his eyes again. He set his jaw.
"How could you do this! What has she ever done to you?" Rose pushed the photo in his face while she dug for her pocket knife.
He spoke through clenched teeth.
"Rose you don’t know the half of it. She-" she cut him off
"NO! I will not stand here, helping you uncover your victim’s photos! I respect the fact that you are an assassin but why must you photograph your victims?! And what order did you have to kill her."
Her own reaction startled her but at the look in Schön eyes she felt a connection and sympathy for her. The look in Schön eyes seemed to haunt her, her eyes seemed to say that at the moment she stopped breathing she remembered her life.
He remained calm.
"Rose, she tried to kill Me." he waited to see her reaction. When her fury faltered he began again.
"She had seen me around, I walk once every few weeks to the store, witch is hardy ever, and she called me in, to help her. She seemed frantic. Most people can recognize us by the bandanas around our necks but I wore a blue scarf instead. She called me over and I went inside, she led me upstairs and I had a different idea in my mind. Then she just came at me and stabbed the side of my neck." He poked the bandage on his neck, with the fresh blood. "The knife didn’t hit my windpipe though so I was still able to function…with minor interference." he chuckled quietly to himself "it was incredibly rude on my part, she had no evidence to the fact that I was part of the Ausschnitt. That is until she ripped off my scarf." he glowered at the photo "I acted in self defense of course. I knocked her out by kicking her in the side of the head. Not with too much force but just enough to keep her unconscious for at the very most, half an hour." he sighed cautiously "this is the worst part about being me."
Rose watched his eyes shift from hers to the photo and back again.
"Anyone we know, or even have the slightest hint that they know who we are, we have to eliminate. So being used to slitting ones throat, I proceeded to do so with my own knife when I heard someone coming up the stairs. I noticed her knife was still in her hand so I jammed the knife, with her hand still around it, into her neck, and then jumped out the window. And about the photography, we have to keep a record of who we have…knocked-off, so our employers know if they are already dead. The people we usually need to get are ones who like to change their names a lot, so we go by psychical description. We also need it for proof. Some of our kind have tried to fake a death and it always backfires."
He heaved a sigh and looked to Rose for her approval.
Rose bit her lip and looked to the floor; she couldn’t meet his intense gaze on her. She thought about this for a moment. If he jumped out the window, it didn’t explain the spot of blood on the stairs. She saw a drop of blood splatter on the floor and she knew it was from biting her lip so hard. She released her lip from between her teeth and licked the blood. Tastes like metal.
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