Saturday, 13 July 2013

My Last Job

And then, being mindful not to spill my tea, I eased into the tartan embrace of Endolyn Muirden’s least offensive armchair, and settled back to watch him die.  You would think I’d be disgusted about watching another human being leave the mortal coil, right?


I have been trying to kill the man for over a century and it seems nothing kills him.  Sure I’ve died a few times, and have been brought back by the Elders of my race and have been given this job to track him down and kill him.

But he never looks the same, is never in the same business, wears the same clothes or has the same hair style… but he does have one or two distinct features about him:  Endolyn has a signet ring of a large ruby which he wears on his right hand and a tattoo of a fire-drake on his right shoulder. 

Being a female Bounty Hunter, it’s not hard to get a man’s clothes off if I need to find out about the fire-drake, but the signet is hard to come across, as at times, he doesn’t wear it just to throw me off.  And to make sure he doesn’t know it’s me following him around, I never wear the same outfit twice – only when I’m going to kill him; so he remembers who I am.

Sound cold and calculating.

But that’s how I do it, not how I was taught.

Maybe you’re wondering why he must die.  Well, he was wanted by a European Emperor for jilting his daughter on her wedding day – and it was a massive occasion; even I was invited at the time because of my Clan’s importance.  On the day, that particular Emperor himself hired me personally to take care of Endolyn; to make sure he suffered a gruesome death.  He paid me half of a handsome reward and I was promised the other half once this bastard was dead.  But somehow he won’t stay dead!

So, the Elders of my Clan have kept on bringing me back to finish the job so it can be finished and I can be paid in full; and also my soul can rest in peace properly.  And this time, it’s beginning to look like a pretty sweet deal… he’s dying, melting, finding it hard to breath right in front of me and I’m sitting here watching him to make sure he’s gone.

However, I’m staying here to make sure he’s definitely dead.  I’m not moving until this horrendous man’s soul – if he has one – is wiped from this planet and from this dimension.  But how I did this is something I couldn’t do alone unfortunately as he knew if I did anything that was remotely to do with trying to killing him, he'd do away with me; and I'd be back at square one and would have lost him.  I think we’ve been around each other long enough to know how each other thinks. 

And strangely enough, he’s been trying to kill me – but I’ve been just out of his reach each time; how ironic is that?  Things become more ironic as we go along too.  The person he hired to kill me, is the same person I hired to help kill him… so instead of picking one or the other, this person did a half-arsed job on me, and did a proper job helping me kill Endolyn.  Why?  Well, the man I hired is a direct descendent from the European Emperor whose daughter Endolyn jilted all over a century ago… funny how this guy’s past has only just now begun catching up with him. 

“Listen, we don’t have to do anything, just watch him fall apart.” The guy said as he showed me a syringe filled with dark, glittering liquid.

“What is that?” I remember asking.

“Well, it was daytime when the wedding was on, and he didn’t show, right?” he placed it on the table as I watched his face, “And each time we saw him and there were accounts of his presence being anywhere, it was at night, just before dawn or just after sunset.”

“He’s a vamp.” I said.

He held it up again, “Dead man’s blood and enough silver to drop a couple of werewolves.”

“I watch him drool for a bit, watch him melt and then, chop off his head.” I unsheathed my dirk from its calf scabbard.

He grinned, “Wish you weren’t immortal. You’re so hot when you talk that way.”

I smiled as he packed his shit and left me with the arrangements.

This brings us to now… where I’m as comfortable as I’m gonna get in this weird chair in Endolyn’s house.  He’s been gagging, drooling and sizzling in his own shit for a while now, and I’m sick of his smell – and I mean almost physically sick of it.  Putting down the cup of tea, I spill a little in the saucer to hear it sizzle and a hole the size of my little fingernail has eaten through the porcelain. 

Smiling, I stand up, unsheathing my dirk as I do and approach him, “Nice try, Endolyn.  But, I win.” I raise my arm up high and my blade strikes sure and true.  His head hits the floor, “I win.” I look down at his corpse and realise my job is done – in more ways than one.