In the waters of ancient Greece lied unbeknownst creatures. Silent rulers of the sea, the ones who lured in their victims at bay. Who brought death like parties and left those who fell weak to them to feel euphoric and by the time they realized. It was too late.
Sirens.
They are described to be half fish and half women. Some say they are a mutation of the God of the sky and lightning, Zeus. Others say there were once women, but were punished by Zeus after they failed to protect his daughter, Persephone.
One thing that is universally agreed on is that they were dangerous. The sound of their voices, their song, was so powerful that it could cause hallucinations. They have the power to project music that wound men, that bring them down to their knees.
And for once, have a man listen to the command of a woman.
The city is soundless tonight. The usual noise of cars, sirens, and the sound of people chirping is absent. The only thing that can be heard is the sound of a paintbrush stroking a canvas. The sound comes to a stop and the young girl painting takes a stop to look at her artwork.
If Billie could be anything else, she would be an artist. The concept of art itself was unbelievable to her. The talent that was needed for it, the experience, the duality, the admiration that came from it was enough for her to imagine a life that was surrounded by it.
Art was her silence from the world. It was her escape from the world of violence inflicted upon her, the violence she's inflicted on others. When she's painting or sculpting or drawing, she's transported to another universe where the life she's living doesn't exist over there.
When in that universe, Billie is no longer a vigilante, an assassin assigned with the task of saving her country. She's no longer the hunter hunting down her prey. She's the Billie that is serene, the Billie that lights candles and dims her bedroom every now and then.
The Billie who can take off the bloodied bandages, wash her matted hair, treat her wounds, and find comfort in the small studio she calls her home.
So as she finishes off the final touches of artwork, she takes a step back and turns to face away from it and reach for the glass of red wine that's gotten lonely for the past hour.
She takes a sip from her glass and places back down on the island of her kitchen. She runs her fingers through her hair, walking out of the kitchen and into her living room. She walks over to sit on her couch and lean over to blow out the candles she lit.
The last of the candles stay lit when a harsh knock is placed on Billie's front door. She pauses and instantly her gear starts running.
She tightens her silk robe and reaches under the sofa kitchen and pulls out a small blade. With her right hand, she ties up her hair in a bun and with the left, she seals the bun in place with the blade she pulled out.
She cautiously approaches the door and opens it slowly and she's ready for what's coming towards her at the door. Once she opens it fully, she's able to feel relief because she recognizes who knocked but confusion because this person would never show up to her apartment.
"Greetings to you as well, O'Connell." The older man speaks, allowing himself without the girl's permission. Billie shuts the door and locks it behind her.
She lets out a sigh when the man heads for the kitchen. He eyes her glass of wine and decides to drink the rest of it and place the empty glass back on the island.
"Why are you here?" She asks him, removing the blade from her hair and letting her hair fall back down. The old man smirks at her and shrugs. "Tell me, is it a crime to visit my favorite former students?"
Billie doesn't say anything, hoping her silence would be her answer to him. He walks around and approaches the large painting in Billie's living room. "Hm, decent." He nods.
"Walter. Speak, please," Billie presses him, pissed and bothered that he interrupted her night. "This was not in our contract." She adds.
He nods and turns to her. "Remind me, what was in our contract?" He asks her.
Billie sighs intently. "No visitations. Mail and phone only. So again, why are you here?"
"I have a new target for you." He says and Billie shakes her head immediately, heading to her door. "No. I'm done for the night, I don't talk work when I'm off,"
He chuckles lightly when he watches her begin to open the door. "Come on, out." She snaps her fingers at him.
"Billie, the reason why I visited you because this is no regular target. This is more serious."
She shakes her head again. "This is what we've talked about before. About you not respecting my boundaries. No business when I'm off. You're lucky I let you in. Now, out."
He stands still and digs in his pocket pulling out a folded piece of paper. He opens it up with his naturally jerky hands and holds it up to Billie.
Billie's demeanor changes in a second as she examines the photo. She walks away from her door and snatches the paper out of his hand. Her fingers graze the photo and her eyes lock to her canvas in the living room.
The similarity was striking.
Green eyes staring at Billie from the canvas and the same green eyes looking up at her from the photo. "Alexandria." She whispers to herself, a smile arising on her face.
"I knew you would feel a little better when I showed you." Walter smirks along with her.
"Where?" Billie passes the paper back to him. "There's a rumor she's back in the city, possibly in Lincoln Park. There's photos."
Billie nods, internalizing the information and glancing at her own painting once again. The woman she's been studying for the last decade of her life has fallen right into her lap.
Alexandria Deveraux.
The woman who shaped Billie's entire life. The woman who was the cause of what Billie was molded into. She had a price to pay and Billie was going to be the one to hand it to her.
"I'm ready."
—
Author's Note: How are we feeling about this chapter? I'm excited to be back and drive y'all crazy with this slow burn!!
