The Assassin's Charge

Chapter 3

She's been on that damned web browser for the last two hours. She is digging, and she isn't being very quiet about it. Those two just had to tell her this now, when we're so close. They couldn't have decided to tell her on her birthday - as they call it here - or any other time after that at all. Something I have learned from almost seventeen years of experience is that, when she puts her mind to something, and is focusing on that alone, she's not subtle, and tends to make foolish mistakes.

Just take the incident two years ago as an example. A 'friend' roped her into sneaking into a teacher's classroom to steal some sort of grading grid. This 'friend' threatened her with total social exile, causing her to be really focused on the task at hand. So focused, in fact, that she didn't notice that said teacher happened to be in the room, or rather, entering the room after a quick trip to the staff lounge for a coffee break, when she went to search through the drawers.

She got detention for a month, not to mention being grounded by her parents for double that amount of time; the only reason that she wasn't suspended or expelled, was the fact that that was her first offense. The so-called 'friend' got off scot-free, as Anastasia wouldn't expose her to the teachers for fear of the threat being made reality.

I shake my head as I remember the entire episode. This girl is going to get herself killed one day. And that is exactly what I am afraid of. I glance at the monitor of her computer, which now displays a webpage for a small-time private investigator; one Carly Grayson. I give a huff of annoyance at all of the damage control that I will have to do, then slap my hand over my mouth in shock at what I have done.
She gave a small start at the sound and has now turned around in her chair to peer at her small room.

"Who's there? Mom? Dad? Jeez, that was cliché." she calls out to the room that appears empty to her. I have retreated to the corner farthest from her desk to try to put as much distance between me and her. A tense moment on my part passes, in which I am sure I would've used up all the water in my body to produce hypothetical sweat.
After a few seconds, she gets up from her seat and walks quietly over to the window, glances out of it, and closes it carefully, so as not to break the delicate glass prisms that she has hung from it. I thank my lucky stars, the gods and goddesses from every one of their religions, and the stuffed cow sitting on her bed - as well as the glass of water next to it on the bedside table - that she didn't realize that there isn't a single breath of wind tonight.

She slides back to her seat in her thick socks, before sitting down again and resuming her research. I just stand in the corner, dazed, my legs shaking, as I try to process what just happened.
"I wonder..." she mutters to her computer screen. "When could I meet up with this person? Oh, and if she's a legitimate business. Oooh, I wonder how much this will cost?"

She waves her hand as if to dismiss the issues and jots down the phone number listed under Contact Me. She will most likely make the call once her parents have left the house. She tucks the slip of paper into the pocket of her hooded sweatshirt, confirming my suspicions.

"Dinner!" she exclaims, startling me out of my thoughts and into action, as she sits up straight in her seat and takes a long inhale of air, sniffing for the casserole that her father has made.

She practically catapults out of her chair and half-runs, half-skids down the staircase in her haste. She bolts into the kitchen, almost colliding with her Alsatian puppy, Bear, who is on his way to his kibble.

"Sorry, Bee!" she coos, before rushing around him and scrambling to find purchase on the smooth floor in her woolen socks. She finally manages to pull herself together and sit down at the kitchen counter on a stool. She smiles brightly at her father, who has just placed the casserole dish on the island in the center of the kitchen. He, seeming slightly unnerved at her mood, smiles back weakly.