Kingston is up and pacing the room.
I rub my eyes and glance at the time. It's four in the morning. "What's the matter?" I whisper.
He doesn't reply.
I push the sheets from my bed. "Are you okay?"
He stops.
I tilt my head. "Kingston?"
"Nope, nope, nope," Kingston continues to pace. "What will Bluejay think of me? He'll be so angry if I fail. He'll kill me, you know. I can't let you...I can't lose!" He clutches his face and shrinks back into his bed.
He's sleep walking and talking. Fuck! You're not supposed to wake a sleep walker.
"Where's Sparkles? She ran out again." Kingston groans.
"Kingston!" I'm laughing now. "Sparkles is back in my apartment!"
I hear a heavy sigh followed by snoring. I roll over towards the end of my bed and peer over the covers. "Hey!"
"Eve, what the fuck?" Kingston sits up, raking a heavy arm through his disheveled hair.
"You were sleep walking."
He props himself up on his elbows, his blanket sliding down his chest. He's shirtless.
"Do you want me to sleep down there? We could trade off?" I offer.
"No kitten, the bed is all yours," He grins.
I eye his abs. "Just trade with me, I feel bad."
"Why don't we share? It's too cold down here... probably why I woke up." Kingston stands up. He's wearing light purple boxers.
I bite my bottom lip. "Um... yes- yeah, sure. Just stay on your side." I drag my eyes up from his bulge.
Kingston climbs up and brings the comforter with him. He shoves his pillow in between us and lays down quietly. "I'm nervous."
"You're also well trained," I assure, rolling over to face him. I smile suddenly, "Would you like the ring back?"
He chuckles softly. "Yeah, sorry to call the wedding off. It's my mum's. After she died, I got it. I bring it everywhere."
I blush, "That's sweet. It's very beautiful."
"Thank you," I can almost hear him grin.
"Kingston?"
"Yes?"
"Who's Bluejay?"
Kingston rustles around a bit. "Why, that's a bird, love."
"You said something about a Bluejay in your sleep," I scoot away from him. He's lying to me.
He sighs, "It's what I called my father. I don't know- it's odd. His name was Jay and his favorite color was blue and-"
"You said he was going to kill you," I interrupt.
"Fuck, okay, I need to tell you the truth as to why I came to the Pearl." His tone is serious.
I get up from the bed and turn on the lights.
"Don't be scared, Kitten, please," Kingston gets up quickly, walking over to me. He takes both of my hands and sits me on the bed. "Just listen."
I nod.
"My father abused me as a child. That's probably why I said what I said," Kingston crosses his arms and looks down. "He killed my mum and my sister. His name was Jay, but his street name was Bluejay because he'd always give my mother and sister and me these awful blue black bruises. I killed him, Eve." Kingston rests his face into his hands.
"Hey, come here," I motion for him as he walks over silently.
Kingston sits on the bed next to me. "He was in a gang, and all of the members were abusing family members. They were always drunk or high. I killed them all. Evangeline, I killed twelve men in a week. The police in London came after me, but somehow SASA found me first. I faked my death in America at twenty one and now I'm here," He grows quiet. "I'm sorry I had to lie."
"I understand."
Kingston walks back over to his side of the bed and lays down tacitly.
I follow noiselessly and turn out the lights. I'm sleeping next to a serial killer. I am also a serial killer.
*
"This map is odd," Kingston observes.
We're both sitting on the bed shifting through pages of notes. The map is laid out in an interesting manner. A 'lodge', as it's referred to, sits to the very end of the rolling apple trees. The entire lot is nearly three hundred acres (I've attempted to explain the acre system to Kingston about five times, but he insists that the U.S. metric system is complete shit). The lodge has a large cafeteria and several cabins that branch off. The cabins, Kingston and I assume, are living quarters for employees. Two, big barns sit on opposite sides of the orchard.
"Can I have the floor plans for the lodge?" I turn to Kingston.
"There are none," He mutters.
"That's peculiar." I begin to shuffle through the pages. "Why wouldn't we have them?"
"Eve, can you go do a check on the weapons?" Kingston asks as he files the maps.
"Sure." I dig through the bottom of my suitcase and find a small, black bag. I pull out a pistol, a knife, and limited ammunition. "Are the survival things in your bag?"
"Hope so," Kingston laughs, standing up and changing shirts. He looks in my direction with a smirk.
I avert my eyes.
"Love, just take a picture, it'll last so much longer!"
I snort, rolling my eyes.
"That was cute," Kingston japes. "Do you always snort when you laugh?"
I flush a rosy tint. "No, but I do understand the American metric system."
"Oh, shut up Scarlett."
"Come help me check materials." I organize the essentials.
"Should have a compass, flashlight, floss, water bottle, binoculars, ipod, headphones, gum, pen, and notepad," Kingston glances over my shoulder.
"Yep, got yours and mine." Functional fixedness is one's worse enemy with these tools.
"Are you ready to go?" Kingston begins to clean the room, swiping the furniture of fingerprints and gathering the sheets.
"One second," I reply. I gather a pair of tight pants, a tank top, a large push up bra, and my make up bag. It's amazing to me how Marcel was able to change my appearance. Normally my eyebrows and boobs are nonexsistant. I squeeze into my clothes, brush out my hair a bit, and I apply a natural looking layer of make up. "Pack my bag?"
"Sure, kitten."
I wipe down the bathroom of prints and pick up my things.
Kingston drags his eyes down my body as I walk out.
"Take a picture, love," I mock, sticking my tongue out.
"Why take a picture when I have the real thing right in front of me?" Kingston walks over leisurely, sweeping his eyes once more.
I swallow loudly, backing into the wall.
Kingston's outreached arm brushes my neck.
"What- what're you doing?" I stutter.
"Turning out the lights," He replies with a chuckle. The room falls into darkness. "We best go."
I bite my lower lip. Why the fuck can't I take a hint?
We grab our bags, I wipe the doorknob, and we head towards the orchard.
*
I stare out the windows of the taxi. Hundreds of trees cover the green, neatly trimmed grass. Hills upon hills are filled with apples. Green ones, pink ones, red ones, yellow ones all fill the lush leaved flora. After a minute or two on the dusty, gravel road, the taxi pulls up to a massive, log cabin complex. This must be the lodge. Twenty or thirty people stand outside. The people are smiling, talking, and waving. Some tug suitcases while others haul trunks.
This doesn't feel like my normal mission. The people are happy. They seem normal. I can't screw this up. I can't act out. I can't act casual. These happy, normal people are drug dealers.
A man in a business suit walks over to our cab as Kingston hands our driver his payment. I do a quick evaluation. The man wears a small rolex and smells of citrus spice, it must be Clive Christian- around a three hundred dollar cologne. This man is money.
"Hello, my name is Robin! It's lovely to meet you both." The man extends a hand to me.
He's clean shaven with neatly combed hair. He's handsome for his age, he's in his late forties.
"The pleasure is all mine!" I smile, "I'm Scarlett Prince. I'm interviewing for one of the security positions."
"Killian Jones-" Kingston introduces, grabbing our bags from the cab. "I'm interviewing for a security position as well."
The two men shake.
Robin looks us both up and down, "Did you come together?"
"Oh, No!" I laugh, "We hailed down the same cab. It turns out we both stayed in the same motel."
"Very good." Robin replies with a grin. "Why don't I take you, Ms. Prince for a quick interview?" He glances at Kingston. "Mr. Jones, you will be interviewing with Liam over there. He'll tuck the bags away until we find out where you two are placed."
Kingston walks over to Liam with a smile. Liam wears a simple t-shirt and jeans. Robin is obviously higher up.
I follow Robin in through a door on the outside of the building. If my fucking father had given us floor plans of the lodge, I would know where I'm headed.
"This is my office," Robin announces. "Please take a seat."
I sit in a green, leather chair.
The office is concealed and quiet. Wood walls meet a wood floor. A wonderful place for a murder.
"May I see the papers you filled out?" He asks, folding his hands.
"Here you are." I slide the papers over his desk.
"You may be wondering why we even have a security team here at this little orchard," Robin blushes.
I don't know... Perhaps it's to protect the drugs?
"Well, because we house so many employees, we need to have security in case something gets out of hand. We also need security to patrol during the nights, because- believe it or not- people try to steal our apples! How absurd?" Robin chuckles, his eyes squinting slightly. "Additionally, we host tons of events here, so it's nice to be able to keep our perimeters safe. Security is also the team that leave the orchard and buy supplies or groceries for the kitchen. We don't want our apple pickers to become too tired going back and forth off of the orchard."
I nod in agreement.
"Let me just ask a couple questions," He hesitates. "So, you wrote that you used to be a night security guard at a jewelry store! How wonderful! Did anyone ever try to break in while you were on duty?"
I recount Kingston's voice, "Come out, come out, wherever you are?" "Yes, I did have one break in."
Robin cocks a brow, inviting me to explain.
"There were two men, they shut the power off in the store. I heard some fiddling with the lock at about three in the morning, and I called the cops. Once they broke in, the alarm went off, but I also confronted both upon entry. I shot one man in the arm before the police came because he pulled his gun on me." I cross my legs.
"Okay, it's good to know that you have experience," Robin notes.
I scan him again as he jots notes. He has a small hearing aid in his right ear. "Anyways," He begins, "I'm just going to go ahead and hire you. You seem very qualified."
I frown. "Don't want to know of any more experience or education or background?"
"Nah," Robin smiles. "This is just an apple orchard after all. Come, let's go get your bags."
Robin walks me from his office into a large seating area with a stage. "I'll give you a tour in a bit."
The area is set up like a cafeteria room. I scan the many picnic tables and my eyes fall on another set of eyes. Green eyes, short hair, defined jaw, a speckled beard, tan skin. Tanner Rinaldi.
