A Killer Always Lies

Prologue

"Do we have a deal then?" his lips curled into a thin smile, "It would be such a shame for your precious life to be wasted. You could be a great assassin, after all."

He paced around me in circles, making me twitch with nervousness. No, that isn't right, I was twitching to suppress the answer I didn't want to blurt out. I had to suppress the madness, so I decided to avert my eyes from his dagger like gaze, staring instead at the dark surroundings all around me. I looked around the room, paintings made entirely out of blood decorating the walls. Some depicted the killings of some of their more successful attempts, such as John Wilkes Booth killing Lincoln, but most of them depicted the D.E.A.T.H. (Disorganized Evil Assassins of The Hollows) logo. It was a picture of the thin-lipped man who stood before me, spattered in blood, with the words 'A killer always lies' scrawled underneath. This particular one illuminated by dim candlelight, but it was clear that this single painting was the most important. If it hadn't been hung where it was, I would've thought it was another one of the same sick logos, but it was hung right above his Throne of Souls, as he liked to call it. Disemboweled corpses formed this seat for the Master of Disaster, their faces frozen in fear, as if someone had taken a freeze ray and blasted them with it right before they were brutally murdered by one of my soon to be comrades. I had to stop thinking like that, I couldn't do this. But, I couldn't let Abigail die. She was a sweet little green eyed girl, with bouncing brown curls framing her young innocent pale face. I could only imagine what they were doing to her with every second I debated my options. She was probably locked in a cold damp cell in the darkness, no light to comfort her, no mother to sing her a lullaby, not a single soul to save her. They'd bring in the knives soon, I knew this too well, then they'd stop at nothing to hurt her. Her body would be nothing more than a mutilated pile of bone and muscle, her blood splattering the cell she had stayed in. I shuddered at the very thought, staring into his dead demon eyes. They weren't quite red but they certainly weren't any natural color either, almost a smoldering grey tinged with red flames around the edges. I stared right into these eyes, taking a deep breath as I prepared myself.

"I'll do it."

I regretted it immediately afterwards, for he laughed an evil laugh, signalling for his guards to go get my sister. I glared at him, my hand clenching into a fist, my sharp nails digging into the flesh of my palm.

"Don't think I won't fight you if you break your promise," I snarled, watching his every move closely, "One wrong move and these nails will slit your throat, got it Evan?"

He tilted his head, "How do you know my name?"

This time, I was the one laughing. Assassinations don't go under investigation in the United States of America, or to me the country that fucked up so badly. Theft was a common occurrence now a days as well as fights, but assassinations were another thing. Everyone began to wonder who these people were who claimed to live in The Hollows, until someone figured out his name, etched in the back of a dead man's body, his own signature. Evan Pierce, the slashed bloody cuts surrounded by purple bruises, a work of his sick creation. This guy was known for being a 'creative killer' as they referred to him as, even though he was never seen by anyone when he did it. All assassins make mistakes, his just may have been one of the more idiotic ones. The number one rule about killing anyone is to not get caught, and if he had kept up his killing spree, he might have. Now, he recruited volunteers to do his sick bidding, some of them lured into The Hollows by the things that they love, such as me.

"Do you think I haven't heard about you guys before?" I asked, "I've seen your name all over the news, Evan Pierce. The press knows all about the assassinations, damn you."

He motioned one of his guards with his hands, leaning to whisper something in his ear. He then handed him a leather bound book that he produced from the pocket of his tattered black skinny jeans, he actually looked a lot like your average day emo boy, eyeliner and all. His black hair was straitened, parted to the left, covering his one eye, making the other glow brighter with the charm of death. His guard nodded as he took the book and hurried off, a look of true fear in his eyes. His family would most likely be killed if he didn't complete the task, so I saw where he was coming from. As he sped off, Evan walked a little closer to me, his grin growing wider as he got closer. I noticed how his teeth were very slightly pointed at the ends, very much like a demon or and evil monster of his creation should have. He raised both of his hands, gesturing around the room.

"Do you like it here, my princess?" he pointed at a room a little off to the left, in a hallway at the end of the throne room, "You're going to sleep there, one room away from mine. I want to keep a close eye on you, Zella Marais. You have the potential to destroy life at your fingertips, you just haven't tried it yet."

I nodded at him, but soon heard a sound I couldn't quite place. It was not a pleasant sound, almost like groaning, or moaning, or...

"Zella!" my little sister cried, "It's me, Abigail!"

My face lit up at the sight of her, and I couldn't resist the urge to run over to her. I crushed her in a hug, but she was unable to hug back, since they had her in chains.

"Abigail!" I let go of her and scanned her for any cuts or bruises, "Are you hurt? Did they do anything to you?"

She shook her little head a sigh of relief escaping my lips. Her sweet rosy cheeks were still stained with tears, the ones she had cried when they took her from my very arms that night. I looked up at Evan, who had a disappointed look on his face.

"Oh no, this won't do at all," he tapped his foot, shaking his head, "Guards, take the girl away. Don't hurt her, send her back home. Bring some of that elixir we made from that fairy's soul we collected, a brew of sleeping, was it? Whatever it is, find it and bring it with you. Set her down in her bed and give a drop to her in a sandwich or something she likes. When she wakes up, she'll think it was all a nightmare."

They nodded as my sister was pried out of my arms, leaving me there on the cold marble floor.

What had I just agreed to?