Stockholm Syndrome? ✔

S.S 1

Temptation.

It was something I couldn't resist. Anticipation. Tension. Desire. Heat touched and slid over my skin, reminding me of what I had missed ever since I took on an identity that wasn't mine. Every nerve was being ignited, I was aware of every rise of my chest as I drew in air. My muscles were tense, longing for a release, demanding I release the most primal part of myself.

As I sat in my 2016 Audi R8, I found myself gripped by yearning that was pure and strong. It was July and the sun was beating on me hard. I enjoyed the heat; it was a change of scene I had longed for for a while. It was about time.

Felix.

It's what my mother named me, what she called me. What she had called me. I was her pride and joy, her only child. I was the miracle, the baby she thought she would never hold in her arms. I came too late because even I couldn't save her.

I pressed the power button for the high-end music player in the car and smiled as "Serve the servants" by Nirvana came on. I closed my eyes for a few seconds, just listening to the guitar riffs. It drowned out the sound of the car's engine which was idling at the spotlight.

That was until I heard the sound of an equally impressive engine on my left. I turned my head slightly and met with a Porsche Carrera GT. The driver nodded. I nodded back, accepting the challenge with no moment's hesitation. I couldn't ignore my primal urges. I had something to celebrate and winning a drag race would give me the satisfaction.

I shifted the sunglasses I was wearing slightly and the driver of the other car revved his engine in response. I gave him a slight smile and put the car into first gear, easing the clutch as I floored the gas pedal. I felt the car's back-end jerk as the back tires spun against hot asphalt.

A split second before the light turned green, I released the brakes and the Audi shot forward in a cloud of white smoke and burning rubber. I could not fight the temptation.

*

A few hours later I eased the Audi into the garage and parked. I stayed in the car as sounds of a guitar finally drowned out. I switched off the running engine and was greeted by silence. Leaning back on my seat, I exhaled actively.

I thought back to moments before the drag race that had ended in a speeding ticket for the other driver and victory for me.

For a month I had been someone else. Jeremy Welsh was a conservative guy who worked as a personal assistant; blond haired, blue eyed and the clumsiest person alive. He owned an apartment, didn't smoke, didn't drink and pretty much had no social life. He was an identity constructed for a mission. The mission was accomplished. Jeremy was dead.

Jeremy wasn't the only person that died. Jeremy's boss died too. He had a heart attack. He supposedly had a heart attack. Only Jeremy knew what had really happened to Mr. James Harvey, and Jeremy was dead.

I reached over to the passenger seat of the car and grabbed a blond wig. It wasn't supposed to be in the car. It was supposed to be somewhere along the path I had chosen to make my getaway. But due to my excursion, I had forgotten all about it.

For a second I thought it might come in handy in future missions, until I remembered that James Harvey was the last mission. He was the last contract.

I finally made my way out of the car and into the house. I set new alarms and disabled some, checked the property surveillance footage and made sure the property was secure.

Taking off my jacket, I poured myself a glass of scotch and relaxed on one of the couches in the living area. Taking a sip, I switched the TV on and turned down the volume. I didn't bother checking the house for any signs of intruders considering that I had been away for almost a month. Everything was as I had left it, the place looked untouched. It was a misplaced jacket short of a display house. Everything was in place. The mansion was posh, something not quite like me. Everything was opulent and clean-cut, subtle yet drew your eyes to it. It was the work of an interior designer I'd been all too happy to throw money at.