Hit List

~chapter 5~

Before it gets better, the darkness gets bigger, the person you would take a bullet for is behind the trigger.
Miss Missing You- Fall Out Boy
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Renée

Bree threw bile up into the greying toilet bowl, lurching forward at an inhumane speed, she expelled an off-yellow, putty-like substance from her mouth. She threw her head back and sang a short, high, "Haaaa!" before grunting low in her throat and and repeating the sequence of events again, crying with laughter. Her head rolled on her shoulders and she grinned stupidly up at Renée.

She was drunk.

Renée wasn't sure what she had been drinking, but the fizzing liquid that had been left in a plastic mug on the coffee table was evidently not apple juice. Renée held Brianna's long, stringy hair out of her face - it was a faded, pastel blue, Bree hadn't gotten round to re-dying it. The whole scene looked a bit pathetic: Brianna, face and hair slick with sweat, collapsed on the floor in a pair of grey sweatpants and a lilac shirt, laughing to herself. Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic. Now it was Renée's turn to laugh. Malice shot out of her mouth like a forked tongue; the laugh was quick and sharp, like a tequila shot, and, in accord with the previous comparison, she regretted it immediately. She exhaled loudly, sitting back against the bathroom wall, staring without seeing, at the mess she'd made, wishing that her tears could wash it all away.

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"So we know a couple of things. We know that her name is Noa Peters. We know that she is most likely female, or at least has a female companion. We know that she has his cellphone. We know that she knows my number. But we don't need to worry about that. We know that she is...dangerous because-" Renée swallowed. Brianna was sprawled on the sofa, rubbing her heavy eyelids and picking at her breakfast on the coffee table. Her mouth was open, making her look confused and tired. Aren't we all.

"Ren I'm sorry." She drawled. She turned to look at Renée, propping her chin up on her palm.

"It's fine." She busied herself by cracking her knuckles. Something her uncle used to do. She thought about this, and stopped. "It's not your fault that.." God, she couldn't even talk about him.

"No. I'm sorry I shouted at you." Brianna patted the place next to her of the sofa. Renée sat. "I was just scared. God, I was terrified. I still am. I forgot what you must be going through. Fear makes us all selfish." She smiled weakly. "But hey, why don't we just kick fear in the balls. It works most of the time."

Renée laughed, a real laugh. "I know. Thank you, and drinking is no way to stick it to your feelings."

Brianna looked down. "That was the first and last time I'm ever drinking that much cheap wine. It won't happen again, sir." Her mouth turned up at one corner, but her eyes were dull.

"Okay. But we've got to work on this now. And clean the apartment. Mom and dad are coming home at the weekend." Renée's parents didn't know about her...activities. They'd walked in on her training sometimes, overheard her talking to her uncle about it. They'd always been able to cover it up, and it had gotten easier as she'd gotten older, but Renée still hated lying to them. They were good people, and she loved them, but they always felt a bit distant, they hadn't understood her young, frantic thoughts. She needed something more than a dull life where your closest family felt like strangers when you needed them most.

Brianna nodded, as if she could hear Renée's thoughts. She sat back on the sofa, and Renée continued.

"What do we know about her location? Well, we know he was in New York last week, it was a weapon dealer he was meeting, Sam Geller? Sonny? Something beginning with S. He was probably around that area at the time, but he could've been in any state around NY. He wouldn't have travelled far from there though, he wouldn't told me otherwise, right?" She hadn't meant it to come out as a question. He was her uncle, she could trust him. You could trust him, then he died on you. Shut up.

Brianna spoke up. "We could get in touch with this guy. Sam, whatever. Do we have any details?"
"No." Renée shook off her internal thoughts. "My uncle didn't want us mixing with him, he was dangerous, he said. He does sell knives illegally." Funny, how they weren't allowed to see this guy, but they came into contact with serial killers on a weekly basis.

A ringing sound interrupted them. It was coming from the shelf. Renée looked at Brianna, who was staring at her hands, and grabbed the phone. It was her phone. Her phone. Her number.

"I'm sorry!" Brianna spluttered. "I know I was supposed to wipe it and destroy it, but I was drunk! I forgot, I didn't know what I was doing! I was drunk!" She was close to tears.

The number was her uncle's. Her uncle wasn't on the end of the line of course. He never would be, ever again. Her hands shook. She glanced up at Bree, who instantly realised what Renée was going to do.

"Don't do it, Ren! You don't know who is on the other end. They could track you down, Renée!" Brianna was shouting, but Renée couldn't hear her. She needed to speak to this girl. The girl who'd murdered her uncle.

She pressed the green button, and the phone gave a long beep.

Her stomach dropped, and she spoke.