A dark fog rolled in all around Seattle, and Esmereldah hid in the shadows, waiting, watching, as aher mark strolled down the street. Her red hair blew in the wind, making it hard to see her mark. His name was Mark Widows. As funny as that was. Mark was her mark. Esmereldah laughed, and she realized how hollow, how empty her laugh really was.
“Who’s there?” Mark asked as he looked around. Esmereldah breathed in, realizing she may have just alerted him to her position. Eventually, Mark gave up; probably thinking it was just the wind. He began to whistle. That was Esmereldah’s cue. She pulled out the little gun from her jacket pocket. She fidgeted with the silencer, making it slide onto the barrel of the gun. She took aim, and when Mark’s back was turned, Esmereldah pulled the trigger. As expected, he dropped to the ground, his blood leaking all over the ground.
After assessing that no one was around, she took three steps out of the shadows, and looked around. The six-foot-seven man lived in an old apartment building. Esmereldah, in all of her curiosity, bent over, and inspected the body. His dark green eyes were wide open, in happiness. Why, Esmereldah had no idea. She never got background information on her marks. Her job was just supposed to be to get in, get the job done, and get out, as quickly as possible. Although, now and again, she liked to have a bit of fun.
Esmereldah’s employer was one of the members very high up in the ‘gang society’ in Seattle. They had sent her out before, killing lawyers, police officers, and even children. But, a hit woman never felt remorse, so killing children had been easy for Esmereldah. So, to have her fun, she carefully removed a long, thin-bladed knife from her pocket. Esmereldah got down on her knees, and cautiously sliced open his shirt. Well, I hope the police get the message Esmereldah thought to herself as she began cutting. Neat slices, was the key to leaving anything in the human body. The wounds did not bleed, and for that Esmereldah was thankful. Whether it was the fact that he was dead, or the fact that most of his blood had leaked over the ground from her gunshot, she was unsure.
Esmereldah stepped back, to admire her handy work, and smiled. There, in squared off letters, was her employers message; WE WARNED YOU! Beside it, Esmereldah had cut her symbol over his heart. A rose, a red rose, sat carved in this man’s flesh. A single drop of blood rolled from the wound, and rolled down, over his chest, and off the side of his body, leaving a line that closely resembled a stem. Esmereldah smiled, then, after checking no one had seen her, she retreated into the shadows of the alley. Someone would find him in the morning.
Then, she heard a scream. Or maybe sooner. She was just relieved that she was out of the alley, before the scream occurred. That way, who ever screamed, didn’t see her.
“Now, to return home,” Esmereldah muttered, her voice low, but high, and solid, yet hollow, all at once. Wandering into your apartment building at three am wasn’t the smartest idea. So, Esmereldah went to the back of her building, and climbed the fire escape. Any first time person, who tried to climb it, would more than likely fail. It took a lot of work, and upper body strength to climb that bitch. Esmereldah heaved herself up, one bar at a time, until she reached the glass door, which would take her inside, to her nice warm bed. Even hit women have homes, right?
Asleep on the couch, was Esmereldah’s roommate, Ashley. Both hit women, both out for work tonight. Esmereldah was glad that she had Ashley. Last time Esmereldah did a hit, the police almost caught her. Almost. Esmereldah had scrambled to her level, up the fire escape, and barely got into her bed before the police were at her door. Ashley, who had been home all day painting, covered for her. When they moved in together, they had already found out that they were both ‘guns for hire’ and both painters. So, they concocted a cover story if either one needed an alibi.
