Polaroïd

Death

Deep amber eyes interrogated warm chocolate, seemingly asking if it could be the case again. And if their lovemaking was an indication, it might very well be. They knew nothing of each other... yet. Could this ancient love be rekindled ?

— "Is this why you didn't kill me ?"

The young woman shifted with a wince, bruised ribs protesting, and lay her head down upon his belly as she dragged the sheets upon her chest.

— "Partly."

— "And the other part ?"

She sighed.

— "I want this life to end."

There were no explanations needed to understand her meaning. She, too, was sick of killing. Whatever her past and the reasons that he brought her in this business, she had passed her point of no return.

— "So do I", he affirmed. "What is your name ?"

— "My real one ?"

Duncan nodded, wondering is she would be amenable to reveal it.

— "Frances. Can I call you Tristan ?"

— "Not now. Once this is all over, I will be Tristan again"

And he didn't tell her how badly he wanted her to be his again, nor what he planned for the future for he wasn't quite sure he would survive to see another day.

— "I was sent to kill you"

— "I gathered that. Didn't make such a good job, right ?"

He was taunting her, and she knew it.

— "Well I found you. And I had plenty of clean shots for the three past days, but I couldn't. I am drawn to you, as if I you were my other half"

Duncan pursed his lips, her declaration sinking in a he thought of those unwanted feeling that had flooded him while he defended himself against her. His other half, eh ?

— "Who sent you ?", he eventually asked.

— "Your boss. Damoclès, through Vivian"

Duncan swore in his mother tongue, calling a smile to Frances' lips.

— "What happened ?", she asked.

The lines of his face seemed to grow deeper, ten years of self-loathing and anguish sinking upon his shoulders. Unshed tears shone in his eyes, and the usually collected killer didn't feel ashamed to show her how vulnerable he could be. The heart was still there, buried under traumas and regrets. Slowly, as if the words weighted a ton in his mouth, he started recounting his story"

— "I screwed up. Or they screwed up, the intel was wrong. I shot at the driver, then inside... But when the door opened..."

Duncan shut his eyes, swallowing uneasily. The memory was so blunt, so bright in his memory. There was nothing he could do to relieve his conscience. The dread was still there whenever he thought of it. The arm that slid out of the open backdoor, the pregnant woman's body, strewn on the floor, holding her belly. The little boy's open eyes, gazing at the sky. And hers... the child's stare, burning, terrified, watching his face as he held her at gunpoint.

— "I killed an entire family, except for this girl. I cannot forget her eyes, I will never forget it."

Sensing his pain, Frances could only hug him within an inch of his life. His hands circled her tightly, his chest shaking unevenly as he swallowed the pain. The heartless killer, undone by the horrified gaze of a child he had orphaned.

Many hours passed, without any of them moving from the bed.

It was weird, how Trist... Duncan seemed to fit in her life so easily. As if he had always been there. As if she'd found him anew, and they were now a complete entity. She trusted him to watch her back, even as she lay, naked, her legs intertwined with the sheets. And she knew she'd battle death for him, her heart beating in synch with this man she barely knew. It was the same tingle that had stilled her hand whenever she wanted to pull the trigger. At last, they both fell asleep, exhausted by the emotional rollercoster and the exertion of their fight... and the substantial physical activity that came afterwards.

Duncan started awake when Frances stirred, surprised that he'd slept so soundly.

— "What now?", he said.

— "Dinner ?"

Her teasing reply called a smirk to his lips. Yes. Food would be in order, but not only. They needed to plan their escape.

— "How about Damoclès ?"

The hitman watched Frances as she became Shadow once more, the lines of her face tensing, the light in her eyes becoming more fierce.

— "I think you should die... figuratively"

Duncan tensed instantly, but refrained from chocking the like out of the woman that still laid upon his chest.

— "What did you have in mind ?", his smooth voice said, betraying nothing of the turmoil inside.

— "I'll send them a picture, we need to make this convincing. We'll use the money from the contract and disappear. I am not affiliated to any company, they'll never find me. As for you..."

— "I'll be dead"

Dead, all his money gone, and all his belongings left behind. Anything that had been Duncan Vizla left to rot, forgotten to the world. The sum of his whole career... Perhaps it was better this way, to leave Duncan behind and become Tristan again. To start something new, away from the mess of his life, away from killing.

And while pizza was delivered at Duncan's little cabin, Frances remained hidden in the bathroom; she couldn't afford to be seen. With her long fiery hair, she was way too recognizable. The planning was hard work; moving money to other accounts, considering a change of looks, getting out of town without Duncan being recognized, getting in touch with numerical professionals to create a picture realistic enough for his own death...

The day after, Shadow called Vivian, as if in pain. She made a good show of being wounded, her breath short, sharp winces uttered as she moved, limping, to show Duncan's body to the dreaded Damoclès. He lay, sprawled upon the floor of his own cabin, fake blood pooling around his head. The conversation was short enough; pretending to be hurt and yelling curses had the expected effect. Vivian didn't ask for details. Duncan Vizla was dead.

The money was transferred during the day, and by the next morning, Frances had cut and died her hair blond. Tristan shaved his whiskers, and cut his hair so short he was barely recognizable. There. They were ready. No one, in Twin Oaks, though twice about the car that left town with a tall man folded in the trunk. As for the body... nothing was left behind. The cabin burnt for a long time before any fireman showed up.