The First Page

I eagerly watched as L stood and moved to the front of the room. She walked with slow, steady steps, a look of contemplation and perhaps even hesitation on her face. While I understood the reasoning behind both expressions, it was not at all what was swirling like a storm inside of me. I was beyond excited, gleeful even. L approached C and held out her hand. C silently placed the little black notebook in her outstretched hand, and L returned to her seat. I was next. As I made my way towards C, I struggled to keep a dignified pace. C smirked as she handed me my notebook, as if she knew I couldn’t wait to start. After I returned to my seat, C looked at us both. “Congratulations. You have six months to complete your notebooks. Good luck.”

While five of us had entered the program at the same time, only L and I remained. The rest had proven too weak to survive this path. L and I were anything but weak. Our reasonings for joining the program differed greatly; hers, a sense of duty and honor. She approached the program like a sacred burden that she must carry. I, however, had less noble intentions. There was only one reason I entered this building three years ago- revenge.

L and I exited the building that had been our home throughout the program, shook hands, and went our separate ways. It was unlikely that I would see her again, though she had been as close as a sister during our training. I headed quickly to my car and clicked open the trunk. Once I was assured all of my supplies were there, I took off for my first assignment.

The apartment was sparsely furnished, but clean. I wanted to throw my things to the ground and immediately open my notebook, but my training instilled better discipline in me than that. Organizing and securing my supplies would have to come first. I brought my bags into the bedroom and quickly unpacked my clothes, placing them in the single dresser against the wall. I then crossed the room to the closet door and, opening it and stepping inside, gently pressed the back panel, revealing a compartment to a hidden safe. After entering the code, I stored my more “sensitive” supplies, shut the safe, and re-secured the closet panel. A quick glance at the security monitors ensured that the cameras were functioning properly and the system was active. It was finally time to open my notebook and find out my first assignment. I sat down at the small dining table and quickly opened the black cover. The first page contained a name, birthdate, and address. Below that, a picture of a man, obviously taken without his knowledge. I closed the notebook and tucked it into the inside pocket of my leather jacket and zipped it up. Grabbing my keys, I headed back to my car to see if “Quinten Jordan” was home.

The neighborhood was definitely upper middle class. Fortunately, it was located only about a mile from the park with sidewalks that spiraled out in all directions. I parked on one of the busy side streets and started to take a leisurely stroll along the path. As I walked by the address I had memorized, I noted a silver Mercedes parked in the driveway. I committed the license plate tag to memory and continued on my way. After completing a lap around the park, I made my way back to my car to head home. The real work would begin tomorrow.

For the next three days, I shadowed Quinten’s every move. While he maintained the veneer of an upstanding citizen, the longer I followed him, the more cracks showed up in his façade. Leaning in a little too close while greeting his secretary, taking a nip from the bottle in his bottom drawer when he thought no one was looking, grabbing the waitress at lunch. However, his digital trail revealed an even more deviant disposition. An avid gambler with a long streak of bad luck, he had maxed out his credit cards and had ran up debts he couldn’t even begin to climb out from under. Even his Mercedes was behind on payments, most likely in the process of being repossessed. His desperation had led to him cheating not only his clients, but also his employer, skimming from his sales and falsifying his reports. But nothing compared to the monster that he unleashed when he was home.

Elaina Jordan’s medical records told a story I was all too familiar with. She had broken her arm in a fender bender that was never mentioned in any police report or insurance claim. She had a concussion, cut lip, and black eye after tripping over a rake while gardening. A nasty fall down the stairs ended in three broken ribs and a sprained wrist. All within the last two years, shortly after marrying Quinten. My anger flared while reviewing the files. I was sure that these were not the only injuries Elaina had experienced over the past two years, only the ones that warranted immediate medical attention. I closed my eyes as the memories flashed across my mind and threatened to overtake me. I gritted my teeth; I was no longer that person. I vowed I never would be again.

I entered his office shortly before the cleaning crew showed up for the evening. The building’s security was minimal, nothing more than a key and a generic passcode shared by the entire office. I silently made my way down the hall and slipped into his personal office. As I was opening his bottom drawer, my phone vibrated with an alert. I pulled up the streaming footage from the camera I had placed inside Quinten’s house just in time to see him throw Elaina across the room. My instincts were screaming at me to race to his house and show him what it was like to hit someone who would fight back. C’s words rang in my ears, “no intervention, no emotions. Do your job and move on.” I pulled out the bottle of amber liquid and poured in the contents of the small vial from my pocket. After I had finished assessing my mark, I knew this would be the most efficient way to complete my assignment. But I knew it was much better than he deserved. In a perfect world, his death would take days. It would be slow and painful, give me a chance to practice all the different skills I acquired over the course of three years. Despite years of training, I still struggled with this aspect of my job. C always warned me my inability to control my emotions would get me killed. In my line of business, I thought it would be the one thing that kept me sane.

I placed the bottle back in the drawer and walked out of the office. I headed out the door as if I owned the place, not trying to hide in the shadows. A common rookie mistake was dressing in all black and sneaking about. That garnered suspicion. But a woman dressed in business attire exiting an office building like she did it every day? Nothing memorable. Something forgotten in a moment. I made it back to my apartment and fell asleep, comforted by the thought that one sip out of that bottle would finish the job.

The next afternoon, while sitting at the café across from Quinten’s office building nursing a latte, an ambulance made its way into the parking lot. The EMTs unloaded their gurney and, showing no signs of an emergency, made their way into the building. Ten minutes later, they reemerged, their load carefully covered in a sheet. I threw a twenty on the table and headed to my car. I had one final stop to make.

***

I entered my house, feeling surreal. My husband was dead. Drank himself to an early grave. I wasn’t sure if I wasn’t a horrible person. I should feel devastated; at least a modicum of grief. But all I felt was relief. Quinten had been my first and only love. He was sweet and charming and promised me the world. However, the dream ended and the nightmare began shortly after we were married. Angry words turned into hard fists. I wasn’t sure what I would do next, what I could do. The house was in his name, everything was. I know I had rights since we were married, but from the paperwork I had found last night, it was apparent that not only was there no money, but we were on the verge of losing the house and the car. I had no job as he would not allow me to work. He had isolated me from everyone. I felt the tendrils of a panic attack licking at my chest when I noticed a manila envelope on the dining room table. It definitely was not there before I went to the morgue to identify Quinten’s body. My hands shook as I picked it up and carefully lifted the flap. Inside, I found a tightly wrapped bundle of hundred-dollar bills. Flabbergasted, I removed the band and counted out $20,000. I looked in the envelope again and found a single sheet of paper with a simple message:

“Time for a fresh start. Enjoy. -M”

***

I watched as Elaina left the house carrying a single suitcase. She didn’t even bother with the Mercedes in the driveway, opting instead to take an Uber to her future. Returning to my apartment, I pulled out my little black notebook from my jacket pocket and tore out the pages dedicated to Quinten. Using my zippo to set them on fire, I watched as the pages blackened and turned to ash in the flame. I couldn’t help as a smile curved my lips; I opened the notebook to see my next assignment.