Amara.

Gwendolyn walked down the scanty sidewalk, a depleting cup of warm coffee in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other. It was like any other evening- the air was cool and the breeze scattered dead leaves onto the street. She tossed her cup into a trash bin nearby and took a long drag, watching a group of high school kids as they walked past. Their laughter rang into the air, the sound sickly sweet and it gave her a headache. There was a time she envied their innocence. Born to a mother that endured an abusive relationship until her death, Gwendolyn was stripped of her childhood from an early age. Thinking back, how she had wished to live a normal life, go to school, get a job. Now, as she watched the neighbourhood children grow into young adults, she wondered if she would have been happy either way. Life was okay for some, shitty for most. If she'd had the opportunity to make her own choices, would her life have turned out a bit different?

"Gwen!"

Gwendolyn was pulled from her thoughts and she glanced up. Her neighbour Remy jogged up to her, a smile stretched on her face. Gwendolyn rolled her eyes, inwardly of course, and forced a smile on her lips.

"Remy."

"Great weather isn't it?" Remy sounded out of breath, but Gwendolyn did not care to ask if she was alright. She began walking toward her home, and Remy fell into step beside her. Her neighbourhood was a rather quiet one. As she walked, she gave flat smiles to faces she could not recognize, and said her hellos to the ones she did. Gwendolyn had spent most of her twenty year retirement in this neighbourhood. It was a safe neighbourhood of small families and elderly couples, easy for her to blend in as a single mother.

"So the wives are having a bake off this weekend." Remy rambled, but Gwendolyn found it hard to pay her any mind. Remy was a typical housewife- she had never worked a day in her life. After living twenty two years on daddy's paycheck, she lived thirty on her husbands'. Gwendolyn found it hard to relate to her or any of the wives in the neighbourhood. They'd all lived easy lives as far as she could see, and it made Gwendolyn uncomfortable.

"...over to the house. You wouldn't mind, would you?"

"Hmm." Gwendolyn slowed her steps as she reached her yard. She turned to Remy and crossed her arms on her chest, waiting for the woman to speak.

"The bake off Gwen!," Remy chuckled and nudged Gwendolyn, as she wondered why her friend was not as excited as she was!

"The wives want your famous cornbread recipe."

"Mom!" Ronnie called out to his mother from across the street. Remy looked apologetic as she pulled out her phone.

"I've got to go, but check the group chat! I'll put all the information down for you!"

She ran off to her son, leaving Gwendolyn on the steps perplexed. If they wanted the recipe, why couldn't she just hand it to them? Why did she have to go over and make it for them? Gwendolyn shuddered at the thought of spending her weekend surrounded by the wives. She took a final drag of her cigarette and chucked it to the ground, then walked up the steps into her home.

"I'm back." She called out as she entered the house. Her daughter, who'd been busy in the kitchen, popped her head around the corner to welcome her mother.

"I'm making stew. Would you like to eat some right now?"

"No." Gwendolyn walked into the kitchen and planted a kiss on her daughter's temple. "Good evening Tammy."

"Were you smoking again?" Tamara took a whiff of her mother before the woman could pull away and frowned. Gwendolyn shook her head, her eyes widened in innocence.

"I would never!"

"I've got to head over to the countryside this weekend." Tamara ignored her mother as she stirred the stew. She worked as an investigative journalist for the local newspaper, and spent most of her nights away from home. Last week, she'd visited the nunnery to cover the story of a child that had mysteriously gone missing.

"I'm making enough to last you until I get back."

"What is it this week? A serial butchering farmer?"

"Ew, mom." Tamara scrunched her nose at the thought. She'd grown used to her mother's uninhibited vocabulary. It did not shock her, but grossed her out.

"I hope not!"

Gwendolyn's laughter echoed through the halls as she walked up to her room. She pulled the sweat soaked clothes from her body and tossed them into the laundry basket. Walking into the bathroom, she splashed some water on her face and stared at her body in the mirror.

Broken. Damaged.

Gwendolyn hissed and climbed into the shower. If she'd truly been given the authority to make her own choices as a child, would her life be the same? Or different? Gwendolyn had not the confidence to be sure. With a sigh, she closed her eyes, allowing the hot water to melt away the thoughts full of regret and resentment.

***

By the time Gwendolyn climbed out of the shower, her daughter Tamara had left for work. There was a note pinned to the refrigerator, asking Gwendolyn to turn the heat off the stew. After doing so, she walked out onto the balcony and lit another cigarette. The sun had begun to set, and she watched the people on the street exchange stories about their day. They all looked naive to Gwendolyn, ignorant of the world surrounding them, but they were happy and she envied that.

From birth, Gwendolyn had been neglected by her mother. She was an unwanted baby- a stain and constant reminder of the horrors her mother had experienced. Growing up in an environment where she had to make sure not to breathe too loud, as to not to set off her drunkard of a father, Gwendolyn was used to keeping her thoughts to herself. She figured things out on her own, and did not rely on the help of others. Being completely independent on herself was something she had always been proud of, but it was nice to rely on her daughter now. Although Gwendolyn had Tamara in the same way she came into this world, she had made a promise to herself and to her daughter, that the girl would never experience the things she did. She would shield her as much as she could from the harsh realities of the world. If the child could remain dim to her mother's past, how blessed would that be? Bliss, after all, was rooted in ignorance.

As she took another drag of her cigarette, she heard the faint sound of a bell, a sound she was all too familiar with, and it triggered her defence. Like an allergic reaction, she glanced up and noticed the drone. The camera on it beeped with a red light, and she knew she was being watched. How did they find her? Gwendolyn had been so careful- she'd made sure to erase any physical or digital footprints. As she watched the drone descend onto her balcony, she hissed and put out the cigarette. The drone carried a sealed brown box that dangled like a man's neck on a rope. Gwendolyn reached out, a bit hesitant to touch it, and removed the wire attaching the box- once it was free, the drone took flight in a haste and disappeared into the darkness of the sky. Irritated, Gwendolyn trudged into her room, the box tucked under her arm, and opened her nightstand. From it, she pulled a burner cell and hit the speed dial.

"What the fuck Leon?!" Gwendolyn bellowed into the phone once the receiver picked up. "Please explain to me why the fuck I just received a mission package? It's been twenty years since I retired! Twenty years asshole!"

"Amara?"

"Do not call me that." Gwendolyn hissed into the phone. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Using her fingers to massage her temples, her mind raced with profanities she suppressed. She raised the phone back to her ear.

“Wait, what package? What are you talking about? I didn't send a package." Leon said into the phone. Gwendolyn froze, her breathing hitched as she replayed Leon's words. He didn't send the package? That was the last thing she had expected to hear. For the first time in thirty years, a strong feeling of fear crept up the back of Gwendolyn's neck, like someone trailing their fingers with the intent to grab her throat. In that instance, she was thrust back into her helpless ten year old self. Her fear, not rooted in the package itself but it's unknown sender, threatened to cripple her.

'He's found you.' Gwendolyn heard a voice whisper in her ear and she spun around, but there was no one there. It'd been so long- had he never stopped searching for her?

"Amara?" Gwendolyn heard Leon call out for her and with shaky hands, she raised the phone to her ear. "Amara!"

"Leon. If you didn't send me the package, who did?"

"How the fuck am I supposed to know that?" Leon's bewilderment caused Gwendolyn to hiss.

Click.

She tossed the phone onto her bed after hanging up, and stared at the package in silence. She’d revealed herself to the agency, and it made her feel like an idiot.

'Open it.'

"I'm opening it now." Gwendolyn muttered in annoyance. Why was Amara suddenly so active in voicing her opinions? Gwendolyn had spent the last two decades suppressing her killer instinct. Her mind raced with the possibilities of the package's sender, and a feeling of dread that once she opened it, the peaceful life she lived with her daughter would never be the same.

There was no going back now.

Hesitant, she cut open the box and peered inside. The first thing she saw was a picture.

A picture of a man she was all too familiar with.

'We should've killed him.'

Gwendolyn was scared. She stared at the picture, her memories rushing forth. Amara was right- she should have killed him when she had the chance. She should have plunged the knife deep into his heart and twisted it to make sure he was dead. Why had she hesitated? If she had gotten rid of him then, a lot of tragedies could have been avoided.

Her best friend Lily would be alive.

Gwendolyn set the picture down and picked up the usb, her hands shaking as she examined it with care. It looked ordinary, so she plugged it into her laptop. There was a singular folder in it containing coordinates, the target's schedule and the mission plan. Who would send Amara a mission if it wasn't Leon, her handler? Did the bastard really catch up to her? Even if that was the case, why a mission package? If he knew where she was, why wouldn't he just show up in person? Something didn't feel right.

As much as Gwendolyn wanted to kill the man, she wasn't stupid.

'Fucking Reginald Hastings.'

Gwendolyn picked up the picture again and stared at him. Reginald Hastings was the biggest druglord in the country. He was a ruthless and brutal bastard to be feared. His company had recently gone public- To accomplish such a feat, this meant that he now had the government's support and a tremendous amount of wealthy backers. Not only was he a man of pure evil, he was her daughter Tamara's father. If he’d found out Tamara existed, what would he-

"Mom?"

Gwendolyn glanced up in shock and pulled her blanket over the box and it's contents. Her daughter walked into the room, her phone in her hand and briefcase in the other.

"Tamara!" Gwendolyn's smile was weak as she stood, and Tamara could not help but to raise her brow. Her mother sometimes acted strange, so this wasn't at all surprising.

"Are you alright?"

Gwendolyn smiled at her daughter and nodded. It would all be okay- Reginald did not know of Tamara’s existence. Gwendolyn did not mind being found, but she had to keep Tamara safe. She needed to ensure that her child stayed oblivious of who her father was.

'She doesn’t know?'

Gwendolyn closed her eyes and took a deep breath, desperate to shut Amara up. She walked toward her daughter and placed a reassuring hand on the girl's arm. Then she shook her head and smiled.

"I'm perfect. I thought you left for work?"

Tamara could hear the strain in her mother's voice, but she was late to catch the train and decided to confront her mother about it on her return. She nodded and hurried into her room.

"I forgot the interview letter." Tamara came out of the room with a bunch of papers in her hand and glanced up at her mother, who looked as though she'd tucked her tail between her legs.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine! Hurry along now or you're going to be late!" Gwendolyn ushered her daughter to the door. With a kiss goodbye, the girl disappeared down the street. Gwendolyn sighed and rushed back to her room.

"Tamara will never know who that bastard of a man is." She hissed to herself as she picked up the picture.

"He has no right to be her father."

Gwendolyn wasn't stupid. There was a chance that this was a trap. She had no plans to follow through with the sender's agenda, but she was curious as to who the sender was and how they'd found her. She lowered herself onto the bed and pulled the voice recorder out of the box. Once she pressed the play button, her eyes widened in shock.

"Mara!"

The voice belonged to Lily, her best friend.

Lily was supposed to be dead. Gwendolyn saw her lifeless body in the morgue! She went to her friend's funeral! It had been more than twenty years, had Lily been alive this whole time? Unable to hold herself, the tears began to pour and her throat choked up.

"Mara, I need your help."

Lily was alive? Where had she been all this time? Why was she only revealing herself now? What the actual fuck was happening?

"Mara! Mara, I need your help."

Gwendolyn replayed the voice recorder multiple times, unable to accept the reality of the situation. A person that had been dead for twenty years suddenly coming back to life? It was so preposterous, Gwendolyn couldn't believe it. Did Lily send her this package? Lily was one of two people to ever witness Gwendolyn receive a mission package. If she didn't take on this mission, would something happen to Lily? Dread weighed on her pit like an anchor, pulling her beneath the ground. If Lily truly was alive and in need of Gwendolyn's help, she couldn't let Lilian die a second death. Realizing that she hadn't a moment to lose, Gwendolyn dug into her closet and pulled out a suitcase.

This suitcase held her past life and all it's memories. She never thought the day would come when the contents of this suitcase saw the light of day but here she was, unravelling pandora's box with her very hands. Inside the suitcase was a pistol, rifle and M24 complete with all the necessary bullets. In addition to her guns, it held wireless communication devices, monitoring cameras, a few daggers and different colours of wigs. There were also passports, identity cards and wads of cash. She grabbed the burner cell from the floor and stuffed it into the suitcase with her laptop, as well as a few of her clothes and a second pair of shoes. Pulling out her cell, she sent her daughter a quick text.

"Hello sweetheart! I'll be heading to a resort down south with a few girls from my reading club. It slipped my mind and I completely forgot to mention it, but I'll be back in a week. The stew was lovely, thank you. I love you."

Then she turned off her cell and placed it in her nightstand. She dragged the suitcase to the front door, pulled her hood over her head and stared at the empty house.

It had been twenty years. The moment she stepped out of the door, she would no longer be Gwendolyn Carter. After twenty peaceful years, the lethal assassin Amara begged to rear her head once again. Amara, the brutal and merciless silent killer. She never thought she would go back to being a killer, but the thought excited her. Amara had always enjoyed the feeling of taking out her targets. Although she would never admit it, it gave her a rush no drug could ever. It was for this reason that Gwendolyn had spent the last two decades burying Amara deep within her. Two personalities living in one body- Amara was desperate to come out. It had been too long. Once again, Gwendolyn would release her hold and allow Amara to take control.

It drove Amara to ecstasy.

With a grin, she opened the door and dragged the suitcase with her.

"Amara."

Lily stood on the steps, her eyes hazy and body trembling. Her breathing was ragged as though she’d run a marathon, and Amara recognized the stains of blood smeared across the chest of her white t-shirt.

Then Lily passed out.