23 - Back

Achilles Grimoire stepped out of the Washington Dulles airport and caught a taxi to his father's apartment. Given his prolonged absence, all that would be waiting for him there were dust, and maybe a few spiders. Being back in the mild climate of D.C. was a welcome change. Returning to school, not so much. After all, it wasn't academics that made him good at what he did. The incentive in his bank account tipped the scales in favour of him coming back, at least for a while, and with no promises of staying. Nobody cared anyway, as long as there was money to make everything right.

Well, almost everything.

Reaching the apartment, he left his luggage lying in the hallway and headed for the living room. Dust flew as he threw the dust cover off his favourite couch and crashed on it. He opened his wallet and pulled out a photo, the small version of the one he had in the folder he'd received from his employer.

He had spent the past days looking at that photo. Every free moment was spent with it, in an attempt to figure out what it was that was so wrong with it.

'Your girlfriend, son?' the old man who had sat next to him on the plane had asked. Caught off guard and without a cover story at hand, Achilles only managed a nod.

'She's very pretty,' he continued. 'What's her name?'

'Jubilee,' he replied, not understanding what it was that the old man was finding so 'pretty' about the teenager in the photo.

'You seem to miss her very much,' said the old man. Achilles stared, startled, unsure of how to respond. 'Don't give me that look,' said the old man with a knowing smile, 'it's all over your face when you look at her photograph. How long has it been since you last saw her?'

'Forever,' he replied earnestly, wondering what it was that the old man had seen on his face.

Since that conversation, every time he'd tried to fall asleep, he saw her face tattooed on the back of his eyelids. He tried to visualise completing the job - the feel of the pistol in his hand, the squeeze on the trigger- her eyes. Her unnatural eyes. He imagined her stare as he pointed the gun at her, then her blank, lifeless gaze.

For the first time, he felt he couldn't do his job.

He'd have to shoot her from the back, he decided. Cowardly as it was, it was either that, or giving up on the assignment.

'What's wrong with me?' he sighed, letting the photo drop on his chest. She wasn't his first kill, and she wasn't going to be his last. Jubilee Hall, 17 years old. How could a stupid teenage girl he'd never seen before cause him so much grief? How would he react when he'd see her? How was he going to pull the trigger, when just looking at her photo made him feel so uneasy?

'I hate you, Jubilee Hall,' he said, tossing the photo on the coffee table.