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I checked the number multiple times before sending confirmation of completion. My jaw grinds as I compare the number on my computer screen with the one on my phone.
Fucking Andrew. Are you fucking kidding me right now?
Groaning, I massage the bridge of my nose. The numbers match, which only makes me feel marginally better that the fuck up wasn’t mine. It doesn’t matter at the end of the day who’s mistake caused the problem. When the curtains fall, I’ll be the one holding the bloody knife. Again.
Fuck!
I cannot go back to prison. Iwon’t.
Exiting the chat I move to my contacts and select CLDd. Sighing, I delete the contact name.
Each job, I add the number to my phone with the initials of the target. Once I have collected the information I need to fulfill the task, I add a D, showing they’re one step closer to being dead. After I send confirmation, I add the final d, completing the circle.
I don’t delete the contact until payment clears my account, in case I need to track down anyone trying to stiff me.
This particular case, the contact was CLDd translating to Carl Lewis - Dead. As I am now needing to obtain thecorrectnumber, the name is inaccurate.
Focusing my mind, I decide in order to save my sanity, I will treat this like any other job. I type in the new name: WN. Smirking to myself, I close the phone.
Time to get to work.
Chapter 3
Avamarie
“The test will be next week. I encourage you all to take the weekend to prepare.” Mumbled agreements fill the hall as we all begin to pack up our book bags.
I’m more than ready for the weekend. Usually I spend most of my time with my nose in a book, studying to ace my classes.It’s been the same since I was a child, always opting to lose myself in schoolwork to avoid dealing with people because in my experience, they always let you down one way or another. At least you know where you stand with a textbook.
Not this weekend though. No, this time I actually have plans beyond my small apartment.
My phone dings from the small purse I have thrown over my shoulder. After a brief struggle to free my hands, I reach into the purse and pull out my cell, a smile covering my face when I see the name.
Tyler:
So, you coming this weekend?
My cheeks flare as I try to think of something clever to say.
I’ve been borderline obsessed with Tyler Carnage since the second year of our graduate programs. We are both pursuing our Masters of Arts - me in forensic psychology, him in counseling. Due to the nature of our career paths, we have had a few overlapping classes.
Our paths first crossed when we both clambered into Psy 603 after class had begun. It was infatuation at first sight. One look into Tyler’s grey eyes and I was lost, my heart fluttering away even as my lungs seized up.
If I believed in such things, I would swear it was fate that brought us together. The odds of running into each other and connecting so quickly? Well I don’t know what they are but it feels so unlikely. Especially considering I picked my career path at random. Sure the darker side of life always fascinated me but the real reason I pursued the degree was simply to get as far away from my fucked up family as possible. When I found a graduate program accepting applicants in Seattle, I leaped at the chance. Can’t get much farther away from North Carolina as Washington.
I had all but given up hope that we would ever be more than friends, the intense sexual attraction only one way, at least it had been for the last two years. I’m not sure what changed over winter break but Tyler came barreling onto campus with a heat shining behind his eyes I’ve never seen directed at me before.
I reread the text again, holding a hand over my fluttering chest. This could be it. The time we finally move from friends to something more.
Me:
Yup! Can’t wait!
Stuffing my phone back into my purse, I scramble to gather all my school supplies and rush out of the nearly emptied classroom.
Striding toward my car, I spot a familiar head of hair. My stomach churns as the sight reminds me of my impulsive stupidity. Catching my gaze, the girl raises her hand in an awkward wave. I return it with a shrug, the best I can manage with my arms full. I turn to continue my path, ready to get home so I can cram in some of the study time I’m going to miss this weekend.
I only make it a few steps before a quiet voice calls out, “Hey, wait!” Pausing, I look back at the girl now half-sprinting toward me. Forcing a tight smile, I wait for her to cross the distance of the campus park.
