The Assassin's Love

1.

Living in a world of greys and trying to see in black and white is near impossible. Everything is a mix of the two. Every good deed has a seed of selfishness, every murder has an intention of something better to come, every single thing done on this earth is made of the blacks and the whites. And yet people think they can sort themselves into good or bad. 

Some might be darker or lighter shades of grey, but in the end, there is no such thing as pure good and evil. So how can we be sorted into an afterlife, of pure good and evil, when we ourselves are too complex for such a thing? 

You simply cannot be anything but grey without changing the essence of humanity.

✁ - - - - - - - - - -

*Two months ago*

“This is the highest paying assignment you’re ever going to get, five hundred thousand. And if you refuse, you’re fired, and you die. You know how this works.” 

I glared at the blank, white mask in front of me. “This is ridiculous! Associating with the target beforehand? For a month? That’s a recipe for disaster! And a girl? No. No way.” 

“Miss Graves, you’re one of the best workers we have. It would be a real shame if something were to happen to you.” 

I stepped closer, getting right in his face. “What, you think I’ve never been threatened before? I’ve never fought for my life? Ask the bodybuilder who could’ve snapped my neck with ease how it went, or the ex-navy seal who’s instincts are more tuned than any other human being, or the zealous self-defense teacher. Ask any of them how they like their shallow graves.” 

Cold metal pressed against my stomach and there was a click. “What,” I said, “You think I’ve never been held at gunpoint before?” Even so, my heart hammered faster in my chest. 

“Your decision?” 

“What was it, six hundred thousand?” 

“Five hundred thousand.” 

“Six hundred thousand,” I repeated, louder. 

There was a moment of silence in which I wished I could read his expression. “Six.” He nodded curtly. “Here’s the information. Burn it as usual.” 

I took the papers he held out and walked away, inwardly raging. This was the stupidest thing ever. Seriously? Talk to and hang out with the subject for at least two weeks? Then kill them? What was he getting at here? 

I slid into the seat of my car and scanned the papers. Aya Ashe, 16, no job, address, blah blah blah. Why did they even want a sixteen-year-old girl dead, to begin with? 

As I drove off towards the given address, I began thinking… Why would he ask me to interact beforehand? Only one reason came to mind. 

He wants me gone. 

✁ - - - - - - - - - -

I pulled up across the road from the house; a small, cozy building not that different from mine. Same white color, vines crawling up the front, and sleepy vibe that wouldn’t make you suspect either a killer or victim to reside there. The only difference was the door was red instead of blue. 

I watched for another moment, deliberating my next move. I had to set up a meeting that would result in my fake friendship, but what was the best way? Go to a hang-out she frequented, think up a ruse that’d get me into the house, or bump into her when she was going somewhere? 

Eventually, I just drove away, heading home. My emotions were getting ahead of me, and that was no way to go about a mission. That would only complicate my impending disaster. What I had to do was regroup, make a plan, and make sure I couldn’t be connected to this upcoming murder in any way. 

Once at home, I went through the window into my room to avoid interaction with my family. I loved my mom and brother to death, but now wasn’t the time to talk to them. Compartmentalization. 

I looked over the file, not gaining much more information than I already knew. She was an only child, both parents, went to high school online, and didn’t do much. I stuffed the folder into my pile of other folders, none of which had been burned, and switched to my computer. After a bit of searching, I came up with Aya’s social media accounts and began skimming. Mostly a collection of memes and quotes. 

An hour later, and I looked down at my plan detailed in a notebook. If all went well, no one would ever know I’d ever associated with her but her ghost. 

Now all I had to do was a little stalking, get a dog, and improve my singing a little.