THE MAN I WAS SENT TO KILL

THE MAN I WAS SENT TO KILL By Aj. Busayo CHAPTER ONE: THE BOY BENEATH THE TREE MARY’S POV The first time I met Bennett Vlod, I was seven years old, wearing a white dress that cost more than the monthly salary of our gardener. I hated that dress. It had tiny pearl buttons down the back, lace around the sleeves, and a ribbon tied neatly at my waist. My mother had insisted I wear it before she left me at my grandfather’s house that morning. “Mary Cross, please behave yourself,” she had said, kneeling in front of me. She smoothed my hair away from my face and kissed my forehead. “Grandpa has agreed to keep you here while your father and I attend to some important business in the city. I don’t want to hear that you’ve been causing trouble.” “I don’t cause trouble, Mummy.” She raised an eyebrow. “Not much trouble,” I corrected. She laughed, and for a moment, I forgot that she was leaving. My parents were wealthy people. My father owned several businesses, while my mother was involved in the family’s charitable foundation. They had everything money could buy, but their work often took them away from home. My grandparents’ estate was peaceful, spacious, and far from the noise of the city. It was where I would stay whenever their business demanded more of their time. I loved my grandfather’s house, but I hated being left behind. “I’ll be back before you know it,” Mummy promised. She always said that. Sometimes, I believed her. Other times, I counted the days. That morning, I watched her black car disappear through the tall iron gates before turning toward the garden. If my mother expected me to spend the day behaving like a little princess, she clearly didn’t understand her daughter. I kicked off my shoes. Then I ran. The garden behind my grandfather’s mansion was my kingdom. There were flowering bushes, stone pathways, a little fountain, and an enormous old tree standing near the far end of the property. Its branches spread wide enough to shelter a small house, and its roots rose above the earth like the fingers of a sleeping giant. My grandfather called it the oldest tree on the estate. I called it mine. I reached it, climbed onto one of its thick roots, and sat with my knees drawn against my chest. For several minutes, I pretended I wasn’t lonely. Then I heard a noise. A rustle came from the other side of the tree. I turned sharply. “Who’s there?” Silence. I narrowed my eyes. “If you’re a thief, my grandfather has dogs.” There was another rustle, followed by a boy stumbling into view. He wore a navy-blue shirt, beige shorts, and expensive-looking shoes covered in dirt. His dark hair was untidy, and a small scratch marked his left knee. He looked about my age. He also looked extremely annoyed. “Your dogs aren’t going to eat me,” he said. I stared at him. “How do you know?” “Because I haven’t seen any.” “They’re hiding.” He glanced around. “Then they’re terrible dogs.” I gasped. Nobody insulted my grandfather’s dogs. “Who are you?” “Bennett.” “Bennett what?” “Vlod.” I waited. He waited too. “That’s all?” I demanded. He frowned. “What else do you want?” “Your full name.” “Why?” “So I know who I’m talking to.” He folded his arms. “You ask too many questions.” “And you talk too much.” For a moment, we simply stared at each other. Then he smiled. It wasn’t a big smile. Just a small, crooked one that appeared as if he hadn’t intended to let it escape. I didn’t smile back. Not immediately. “I’m Mary Cross,” I announced. “Okay, Mary Cross.” “You’re supposed to say it’s nice to meet me.” “Is it nice to meet you?” I blinked. He laughed. I decided, right then, that I didn’t like him. Not even a little. “Go away,” I told him. Instead, he sat on the opposite side of the tree. “This is a public tree.” “It’s in my grandfather’s garden.” “Then it’s your grandfather’s tree.” “Exactly.” “So it belongs to your grandfather, not you.” I opened my mouth, then closed it. I hated him even more. He picked up a small fallen twig and began drawing lines in the dirt. “What are you doing?” I asked before I could stop myself. “Building a house.” “With a stick?” “Would you prefer a mansion?” I looked at the tiny square he’d drawn. “That doesn’t look like a house.” “It’s the beginning of one.” I leaned forward despite myself. “Your house doesn’t have a door.” He added one. “Happy?” “No. It needs windows.” He drew two windows. “And a garden,” I added. He looked up at me. “Are you helping me build it or insulting my work?” “Both.” He laughed again. And that was how it began. Not with a grand introduction or a promise of forever. Not with fireworks or the kind of magical moment people wrote about in books. It began with a boy who thought he could draw a house with a stick and a girl who couldn’t resist telling him how to do it properly. By lunchtime, we had built an entire imaginary village in the dirt. There was a mansion for me, a smaller house for him, a school, a hospital, and a shop that sold unlimited sweets. Bennett insisted that he should own the shop. I insisted that I should own all the sweets. We argued for ten minutes before deciding that the shop would belong to both of us. It was our first agreement. It would not be our last. ⸻ By the third day, Bennett had become a regular visitor to my kingdom. His father had business dealings with my grandfather, and Bennett had accompanied his family to the estate for a short stay. The adults spent hours talking about investments, properties, and things that made my eyes glaze over. Bennett and I preferred more important matters. Like whether I could climb higher than him. Or whether he could run faster than I could. Or whether a caterpillar would survive if we named it King George. “Why King George?” Bennett asked as we crouched beside a leaf. “Because he looks royal.” “He looks like a worm.” “Then you’re jealous because he has a kingdom.” Bennett shook his head, but he didn’t argue. We named the caterpillar King George. Unfortunately, King George disappeared before dinner. Bennett blamed me. I blamed the birds. We didn’t speak for nearly six minutes. Then he offered me half of his chocolate bar, and our friendship survived. On the fourth afternoon, I found him sitting beneath the tree with his elbows resting on his knees. He wasn’t drawing anything. He wasn’t teasing me. He wasn’t even smiling. I sat beside him. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing.” “Liar.” He looked at me. “You’re always calling people liars.” “Only when they’re lying.” He pulled at a loose thread on his shorts. “My father says we’re leaving soon.” I felt something unpleasant twist inside my stomach. “When?” “Tomorrow, maybe.” I stared at the ground. “Oh.” He glanced at me. “That’s all you’re going to say?” “What do you want me to say?” “I don’t know.” “Then why are you asking?” He sighed, looking so much like the adults who annoyed me that I almost laughed. Almost. “Will you forget me?” he asked. The question surprised me. I turned toward him. “Why would I forget you?” “People forget things.” “I’m not people.” He stared at me for a moment before a small smile touched his face. “You’re definitely something.” I pushed his shoulder. He pushed mine back. But the question stayed with me. That night, I lay in bed thinking about it. My parents were always leaving. Friends came and went. Even the people who worked in my grandfather’s house changed sometimes, and nobody explained where they had gone. I didn’t like things that disappeared. I didn’t want Bennett to disappear. So, the following morning, I made a decision. A very serious decision. One that I believed would solve everything. I was going to make him promise never to forget me. ⸻ I found him beside the tree after breakfast. He was kicking a small stone along the pathway, looking as if he had been waiting for me. “Come here,” I ordered. He raised an eyebrow. “Good morning to you too, Princess.” “Don’t call me that.” “Good morning, Your Majesty.” “Bennett!” He laughed and followed me to the tree. I climbed onto the thickest root and stood with my hands on my hips. “We need a secret.” He looked suspicious. “What kind of secret?” “Our secret.” “That’s not very helpful.” I ignored him. “We need something that belongs only to us. Something nobody else knows.” He considered this. “A secret handshake?” “Everybody has those.” “A secret language?” “Too difficult.” “A secret tree?” I looked at the enormous tree behind us. Then I looked at him. For the first time that morning, neither of us laughed. “A secret place,” I whispered. Bennett followed my gaze. “Here?” “Here.” He stepped closer to the trunk, touching the rough bark with his fingertips. “What are we going to do with it?” I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I was seven. I believed that if you wanted something badly enough, you could simply decide it would happen. “We’ll come back here when we’re older,” I said. “And we’ll remember everything.” “Everything?” “Everything.” He held out his little finger. “Promise?” I hooked mine around his. “Promise.” Then Bennett did something unexpected. He began humming a tune. It was a simple melody, only a few notes, but he repeated it until I could follow along. I joined him, making up silly words about a boy and a girl who lived in a kingdom nobody else could find. We sang it twice. Then three times. By the fourth time, we were laughing so hard that we could barely finish. “This is our song,” Bennett declared. “Our secret song,” I corrected. He nodded solemnly. “Our secret song.”