Jasmine petal fallen on cigarette ash

Chapter 8

Two weeks after the dinner that had never been mentioned in the script, Major Keyworth carried out his next step. Senator Ledwell issued a command to examine every blacksmith across Albionne. The examiners had the complete authority to arrest the workers at the forges they suspected of being involved in illegal activities. Most forges in Brasshelm had been forced to close down, except for Benedict’s. His forge was untouched. I guessed Major Keyworth wanted to send Benedict a message. After another week, Benedict’s forge was suddenly examined at midnight, and all of his men were arrested. That day, Benedict locked himself in his room. I was frightened that he would harm himself due to his PTSD. He got it from the Civil War five years ago. But he never admitted that there was something wrong in his mind. To him, being haunted by the war was a shame that a true man was never allowed to have.

I knocked on his door every hour to check if he was still alive. Each time, I used a different reason. The first time I asked what he’d like for breakfast, the second time I asked if he’d like some snacks, and so on. I didn’t care if he was annoyed or not, as long as he lived. I kept checking outside his room to hear if there was any sound of broken glasses or vases.

In the afternoon, I pressed my right ear against Benedict’s door slide when it suddenly opened. I lost my balance and fell into his arms. My heart jumped up my throat. I straightened my back, whispered “Sorry”.

“Is there any problem?” Benedict's voice was raspy. He scanned me from head to toe.

That was so embarrassing that I wished I had a deep, deep hole to dig in. I did not dare to look at him.

“I…It’s dinner time. I would like to ask if you’d like to have dinner now? You haven’t eaten anything today.”

“Yes, of course.”

I sneaked a look at him. He seemed fine; there was no injury, no bleeding, and no bruise.

“Are you good? Let’s have dinner. I have something to tell you,” Benedict lowered his head to look at me.

“Oh, yes, let’s get downstairs,” I replied, shaking my head like a puppy angry with the water in his ears and stepping back.

I was satisfied with the table setup I did that evening. The beige and pink tablecloth with lace lay neatly on the table. The peony flowers showed their grace in the shining white and blue porcelain vase. I chose the beige ceramic dinnerware with the colourful patterns of flowers and birds. It might seem tacky, but I thought it could help boost Benedict’s mood.

He stood and looked at me. I made a curtsy and invited him to the table. He smiled gently, then took his seat on the side near the door. I quickly grabbed the mushroom cream spaghetti pot, put it on the table and sat next to him on his right. It was a little dangerous. He was right-handed, he could punch me easily in that direction. I saved a part of the spaghetti for Oi and Mrs. Bette already. I told them to wait in their room. If they heard me scream, they would call the ambulance immediately.

“The spaghetti is very lovely. Thank you,” Benedict said when his eyes fixed on my face.

“Thank you, I’m glad you love it,” I focused on my dish, fixing my eyes on the creamy white spaghetti strain.

“I told you I have something to tell you, right?”

I glanced at him. The spaghetti wiggled along my lips.

“I can show you about the guns today. I’ll call Noah and Jay to take care of your maid and Bette. After the gun class, I need you to help me with some business,” he waited for my response.

I swallowed the spaghetti, “Yes, of course, my pleasure.”

“What the heck, I don’t want to die, but I can’t refuse, either. Both ways lead to death. Oh God, please tell me, what the hell can I do now?” I cried in my head. I was eager to know what business it was, but I understood that the less I knew, the better. I hoped that Benedict would not let me participate in any murdering mission, or any mission that I had to sell my body or risk my tiny life. I wondered if the mission had something to do with Major Keyworth.

After dinner, I replaced my regular bun with a hairpin by the ponytail. I used the cloth from Mrs. Bette’s old clothes as my hair tie. Noah and Jay had been waiting for us in front of the house. Noah was around twenty-something. He had tanned skin and curly black hair. He looked like an actor in an action movie. Very handsome. He would be Oi’s teacher. Jay was around fifty or so. Although his hair was a mix of grey and black, his body was built like a boxer. I guessed he was a boxer, and it turned out that I was right. Benedict and Henry ran an underground boxing ring. It helped the Brass Jackals recruit more men for their outlawed activities.

Benedict drove me to his forge, ten minutes from the house. I could hear the bang sound of the two hard materials smashing into each other from a distance. The sound got louder and louder when we reached the forge. The orangy-red fire granules flickered on and off. Benedict walked me through a big hall with an abundance of metal tools. The hall was drowned in the darkness. The feeble light brightened now and then from the sawmill of some men working on their things on the corners of the hall. I looked around, looking for the origin of the thunderous sound of the iron forging. But I could not find it. The sound echoed all over the hall, giving me the feeling of a monster roaring in the distance, and I knew it was coming, but I could not do anything. My heart pounded along the beat of the metal bounce.

Benedict beamed a glance at me. As if he saw my anxiety, he rubbed my back slightly. I tried to stretch my lips into an ugly smile. I almost warded off his touch, but I thought again. He was my husband. It would be awkward if a woman refused intimacy with her husband.

Benedict led us down an old, run-down stair. Moss grew over the brick walls on the two sides of the stairs; their dark sage colour made the stairs look creepy and haunting. I could smell the moisture in the air.

The end of the stairs led to a giant, sealed basement with tons of wooden trunks. The trunks were stacked on each other, forming a thick frame along the walls, wrapping around the inside space.

“Alright, Noah, put the shooting targets right beside the table. We start at a close range first,” Benedict talked to Noah, pointing toward the light-wooden table before the set of trunks on the right side of the room. Noah did as he was told to.

“Noah, you take care of the little girl. Jay, you’re with Mrs. Bette.”

“Ha, this is the first time I’ve seen such a fragile girl like that learn how to use guns,” Jay laughed, his shoulders vibrated. “You even inspire those women to learn it with you, what a girl.” He emphasized the word “inspire” in a mocking tone.

“Mr. Jay, you are the master. Do you think I can make it?” I asked him softly.

“Huh, I have no f*****g idea. We’ll see,” Jay scratched his head. He looked like a giant dullard. How cute. I smiled at him secretly.

We formed three groups: Benedict and I stood in the middle, Noah and Oi were on our right, and Jay and Mrs. Bette were on our left. The guys pulled the pistols out from their dark blazers in an even manner. Oi, Mrs. Bette, and I exchanged a look. Their lips curled into a little smile, just like me.

“Alright, e-em, you hold the pistol firmly,” Benedict put the pistol into my palm, then curled his fingers around mine. My hand was shaking because of the pistol’s coldness, but Benedict’s hand’s warmth and strength firmed it. My back lay entirely on his rigid chest. His heavy, cigarette-smelling breath caressed every hair on my ear, drowning them in ecstasy. I could even feel his rough but oily skin against my cheekbone. The masculine deodorant, along with the faint smell of sweat and cigarettes, attacked all the nerves in my nose, seizing my brain.

“You focus on only one thing at that moment — your target. Then you shoot, without thinking a second time.” Benedict almost pressed his face against mine. The gun fired, taking a part of my soul away. The bullet tore the air in half, stopping right at the bull’s eye. I released a harsh breath. Sweat covered my face, neck and palm. I gave the pistol to Benedict and rubbed my palms quickly against the front piece of ngũ thân to clean all the sweat. My heart thumped uncontrollably. I tried to gasp as much air as I could, like a stranded fish desperately sucking the moisture in the air.

“Mr. Benedict, let me do it on my own this time. You can give feedback after each shot,” I said in a pant.

“Alright, go ahead,” Benedict gestured his arm for me to do as I suggested.

I gripped the pistol as hard as I could, but the sweat kept pouring, making the handgun slippery. I focused on the bull’s eye. The surroundings got blurry, and all the sounds buzzed. Then, everything paused. I fired the gun. The firing sound shattered the silence glass that had isolated me from the world apart. Things started moving and making sounds again. The bullet reached the outside ring.

“Good. You should put your thumb lower and release your body a little more. Don’t be too tense.” Benedict said, his hand pushed my back forward, sending a chill crawling from my lower back up to my neck.

After seeing that I had improved, Benedict moved the target range further and further away. Oi and Mrs. Bette also made progress. Benedict complimented me on being a quick learner. The “session” lasted until everybody had been too tired to do more. Benedict was more than satisfied with our performance that day, and promised we would have more “sessions” like this until Oi, Mrs. Bette, and I were the gun masters.