Sixteen to One and Counting

One

    Cars rushed down the streets some twenty floors below him as he scanned the city of Cleveland. The evening air was brisk, making Fowler zip up his jacket after a slight shiver ran its way down his spine.The city was unusually quiet for the night. No gunshots. No shouting. Just the steady, soundless of snow.

     Elias Fowler had been in the agency for eight years now. Only known as Fowler to most people, he liked his anonymity. At first it was a dumb thing he started as a kid but now at twenty-four he had just become accustomed to responding to his last name. He's the best in his department, in other words he had the most kills and least amount of mess. Somebody stepping out of line, he was sent to confront them. Someone cross his boss, let's just say he's the last to see them alive.

He wasn't an overly tall man, five foot eight, but his eyes demanded respect. He kept his hair short enough he didn't have to worry about it falling into his line of vision but he refused to have a buzz cut. There was never really a style to it either, it simply did as it wished and Fowler didn't argue. His clothing was not black, in fact he preferred not to wear the typical "hit man" style of clothes and wore his fair share of dress shirts with colored sweaters. He even donned glasses occasionally but usually just wore contacts, they made life so much easier in his line of work. All in all he was a simple man.

     He was currently keeping his eye on a little girl that kept popping up where she didn't belong. For the past nine months she was at every hit Fowler had made. He hadn't noticed at first but then he started seeing her everywhere. A curious photographer "passing by". The supposed neighbor. Even as an eyewitness to a "suicide" plunge. Somehow she knew every step he took before he took it and she was always there. He decided to keep an eye out for her, go after some of the easy targets to draw her out.

     He had just confronted one of the Macintosh brothers and disappeared to the roof for smoke. He didn't make a habit of it. Probably only had a cigarette or two a month. But that girl had him high-strung on more than one level. He had seen her posing as an intern on the fifth floor before he went for his "appointment" with Mr. Macintosh. She raised the coffee she was holding when he finally met her eyes.

     She wanted him to know she was watching. Her gaze pierced his for only seconds but it was enough to know she was trouble. And not the good kind.

     He heard an intake of breath behind him but didn't move. Choosing to appear off guard. But his heart race had increased and uneasiness and the cold had settled into his bones.

     "You know as an agent for Nightingale I'd think you would realize smoking is a nasty habit."

     She appeared next to him, perched on top of the edge he had just been leaning against. She sat Indian style and he realized she had changed from her skirt and collared shirt into a simple but sleek jacket and jeans but had ditched the glasses.

     A snowflake fell and he could have sworn he heard it collide with the cement. He blinked. Once. Twice. "Who-" she cut him off.

     "So Elias, ah sorry you usually go by Fowler while you're working don't you?" The woman didn't even grin at her attempt at a joke. She just sat there with inquiring eyes.

     "Have we met?" He asked a bit irritated this woman knew his name and he hadn't the slightest clue who she could be.

     “You know you've got six wrinkles that form on your forehead after you've been frowning for thirteen and a half seconds?" She plucked the cigarette from his lips and flicked it off the tall building.

    “I what? What's your problem?” Fowler's eyebrow quirked and his face flooded with heat despite the cold. “Do you have any idea how many people I've threatened? Killed?”

     "Whoa, whoa, wait. Are we about to play the "who's killed more people" game? Because trust me, I'll win."

     "Are you kidding me? You're like twelve."

     "Nineteen, good try. I stared at twelve." The young girl winked and sat up straighter, she had her guard up too. Keeping herself prepared for anything.

     "Who are you?"

     "Name's Olivia, if ya believe a strangers word. Oh and I was serious about the smoking thing."

     "A cigarette won't be the reason I die. Why do you care anyway? You keep on showing up everywhere I need to be. You some sort of crazed stalker? Or just a fan-girl?"

     "Oh neither, though it didn't seem like you minded much, considering I've been tailing you, let's see...nine months, a week and four days." Her tone almost made Fowler believe she had done nothing wrong.

    He blinked three times, "And you're not stalking me?" 

     "Nope. You need to loosen up, that includes the cigarettes, lose those."

     "Still stuck on that? Since you've been "not stalking" me for so long you should be able to tell that I rarely smoke."

     "If I was stalking you I would know. I'm not always around you. I do have a life of my own and you are certainly not the center of it.” Her words were calculated like she was always thinking what to say but could retaliate in seconds.

    “Then what's the point with tracking me?”

    “You'll find out soon enough,” she glanced behind Fowler to his left so quickly he almost thought it was a twitch, “In the meantime keep your eyes open. And I'll see you around, it looks like you've got company.”

     He turned the direction her eyes flickered to and sure enough his fellow agent Linda was emerging from the stairwell. She just ran papers for the agency and usually worked at home so she could stay with her family. He babysat for her sometimes and her two daughters, Angela and Macy, had grown so fond of him they donned him "Uncle Eli". He was now glad that Olivia girl had thrown his cigarette off the building, Linda didn't know he smoked from time to time and he was certain she would nag him like...

    The girl! By the time he had whipped around it was already too late. She had seemingly disappeared.

    “What’s got you all worked up?” Linda asked, only receiving a grunt for Fowler's response. She smiled and smacked the back of his head, “Come on I've got some girls to go home to and I need you to fill out some paperwork.”

    “Alright,” he sighed, “I’m babysitting next week right?”

    “Yes sir, and you better be on time, no more of this twenty-minutes-late again. My husband likes to be punctual for date-night.” She laughed and began making her way to the rooftop's door. Fowler followed slowly behind her.

     This Olivia had him bewildered. Nightingale was not a known agency to the public. It wasn't a place for people to play spy. It had it's investigators, its lab nerds, the field agents, and every other person they could possibly need. The agency was a scale. They kept order in the city of Cleveland. Threatening the "bad guys" and shutting down the down and dirty groups. Typically getting a little blood on their hands wasn't a problem. The high ups had deemed "Agent Fowler's judgement and skills incomparable" thus giving him practically free reign over his cases. Fowler was almost certain the agency was just as nervous about crossing him as the Macintosh brothers were of being shut down by Nightingale.

     Who was this woman? Thinking she could prance around challenging Nightingale's best agent and then go off disappearing into the dark. How had she learned his name? Did she know him from his personal life?

     Not possible. He had no family and friends weren't on his bucket list to say the least. He had been schooled at the orphanage he grew up in and had no contact outside of it until he started working for Nightingale. They'd never compromise information on an agent, certainly not one as dangerous as him.

     His mind raced trying to think of a child she may have resembled at the orphanage or perhaps someone who spent time at the coffee shop under his apartment. The coffee shop. The coffee she raised in his direction this afternoon was undoubtedly one of the store's bright orange to-go cups.

     She knew where he lived. Or at least saw him in the coffee shop on occasion as he had to cross the storefront to exit the building. He tried to remember a time he could have seen her long dark hair or intimidating eyes in the shop. But he couldn't. The woman was truly a mystery. Who was she? Who did she work for? Was Olivia even her name? That title seemed too innocent for someone who claimed to have killed.

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     Nightingale was after Fowler.

      She hadn't expected this all to happen so fast. Olivia's father, Joseph Meyer, had taken her under his wing when she had just barely turned twelve teaching her everything he knew about Nightingale and why she could never join them. He had always had his suspicions that the agency had a connection to the murder of her mother.

     Joseph had befriended agent Seymour Klinnger and they had been investigating a serial killer that wiped out a string of sixteen men and possibly her mother as well. He had killed every man the same way, cutting their hands off by the wrists, waiting for them to bleed out. He left no DNA, not even a hair or part of a fingerprint but each man had been found with a dime lying on their forehead. Her father believed that person was an agent at Nightingale and that the entire agency was unknowingly corrupted by this one man. It had been nearly nine years since her mother's death and the murderers last strike. They couldn't be sure because her mother had been pushed from the window of her family's apartment while ten year old Olivia and her father were out shopping. There were signs of a struggle that would have happened before she fell, bruised wrists.

     Last year Joseph had been in a car accident and Olivia had been heartbroken, refusing to find someone to stay with despite her father's pleading in the hospital. She couldn't. People all around her always seemed to end up dead. She wouldn't let someone else move in and endanger them. After her father's passing Olivia couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching her every move in her little home. Of course she assumed the killer may be watching her.

     But somehow Fowler was connected in all of this, because the killer had emerged, warning Olivia of his possible doom. Her suspicions were confirmed that he had been watching her, but it wasn't Olivia alone he had kept his eye on.

    She had received a total of twenty-five notes, each with a menacing threat, had been left in her mailbox. He admitted to being the murderer she was searching for and then explained how Fowler was his next target. He even stated that he was indeed an agent of Nightingale, more so he claimed to be the director. Sometimes the killer even tipped her off where Fowler would be on a mission, the most recent stated very clearly Fowler would be at the Macintosh gala and if she wasn't there to warn him the killer may act.

     Olivia knew she should go to the police with all of this but her dad had trained her for a reason. The cops wouldn't be able to catch this killer and understand him like Olivia would be able to. And right now she needed to keep Fowler safe from the man who had murdered so many others.