Odd Couple 12

By xxxevilgrinxxx | Published: November 25, 2008

Hunger wakes me , I haven’t eaten since last night, and I didn’t eat much then. You snore softly, curled on your side. I can’t help but wonder if you’ve ever slept so soundly, your life being what it is. I can’t bear to wake you.

The small bag I carried has dark clothes, as much tools of the trade as any of the weapons also in the bag.You’re asleep on my bra, so I’ll have to do without.

Nothing decent to eat, some protein bars, standard for travel, taste like cardboard. The coffee is good though.

I sit, across from you, and take out the files again. The ones of McDermott’s house. I’m sure he doesn’t know I have them, and would be extremely concerned if he found out. Fan them out on the floor in front of me, my regular practice before a kill, getting into the head of the target. It’s what’s made me so successful at what I do.

It’s hard to concentrate on the house, the security system, the surveillance.

I wonder if you know how beautiful you are. Your face, your body, in sleep, is eased of it’s air of menace, it’s ruthlessness. Your mouth, which I know already to be softer than it looks, eases into a sensual, rather than cruel, line. A fan of dark lashes. With goggles, it’s impossible to see so much of your face, your intelligence, your incredibly beautiful quicksilver eyes. Without them, asleep, your face is almost gentle, a thought that surprises me, that I should think it at all.

Then again, the fact that you’re a cold blooded, ruthless killer doesn’t faze me in the least. Maybe I’m free to look at you differently. I can’t help but wonder if anyone else has ever bothered to look at you that way, or if they saw the killer first, and judged from there.

My coffee grows cold while I watch you. It almost seems a surprise to me, that I have sat so long, watching you sleep. I drink the last of it, cold, and try to pay attention to the files.

The house is large, looks like two levels, above ground anyway. Something about McDermott tells me the man would be fond of underground rooms. I get an image of a medieval torture chamber, some crazy lab, and can’t help but smile at the thought. It would go well with the image he has of himself. Always in dark suits. Talks in what I’m sure he believes is a menacing, slow tone of voice. He seeks to intimidate, but his body is soft, he would require anyone he wished to intimidate to be restrained. This means guards, likely cells of some sort. He would seek absolute control.

I write notes, in a quick , clear hand, in the margin, as these thoughts come into my head. You never know when a stray thought might lead to something else. Also, I intend to pass the notes, and files, to Riddick. Get his take on it. The man has broken out of enough prisons, it only stands to reason he may have some insight into breaking into what’s sure to be one as well.

I get up for more coffee. I can hear your breathing change, as you wake. Pour another cup before realizing I have no idea what you take in it. I sit on the edge of the berth, and hope you like it black.

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