No Safe Haven

Recoil

Monuments to the living, built upon the carcasses of the deceased; that's how Rook saw the city of Haven - just like he saw every city he had ever been in. They were all the same; block after block comprised of massive towers of metal and stone. Towers built by the rich - for the rich.  

Some of the towers which made up the skyline in front of Rook were designed and built by Robert Mankins. 

The target, Rook reminded himself as Mankins' name slithered through his thoughts. He's not a name, he's a target. 

Names were problematic. As far as Rook was concerned, when it came down to killing someone, it was easier when you didn't know their name. Thus, he avoided names as often as he could; it made his targets easier to forget. There were times when he wished he'd learned that lesson earlier on in his career... 

In front of Rook, the dark façade of The Jameson Building stood out from amongst the shorter surrounding buildings, as a shepherd would stand out from his flock. The target had not only designed the building, but now lived there as well.  

Seven years ago, construction had started; that was when Robert Mankins - the target, Rook chided himself - made a choice. At the time, the target probably hadn't given too much thought to the true cost of the transaction; the misery that could cascade from a payment and a promise. 

But Karma's a bitch, and the wheel never stops spinning. 

Fully intending to distribute the target's karma himself, Rook had waited here daily, watching for a pattern. One had become evident after only the second day, but he continued his research for a couple more days before he chose this specific time and place. This rarely-used parking structure gave him privacy and a clear view, and this small, rented moving-truck wouldn't draw interest from anyone. As he peered through the scope of his rifle, Rook located the window of The Jameson he would be shooting through.  

It was two blocks away, and three stories higher than he was right now. He would prefer to have been higher - perhaps on the roof of the office building next door - but the relative guarantee of privacy here on the parking structure was to his liking. A glance at the watch he wore on his left wrist verified there was still some time before his target came into view at the window.  

His target's morning routine included eating breakfast at that very window; the same time, every day.  

Outside the truck, light snow began to fall lazily to the ground. 

Little white petals on the wind. 

The thought slammed to the front of Rook's mind, distracting him. The snowflakes brought forth unbidden memories of a past contract, one which had been undertaken nearly seven years ago, in Tokyo; far from where he was now, in Haven. The situation had been quite different as well... 

*****

His target's name had been Maruko Akane Takori, but to her friends she simply went by Mara.  

She seemed full of life as he watched her stroll through the private garden of her father's estate. She smiled at the birds chirping in the cherry trees, and stopped to hold out her hand, as if she were a fairytale princess waiting for them to let her join in their song. The birds flew off, continuing to chirp their melody as they did so, and she continued on her walk. Her footsteps fell so softly that they were nearly silent.  

He made sure to time his steps so they fell as hers did. Quickly and quietly, he approached her from behind. 

His gloved hand clamped over her mouth, which muffled her initial scream of surprise - as well as her much more emphatic scream of terror as she realized she was being attacked. He leaned against her, and under their combined weight, they both fell to their knees. With his chin on her shoulder and his face directly alongside hers, he was forced to take her in all at once.  

Her eyes had widened from the fear, silently pleading for freedom - for mercy.  

He could smell the sweet tang of citrus from the shampoo she used to wash her ebony-black hair. As he brought his blade up to her neck, Mara seemed to realize that she wouldn't escape.  

Quickly, he drew the blade across Mara's neck. Removing his hand from where it had covered her mouth, he backed away from Mara. The knife felt heavy in his hand. As he looked down to it, he caught sight of his own reflection; a broken man stared back through the blood and steel...  

With a flick of his wrist, he discarded the blood-drenched blade. His hand reached into a pouch on his belt and when it came back out, it held a camera. His employer had demanded photographic proof, and that was what he would get.  

Still alive, Mara grasped at her neck with one hand, blood pouring freely between her fingers, only to fall on the cherry blossoms that dusted the ground like a light-pink snow. With her other hand Mara reached out to him, pleading for help from the one who had essentially just taken her life.  

Steadying the camera, he hesitated in taking the picture. Everything Mara was, or would ever be, rushed through him, triggering emotions he had repressed for years. 

She was someone's daughter. She was a sister. She had a boyfriend - would they have someday married? Would they have had children? Perhaps they might have had a daughter of their own...  

All at once, he felt regret, sorrow, anger; feelings he would only expect from the death of a loved one. He choked back his emotions and depressed the button of the camera until he heard the affirmative beep which notified him a picture had been taken. 

*****

A soft beep came from his watch, breaking Rook from the memory. Peering again through the sight, he watched as his target sat down and opened the morning paper, just as he did every day. 

Rook mentally braced himself and took a deep breath in through his nose, then released it slowly through his mouth. Once the breath had almost completely left his body, and his heart slowed for just the briefest of moments, he gave the trigger a gentle squeeze. 

That was it. He was done. He set the rifle in the case behind him and made sure to find the bullet casing which had been ejected when he had fired. Once located, it got thrown into the case as well.  

Hunched-over, he shuffled around the table he had just used for support. Rook stepped out the back of the moving-truck and produced a crunching sound as his feet found the snowflakes which had begun to blanket the ground like white cherry blossoms. 

He preferred contracts like this one. No confrontation, no scents of citrus, no chance to watch the life leave their eyes.  

No emotions. 

Closing the back of the rented truck, he verified that the lock was engaged and headed for the cab, every step bringing yet another satisfying crunch of snow. The engine gave a slight rumble as he engaged the ignition and buckled his seatbelt.  

A miniscule smile came to his lips as he realized that this was it... This contract was the beginning. He had much to do in the next few days, but for today he was done, the contract completed. 

As he shifted the truck into gear, an interview which he had read shortly after Tokyo came to mind. In the interview, a military sniper was questioned about what he felt when he killed someone. 

The sniper thought for a moment, and then answered simply, "Recoil."