The rain was hitting the pavement with an intensity that could only be described as deadly. The shadows of the black clouds were only able to be illuminated by the street lamps that scattered the edges of the roads.
No one was supposed to be out. Not at this time. Not in this rain. Yet, not even the rain could extinguish the fiery revenge that she felt; That she tricked him into feeling.
"Are you sure this is what I have to do?" He wiped the rain that dripped down his forehead, his clothes drenched and sticking to his body. He looked up, then, trying to see her in the rain even though she was standing right in front of him.
"Yes baby, don't worry. You're supposed to trust me, remember?" She smiled down at him though it looked more like a nervous grimace.
He shivered in the cold, turning his head to peek out of the alleyway. He didn't know what they were waiting for but he knew to be obedient. He didn't want to disappoint her.
There were a shuffle of steps somewhere in the distance but then again it could merely just be the rain. The gutters were overflowing with the heavy water and he tucked himself back into the confines of the alley, hugging himself for comfort and for warmth. He hated the rain, absolutely hated it.
"Does daddy know where we are? He might get worried?" He looked up again at his mother, squinting to see her properly through the downpour. He saw her huff yet when she turned to him she was smiling. Almost annoyed, yet not quite.
She knelt in front of her twelve year old son, brushing the wet strands of hair from his eyes before pressing something cold into his hands.
"Hush, my boy. I've told you once already that you have no reason to worry." She noticed him glance down at the object she had shoved into his hands and she continued to caress his face, a distraction of sorts. "You remember what your father taught you about how to use one, yes?"
He nodded at her. "Daddy taught me—" he cut himself off with a sneeze, and then a cough. Another reason he hated the rain—He knew that he would have a cold by the time he got back home. And he always hated that.
She nodded. "Good, good. We're going to do a little target range practice, okay?"
He sneezed again. "But I can't see anything, mum."
She shook her head in frustration, struggling to keep her voice void of irritation. "This is a test, darling, that's the whole point." She coughed into her sleeve before she paused in her movements, feeling the vibration of her phone in her back pocket. Standing to her full height, she fished the phone out and answered it, shielding it with her free hand as best she could from the water.
"Is she here?"
The voice on the other end was muffled yet she still could hear the words that she had been waiting for. "You have one minute. Coming from the east. Dark blue coat."
"Thanks, Dan."
"You don't have to do this, Marg. She doesn't even know—"
"Thank you, Dan," she cut him off, hanging up. She glanced to her son, who was curiously looking at the gun she had placed in his palms. Feeling her eyes on him, his eyes met hers again curiously, flicking his hair upwards and out of his eyes. He really wished he had an umbrella.
"Mum, I'm cold," he sneezed again and she turned her back on him with another roll of her eyes briefly before finally hearing it.
Approaching footsteps.
"Come sweetheart." Without waiting for his response she grabbed his wrist and pulled him out of the alley and slightly down the street, west, before ducking behind a parked car.
"Mum—" but she hushed him immediately despite their voices being drowned out by the heavy rain. She ignored the pestering of her son, keeping her eyes trained on the street opposite of them. A single street lamp illuminated where 'X' would mark the spot and her breath hitched when she saw the shadows, hearing the voice that accompanied it. She was quick to maneuver her son, positioning him in a way where he was half shielded by the car so that he'd be able to take the shot.
The shot that determined it all.
"What am I—" another sneeze "—shooting at, mum?" His voice was beginning to get hoarse from the cold but he knew that once this test, whatever it may be, was over, then he would be able to go home.
"It's a moving target," she spoke softly into his ear, honing her senses on the person on the opposite end of the street. "You need to hit the blue moving target."
He sneezed again, shifting the gun in his hands for a more secure grip. "But I can't see anything."
"Focus," she snapped, brushing wet strands of hair from his eyes and turning his face so that his gaze was trained under the streetlamp. "You have only three bullets baby, so focus. Hit the dark blue under the streetlamp. Only the blue." She kept repeating the color, over and over and over again, and he shut one eye, trying to still his shivering hands.
And there it was.
The blue his mother kept going on and on about. Right there, under the streetlamp.
He aimed the gun, stilled the shot as much as he could through the pelting rain. He eased the safety up before gliding his finger over the trigger expertly, like his father had taught him a million times before. One more second, and he could make the shot right in the center—
A second speck of blue, brighter than the first and moving at a much quicker pace, shot out of the dark, and the boy's gun shifted.
The trigger was pulled.
There was a scream.
And then another.
"You fucking idiot!" His mother smacked the back of his head in anger. "You hit the wrong target!"
"I hit the blue like you told me too!" he defended, yet his mother shoved him roughly.
"Hit the dark blue! Do it now!" She yelled, and he re-positioned himself quickly before taking a second shot, successfully hitting the dark blue target his mother had instructed. Another scream ignited yet he didn't think much of it. Most of the targets he used for practice had been designed and programmed to scream. An idea his father implemented to allow him to get used the the sound. He never questioned it.
He turned to his mother as she began to bark more orders. "Use the last one on the dark blue. Do it again!" Her eyes were pinned to the targets, seeing them almost merging together. She knew what was going on yet knew her son was clueless. And with that he took his last aim, one eye closed, the other aimed steadily.
"Stop!" The rain couldn't disguise it. The undeniable sound of someone's voice. In that moment, he stopped, froze mid-pull of the trigger, and he opened both his eyes, squinting to get a better look at what exactly he had been shooting at.
"Stop it, stop it please!" There it was again. The distinct sound of a voice, shouting to him and his mother in the rain.
He heard his mother swear under her breath.
"Mum, what am I shooting at?" he looked up, his eyes no longer squinting through the harsh rain, but wide with the slightest amount of fear.
"Hit the dark blue target." His mother's voice was stone cold as she stared right at the blue in the distance, seeing the dark blue spilling red blood.
"Mum..."
"Shoot now!" his mother yelled, her eyes ablaze as she rummaged through the small bag that she had been carrying, getting ready to run if need be.
"But..." the boy turned his attention to his prey, his voice trailing off. He knew what those targets were now. They weren't targets at all.
They were people.
He was shooting to kill.
"Shoot her!" his mother smacked the back of his head again, frantic.
"Mum I..." he didn't know how to tell her he couldn't do it—that he didn't want to do it.
"Shoot that whore now, Ryder!" his mother yelled, shoving him out from behind the protection of the car and into the middle of the road; A clear shot.
The second target, the one in the electric blue; It was jacket, he now noticed. They were both wearing blue jackets, each of a different shade. The one in dark blue... Ryder could see her better now. She was a mother. A mother to the little girl wearing the brighter blue jacket. Both were soaked in blood yet the little girl didn't care for the bullet that had grazed her shoulder. She was kneeling beside her bleeding mother.
Ryder had stalled. He was shaking, but this time, it wasn't from the cold.
He raised his pale fingertips to shakily wipe the strands of hair from his eyes and forehead, ignoring the cries of the little girl. She looked about his age yet in this moment, seemed much younger than she was.
"Now!" his mother yelled from behind him, and he raised the gun and tried his hardest to steady his hands. He had one bullet left and didn't want to hit the little girl. She was so close to her mother, practically laying on top of her to shield her from the rain and the bullets.
For a moment, through the haze of the rain, their eyes met and his heart stuttered if only for that moment. The electric blue eyes of the girl were a match to her coat, illuminating the night without the need of a streetlamp. He had never seen eyes like that before. So bright and wild and blue. She begged him one last time. One last time not to do it.
Ryder knew that this was his only chance.
"I'm sorry," he breathed to himself.
He pulled the trigger and closed his eyes, listening to the echoing sound of the little girl screaming in agony.
"I'm sorry."
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