The Romanov
The Saint and his Chains.
The Saint and his Chains.
“We forge the chains we wear in life.”- Charles Dickinson.
“Every saint has a past and every sinner has a future.” - Oscar Wilde.
Those words lace down my spine, forever reminding me of what I have done, a Saint far from it, a Sinner in every sense of the word.
If you believe that this is some cookie cutter story; one where I spill my heart and feelings to you like some vomiting hippie, you are sorely mistaken. If you believe this is a story of one which I tell you of my life long journey, coming from the slums and then rising to the top, that is closer than the peace loving hippie.
Though if you must know, everything there is to know about me, you will be disappointed. Because once I tell you, as the old saying goes, then I must kill you.
I laugh at the thought of your face as you are reading this; your eyes are wide, your lips form in disbelief, and your shaking your head. Thinking that she is but joking, that she is only a figment of your imagination. A figment of your impeccable imagination, or am I?
Am I but, a lie? A farce? Told among your kind to keep your children in bed at night, you decide dear reader.
Whether you believe what is plainly written in front of your face or not, is entirely up to you. Just know, grow eyes at the back of your head. Just know, that the dark creatures of the night are not as scary as I. Just know that I am waiting.
Ho! Thou mighty man of valour, what was that sound at your window, was that the tip-tap of my nails, or the trickery of the wind? You will never know, until it is too late, and then I will be gone into the shadows like that of a lurking demon.
I am a ghost. I am the worst of my kind, yet I am the best. Does that not make sense? Can you not follow what your eyes are reading? I am the greatest. I do not fail. I am the only. I am death; in the figure of a beautiful woman. I am life; through death with the quick flick of my wrist. I am all that you fear, and all that you love. I am the farthest from light, yet I walk among you. I am cold, heartless, yet my blood is hot.
I am, that, I am. I am the Romanov.
* * * * *
The chains are cold, the wind hot against my bare back.
'No, not here!' I scream. Not this place of torment, this place of old. This palce where I am thrown back and back again.
I cannot breathe, the cold steel of my past ripping into my flesh, digging into my ribs, I gasp for breath, my skin is crying out for mercy as the steel tightens, burning my sweet flesh.
Images from my past are shoved in my face, pictures of them- them that have passed on from this world. Faces, silent screaming faces are thrown before me, down at my scarred feet. I squeeze my eyes shut, but I can still see them, their gaping mouths open with torment, as I ended them, as I, took away their last breath.
I let out a bloodcurdling scream, as tears stream down my face. 'No, no!' I cry, and the chains fall from me, my naked flesh stinking of death- of them, but I am free.
I breathe deep, the silence deafening. The faces no more, just another notch in the staff of the reaper.
I wake up with a shock, to the blaring noise of my Blackberry going out of its little microchip brain. My first reaction was to chuck it out the window, but then another one would arrive at my door the moment the cellphone hit the pavement.
Oh to the joyous life of being watched.
Rubbing my sleep laden eyes, I catch little glimpses from last nights dream, a little groan escapes my lips.
Will that dream never leave me be? I wonder, tossing the sheets aside I stand up. Stretching my arms above my head, I hear the pleasant noise of my joints cracking and popping.
Blackberry in hand, I read the marked 'Urgent!' message. I smile to myself, my job is never boring, and my boss, he is anything but normal. The message, is about another client, three clients, a whole family.
This should be fun, I haven't had a challenge in quite some time I decide, throwing on a soft wool robe, covering my scantily clad athletic body.
After I finish reading the message, I of course delete it, and like clock work a knock sounds on my apartment door. The pads of my feet are silent upon the hard wood floor, as I inch closer to the door.
I of course know who it is, not because I'm a psychic or anything remotely ignorant like that, but because after every- how do I put this delicately . . . after every meeting with a prestigious client I am informed by my bosses second, if that makes sense, what I do is very confidential, so you'll excuse me when I can't go into specific details with every turn of the page.
Taking my S&W 9mm from the little side table by the front door, a woman in New York can never be too careful, especially with all the crazies in this sick little world. The gun is cocked and loaded and I am ready, my stomach filled with butterflies whenever I hold a powerful weapon in my hands.
The knock sounds again, it sounds impatient, a smile tugs at the corner of my lips. My hand on the doorknob, my trigger finger itchy, I yank the door open surprising my bosses second.
Enter Pierce; my bosses second in command, Pierce is everything a girl could want and more, he's tall, dark and handsome, it's just such a shame that he's cocky as hell and fucking annoying to boot.
“God dammit Rowe!” he cried, knocking the gun away from his face, his foul mouth covered in sugar from the jelly doughnut in his hand. “To think I was going to share this wholesome breakfast of champions with you, well forget that.” he laughed, knocking me out of the door way, though I still held a loaded gun, men.
Before closing the door I gave the hallway a quick once over, satisfied that there weren't any “unwanted guests” skulking around, I locked the door into place.
Turning the safety on, I set the handgun down in its place, my fingers still itching to just give it to Pierce, one day, I sighed.
Flipping my golden red hair over my shoulder, I followed him into the kitchen, where I turned on the coffeepot. Leaning against the white marble counter, I pulled the robe tighter about me, after catching Pierce glance at my abundant chest.
“You do know that after too many of those deep fried heart attacks, I'll be named second, and you'll be going to weight watchers.” I pointed out, in my most bitchiest manor. Loving the way his Adonis face fell flat as he swallowed the last of the doughnut.
“Bitch,” he sneered, wiping his mouth with his suitsleeve. His dark grey eyes were spitting out sparks, little good they did, he didn't scare me, no man did.
We stood there sizing each other up, like we always did, though we have known each other for about five years. We were waiting, always waiting, for the other to screw up, though neither of us ever did, yet.
Jack Pierce, stood tall and brooding, he had something for me, but would he give it to me? No. I would have to arm wrestler it from him, or something along those barbaric lines.
He's the All-American guy, at least that's what his file says. Soft close cropped dirty-blonde hair, piercing dark grey eyes, that reminded me of thunderstorms, which is just like his temper, played football in college, married his college sweetheart, divorced her after he caught her cheating with his college coach, broad strong back, slim waist, gorgeous, blah blah blah.
I guess you could say, that I've been there, done that, bought the tee-shirt and took it back, but that's for another time.
The apartment was quiet, except for the ticking of the living room clock, we stood there locked in a staring contest, blue against grey, who would win?
Crossing my arms, I let myself settle into my autopilot state, it was a state where I looked as if I was aware of everything around me, just chilling as the kids would say, but my mind was elsewhere, it was on that damn nightmare.
That damn nightmare that still played before my eyes, never before have these caused me such restless night, they have never been this bad before, sure with the profession that I fall under you would except that I would suffer but a little when it comes to sleep. I have always thought highly of myself compared to my other colleagues, when they have all griped and complained about such dreams that haunt them, when I have never, until now, had such a nightmare. It boggles my mind, has my conscience finally caught up to my actions? Impossible.
I didn't see Pierce leave his stance against the refrigerator, nor did I see him step closer to me until it was too late, the autopilot state is a dangerous thing. Shaking my head clearing away those God awful images, I came face to face with Pierce.
I gasped, jumping I slammed my lower back into the counter. Bastard snuck up on me, he must be so proud of himself.
His laugh was low and hearty. “Scare ya Rowe?” he asked, his arms like tree trunks barricading me in against the counter.
Man, if looks could kill, Pierce would be dust beneath my toes. I smiled at the thought, one day, I had to keep reminding myself, one day.
I could get out anytime I wanted to, it was that easy. Pierce should learn to never underestimate a woman, never, she has far to many tricks up her sleeves. I let him think that he had me, he was an idiot so it was easy, I will never understand why our boss chose him as his second, men.
He pressed his lean 6'4 frame against my smaller one, someone was sure happy this morning. His dark eyes were set with determination, a hand slipped up and took a strand of my hair, rolling it between his meaty fingers.
“You used to like me Rowe, what the hell happened?” his voice was husky. Geez what brought this on? I wondered. “I'm an ok guy, right?”
I couldn't help but smile, he was so asking for it. Sticking out my chest, I ran my fingers over his chest. Looking intently into his eyes, pouting my plump lips, working it.
“You really want to know?” I asked softly, my robe opening slightly. He nodded his big dumb head, eyes following my breasts as I breathed.
“You got fat.” I pointed out, thumping his flat washboard abs, my voice cold as ice. But it worked, that understatement got him all worked up. Most people think that girls have insecurities about their weight, well let me tell you its mostly the other way around, petty little boys.
His eyes about shot out of his head when I said that, which was pretty funny, considering a man trained as he is should know to never let your emotions get the better of you.
“Bitch!” he yelled, grabbing me by my arms, flipping me around roughly. His fingers fought against my robe as he kept me pinned against the counter, son of a bitch thinks he can do this to me? Hell no!
“Pierce,” I warned, hating the way his rough sweaty fingers trailed up my stomach. “If you don't-” my words were cut off by his other hand coming around and clamping onto my mouth.
Just what I wanted, I then began to S.I.N.G.
Solar plexus. Instep. Nose. Groin.
Pierce went down like a ton of bricks, but he wasn't finished oh no, especially since he was well trained, and angry as hell that a little thing like me bloodied his nose and hurt his pride. Through all his groaning and screaming, he jumped up, blood just pouring from his nose, I had gotten his perfect nose good, too bad I hadn't broke it.
He staggered a bit, then stood on the offensive, he was ready. Blood just pooling onto my nice clean tile floor.
“Pierce-” I began, getting caught off when he swung at me, I blocked his jab with my forearm, dipping under and around him like a world class boxer. He kept swinging, looking like a school yard bully about to topple over, once or twice my tiny fists caught him in the gut.
“Pierce, that's enough.” I growled, dancing around the table, wondering how I could get under there where my other gun was located at.
He swung again, putting all his weight into the punch, I bobbed and weaved but was too slow, the punch catching my right shoulder. I yelped hearing my shoulder crunch from the blow.
Pierce saw his moment, charging he wrapped his massive arms around me slamming me into the refrigerator, I gasped, panicking just a bit when I couldn't catch my breath. Pierce had me just where he wanted me, pinned against refrigerator where I couldn't use my small size to get away. Here he let me have it, laying it on thick his fists pounded into my torso, my ribs were crying out.
Crunch! Crunch! Crunch! They went.
Screaming I pulled my hands together and plowed them into the back of his neck, while my knees jammed into his stomach. He stopped for just a second heaving, his grip on me lessoned, I slid down the cold doors, my feet just barely touching the ground when he grabbed me by my robe and threw me across the room. My bones rattled as I hit the tile floor, skidding right underneath the table.
Like a viper, I grabbed the gun just as he was pulling me out again, I saw the fear in his eyes as I pulled the trigger. Pierce staggered backwards, cupping his left arm, his eyes as big as saucers. He slid down to the floor out for the count, gun still in hand I stood up slowly, feeling like an old lady.
Hobbling over to where he sat against the cabinets, I held the gun against his forehead, mad as a wet hen, there was no reason for this. Men!
“Now,” I huffed, standing over him, I the victor. “Do you want to hand me the manilla folder, or do I have to beat it out of you?” I laughed, looking at his sorry sight. He flew me the bird, rolling my eyes I sighed, using the barrel of my gun I smacked him upside the head.
Pierce. Out.
