Spoiler! :
My name is Ellamenope Chandler. I'm twenty-two and I enjoy old things, reading, walking and socializing. I have a few good friends, some close relatives and a crush on some guy who's probably never going to ask me out. For the most part, I'm a normal girl. I'm pretty short, I listen to a lot of popular music and try to make a living at my job. My job is, in essence, to kill people if the need arises. Granted, it doesn't arise terribly often, so I work most times as an antiques appraiser.
The other day I had a very strange dream that I was burning. As with most dreams, I don't quite recall the beginning. All I remember is that I was at a church, a woman was laughing at me and I started burning.
Then I woke up in a strange bed. It was very early and I wasn't sure how I'd gotten there. The night before had been a little wild, I assumed, and I might have gotten drunk and been taken advantage of. I lay in bed for a little while considering this prospect. It didn't seem terribly likely since I can fight people off even when I'm drunk.
I recalled last summer when one of my friends tried to set me up with some guy at a New Years party. Delia is fond of throwing parties at her enormous mansion, and she abhors the term "dinner party," so she has seasonal parties whenever she's in the mood. I got there a little late, since work hadn't wanted to die and insisted on spinning some yarn about all the money he had stashed in Idaho under a grain silo. I hate when assignments do that. I told him the farmers would find the money, then I slit his throat.
So I was late and I had a bit of blood on my favorite dress so I was very self-conscious when I walked in the door and Delia said, "Hey, Ella! Glad you could come! There's this guy you have to meet. His name is Michael and he and you have a lot in common!"
I said, "I doubt it." and Cara said, "He's really handsome."
What followed was probably quite awkward for Michael. Delia pointed him out to me and I immediately thought of a toad. The guy wasn't overweight, but his face closely resembled a toad. I wondered if Cara was on drugs. And Delia. They both probably got high, threw a party and invited this sickly fellow.
I had just sat down and Michael spilled his wine all down the front of my dress. He apologized profusely and I became a good deal less self-conscious of the huge bloodstain he'd probably washed out.
We started talking and I discovered many things about Michael. All I remember is I felt very cold during the entire conversation, probably due to the wine, and he was damn boring.
I excused myself and wandered in Delia's garden for awhile. I'm never good at parties since I don't ever tell anyone about myself. I've tried lying, but it always leaves a sour taste in my mouth and hardly ever has collaboration.
There was a light breeze and I was just about to go in where it was warmer when I noticed my friend Jim, lying drunk in a fountain. He was face-up and breathing, so I considered leaving him there, but he noticed me and said, "Hey Ella."
I nodded at him. "Hey Jim."
Fireworks started going off at the house and everyone started screaming, "Happy new year!"
"Would you give me a kiss, Ella?"
"It's not really January first, Jim."
"Yeah, I know, but that's the closest I'm getting to getting laid." He got out of the fountain and water poured off him in torrents. He looked a mess.
"That's true." I came a little closer and surveyed his rumpled tuxedo, his black eye and the blood still coursing down his face from his nose. "But I'm still not going to kiss you, Jim. You're drunk. What happened?"
He shrugged, then his shoulders started shaking and he collapsed into a sobbing heap on the ground.
I knelt beside him and waited for him to finish. I'm not used to comforting people, so I just waited until his sobs subsided and asked again what had happened.
"I'm a failure." he said, "My little brother is dying and it's my fault."
"You're not a failure, Jim, there was nothing you could do." I said, automatically.
He must've sensed that I wasn't being sincere. He looked up at me and I could see the guilt mixing with the water on his entire body. He had once looked respectable, had a nice car and a job. Then he went to that bank one day with his little brother, Rich. It had been his brother's birthday, so he was opening a savings account. Rich was blithely chatting up the attractive teller and Jim was reading about stock options when someone decided to rob the bank.
A gun went off, everyone hit the floor and three guys in masks started making demands. Jim only remembered being scared. He was tied up along with Rich and everyone else in the bank.
Things didn't go as planned. One of the bank tellers had set off the alarm and, before the bank robbers could actually get any money, the police arrived. One of the robbers picked up Rich and threatened to shoot him if anyone came in.
Rich, dissatisfied with being implicated in nefarious deeds, kicked the guy hard in the leg and tried to run away.
The man stumbled a bit and brought up his shotgun. He fired three times and Rich got the full blast from each shot before he'd made it even a few feet.
He survived, but only just. He had lots of internal bleeding, several failing organs and he was in a coma. The doctors were doubtful that he'd last very long.
Jim kept crying and I continued feeling uncomfortable. What are you supposed to do in situations like that?
After lying in bed for a little while, I sighed and got up. There weren't many things in the room aside from the bed and a dresser. I opened the dresser and found that it was empty. The door was unlocked, so I went out in the hallway and down the stairs.
The downstairs was painted red all over. It resembled a loft or something artsy. The floor was cement and the ceiling looked like it belonged in a mine shaft. A small lamp hung from a rafter and illuminated that there were three doors to go through. I chose one of them and it led me to an enormous amphitheater. I went through a door there and found myself in something like a log cabin. I went through a myriad of doors and they all were connected to different styles of rooms. None of the rooms had any people in them, but they were all furnished with at least two pieces of furniture. I started getting worried when I tried to go back to a room I had just been in and found that it had changed.
I paused in the threshold and tried to memorize the details of this new room, then I turned to the room I had just been in and turned back to the room I was going into. Sure enough, it had changed. It had changed so much the threshold had moved and I was in the middle of the floor. This new room had a staircase and I was itching to see what was behind the door at the top, but I decided I'd turn on the television instead.
There was a good deal of static for awhile, but finally I got a clear picture. it was some weird cartoon with explosions and bunnies and an Escher painting. The painting reminded me of the stairs, so I checked to make sure they were still there. They weren't. The room had changed again and was a good deal smaller.
I sighed and went through the nearest door. I was getting tired of all the rooms. I wanted to get out of this strange place, but if none of the doors actually led outside, I had the feeling I would never be free.
The place must've sensed that I needed a rest, since all the rooms I was going through were full of beds. There were cots, twin beds, bunk beds, four-posters, king-sized beds, chaise lounges, sofas, etc. I felt uneasy about lying down on a bed in a house like this; I hadn't seen any people, but that didn't mean there weren't any.
Then, finally, I found some stairs. They weren't obvious and it's amazing I actually noticed them. I was in an old school building during that point and I had been staring at the walls. They looked familiar, but I couldn't place where I'd seen them before.
I leaned against one wall and closed my eyes for a little while. I had been doing this a lot lately, taking little micronaps, and I'd become quite adept at taking them standing up.
This time, unfortunately, my legs weren't locked, so I collapsed on the floor. I got up, using the wall as support, and noticed my hand was bleeding from some glass on the floor. There was a smear on the wall from where I'd put my hand and, as I watched, my blood became multicolored.
I laughed at it and, hearing my voice break the silence, wondered if I was just going insane. I felt oddly more comfortable with that than the concept that I was really in a house that changed itself at a whim.
I turned away from the wall and walked along the hall a little way, then I noticed some stairs and started down. At the landing, I tripped and fell. I tried to grab onto the railing, but something pulled me down. I fell down the stairs, then I kept falling.
I saw rooms as I fell, some that I'd been in, some I hadn't and all of them going by too quickly for me to catch. I was just wondering when I would hit the ground, if ever, when I heard someone's voice saying, "NO!"
This was startling, to say the least, and I thought I ought to know who was speaking. However, I had no idea.
I would've been concerned, but I often forget what people sound like. And I was insane anyway, so it didn't matter.
Jim's brother died after about a week in the hospital. I was in another state at the time, but I made it to the funeral. I kept wondering why I'd come, even after. I'd only met Rich once and Jim wasn't that good of a friend. I wasn't related, I wasn't involved, none of Jim's other friends showed up, and I didn't know anyone else in the family. I kept expecting someone to ask me who I was or why I was there.
I considered that probably the main reason I was there was that Jim hadn't wrecked any of my property. He'd managed to wreck everyone else's property, but he'd never been in my apartment, so I never had any trouble with him.
I realized that I wasn't like all my friends. People tell you you're special or unique, but I realized that all my friends have something of intrinsic value to offer to the friendship. Delia is rich and has a mansion, Cara is the proprietor in a bar, Jim has a fantastic game room, Marcie has a library full of cool books, Amanda has a swimming pool, Morgan has a garage full of vintage cars and what do I have? I'm single, so they all foist jerkwads on me when I come over.
Nobody knew what I did for a living. Not really. I made enough money to get by and purchase weapons. I didn't want to show anyone my stash of weapons because someone was going to wonder why I had a wall full of assault rifles and a wall full of knives and enough ammunition to fuel an uprising.
I wanted to be normal, for once. I wanted to be able to tell people I work as an antiques appraiser without having to explain away why I don't own many antiques.
My reverie was broken by the old lady next to me leaning over and saying, "What's wrong dear?"
For a moment, I forgot that the most obvious thing that could be wrong was that we were at a funeral. I said, "Nobody knows me."
She nodded, "You don't want people to know you."
I stared at her, "What? Of course I want people to know me. Why wouldn't I?"
"If people knew you, you wouldn't have any secrets. You'd become boring, uninteresting and dull. I'm old enough I don't have any secrets anymore. Everyone knows when I have indigestion, everyone knows what I look like naked, everyone knows what I like to eat, they try to manipulate me and I do what they tell me to do because I can't fight it. Believe me, you don't want people to know you."
At that point I recalled that we were at a funeral. "Why did you ask what was wrong?"
"You're a twenty-year-old-girl crying at a seven-year-old-boy's funeral. You aren't pretty enough to be a babysitter, you didn't greet anyone when you came in and I highly doubt Richard had any sort of sexual lifestyle, so I'm guessing you just came because you're having a personal crisis."
I sighed. I hate it when people know more about me than I do. "You're right, I don't even like Jim that much. I just thought..." I trailed off, not actually sure what I had been thinking.
"Life isn't permanent. You get shoved in, told that you need to win, then you get thrown to the dogs and, years later when you've ultimately failed, you die and become soap."
I hadn't been expecting the soap. I laughed. The laugh sounded incredibly loud in the dour silence of the funeral home. Some people looked up, but not very many.
"Soap?" I whispered.
"Embalming fluids. They turn your body to soap. It's really nasty. I'm getting cremated so I don't end up in some bathroom soap dispenser some day getting rubbed all over people's hands and washing out into the sewers. What do you want done with your body when you die?"
"I don't know, I never thought of it before."
"I think you're gonna burn."
I was wrenched from memory when I hit the ground. My body felt like it was being crushed and I cried out in pain. I could feel cold, dirty ground under my fingers as I writhed in agony and tried to crawl away from my twisted form.
After a few minutes, the pain subsided a little and I became slightly aware of my surroundings. My eyes were half-closed, so I couldn't see much, but I noticed that someone was on me, holding me down. I spoke the first thing that came to mind. "Jeremy?"
"I actually can't talk right now, Ella. I'm busy trying to keep you from killing me."
"Oh, OK." The sound of his voice was mildly reassuring, and I felt a good deal happier to cope with the pain. I closed my eyes all the way and waited for awhile, then a thought occurred to me, "I actually don't want to kill you, so why do you think I do?"
"Well, it's not you per se...it's the demon inside you."
That made lots of sense, so I waited for awhile before asking, "Is it gone yet?"
"Do you have any feeling in your body at all?"
"No, actually I don't. I guess that means it's still there, huh?"
"Yep. Hang on, it's making you turn red again."
I passed out at that point. I started dreaming I was in a tunnel. There was a table running through the tunnel and a man was setting up chairs on either side of it. I asked if I could help and he said, "Yes, if you want. There's chairs in that supply closet there. Just bring 'em out, set 'em down close enough together that you can fit a lot in, but not so close you can't pull 'em out to sit down."
I nodded and set to work. After a few chairs, I asked what all the chairs were for.
"Oh, we're gonna have a really big potluck dinner in here, so we have to have enough chairs to accommodate all the guests."
"How many guests are there?"
He looked down the end of the tunnel that already had chairs set up, which stretched off in the distance farther than I could see, then he looked off in the other direction at the unfinished area, which stretched off into the distance farther than I could see also. "Well, lemme tell ya. I've got that whole rest of the table to fill, so we're gonna have a lot of guests."
"You don't know how many exactly?"
"Well, we sent the invitation out awhile ago, but not everyone's RSVPed yet. Are you coming?"
"I haven't received an invitation yet. Maybe it got lost in the mail."
"Oh, we don't just send it by mail, we broadcast it everywhere."
"Then I haven't seen it."
"You been busy?"
"Kinda."
He shrugged, "You'll see it eventually. I just hope it's not too late for you to come; you seem like a real nice girl."
I blushed, "You really don't know me."
"I do know you, Ella. I know everything about you."
I was about to ask how he knew my name and why he thought he knew me, but before I could I woke up.
The first thing I noticed was Jeremy was leaning over me. Second thing was I was naked. I instinctively punched Jeremy in the face and covered my boobs.
While Jeremy lurched around in pain, I looked around for an exit. We were outside under an awning, and I was lying on some folded blankets. There was a little girl watching me from a safe distance and I briefly wondered who she was.
I grabbed a blanket and covered myself with it. I felt cold.
Jeremy's nose was gushing blood and he was whimpering softly. Since I had had a crush on him for about three years, I stood by cautiously and waited to see if he had a good explanation for this whole situation.
For awhile, all Jeremy could say was, "Ow, ow, ow, ow." But eventually that subsided and he said, "What's my name?"
I flinched. Something about those words felt raw and tender. "Your name is Jeremy."
He threw a wadded up piece of paper at me and said, "Read that aloud, please."
The paper was blank. "It's blank." I said.
"Oh, wrong paper. Here, read that." He tossed another wadded up paper at me. This one had writing on it. It said, "Consider it pure joy, dear brothers, when facing trials of many kinds, for the testing of your faith produces endurance."
I read it out for him and he relaxed a bit.
"OK, that's good. I'm really sorry, Ella, I didn't mean to frighten you or anything. I just had to make sure you weren't still possessed."
"What? Possessed by like a demon? How does reading a piece of paper prove anything?"
"Well, demons can't read."
I paused, "What? That's really implausible."
"I know, but none of the ones I've encountered have been able to read. Maybe they're just messing with me, but they all balk at it."
"What is this anyway?"
"It's scripture, I just had it lying around. I'm trying to memorize James."
"So if I was a demon I wouldn't be able to quote scripture, right?"
"Uh, no, they do it all the time, actually."
"What? I wouldn't think they would. I mean, they're supposed to be the spawn of Satan or whatever."
"Yeah, well, Satan quotes scripture too. The main thing is that they interpret it away from the original meaning. They lie a lot." His voice trailed off lamely and he went back to staunching the river flowing from his nose. I wondered briefly why I'd had a crush on this guy for three years.
"So why am I naked?" I asked, "Did I need to be naked for you to exorcise me?"
"Um." He seemed reluctant to answer, perhaps because there's really no good answer to that sort of question. "Well, you were sorta like that when you attacked us. I really didn't think about it at the time because you didn't look like a regular human. You had wings and fangs and really long fingers."
I crossed my arms. I wasn't sure I believed him, but there didn't seem to be any better explanation.
The little girl called out, "Hey, Jeremy? Is it safe? I'm getting cold." Her voice was cute as can be and I was momentarily distracted.
"Yeah, you can come get your blanket, Annie, I don't think Ella's going to hurt you."
"Who's she?" I asked.
"She's my sister. She's lived with me since our parents died."
Annie trotted up and took a blanket that had been folded up to make a pillow. She looked at me distrustfully and I tried to smile a little. Her mouth twisted uncertainly and she ran to the safety of her brother.
"When did your parents die?"
"Oh, about six years ago. Annie was only three at the time. The car was found at the side of the road. Annie was in it, alive and well, but mom and dad were both dead. We're not sure how and Annie says she doesn't remember any of it."
I nodded, "Hmm." I couldn't think of anything else to say, so I said, "Do you know where I could get some clothes?"
Jeremy turned bright red, "Uh, well, uh..."
Annie spoke up, "There's a department store nearby, we can rummage through the wreckage. I need some more clothes."
Jeremy looked down at her, "What? No you don't. You have plenty of clothes. I carry most of them, I know."
"I need some clothes that aren't soaked with blood."
"Uh...yeah, I guess you do need some more clothes."
Annie jumped up and down and said, "Yay, we're going to the mall!"
"No, I'm going to the mall. You can tell me what you want and I'll get it for you. You stay here with Ella and tell embarrassing stories about me."
"But why?"
"Because that's what you're gonna do; you seem to enjoy wrecking my life. Why do you think I never introduced you to Ella?"
"No, I mean why can't I come with you?"
"Because there are likely hideous monsters in the mall and I don't want you eaten. Remember the kitten?"
Annie shuddered, "OK, just don't get me anything pink."
Jeremy looked up again, "You?"
"I don't care what colors you get, just look for some knives. Someone took mine."
"Oh, yeah, that was me. They're over there in that bag. What are your measurements?"
"You aren't supposed to ask girls that question."
"So you want something too big and terribly unflattering. Got it."
"Unflattering? I half-expect you'll get me a bikini or something showy."
"I'm getting you sweat pants and tee-shirts."
"Could you get me shorts, too?"
He nodded and left.
Annie watched me for a little while. "Ella." She said, "You don't seem very Ella-ish."
"It's short for Ellamenope."
"So your parents had no imagination and now you just go by Ella?"
"Yep. What do you think my name should be?"
"Gertrude. Or Agnes."
"So what about your name? You actually kinda look like an Annie."
"It's short for Annabelle."
I nodded, "Nice name."
"Meh."
It was obvious Annie didn't care for me much and, considering I had looked like a hideous monster the first time she saw me, I really couldn't blame her. I wondered how long it would take Jeremy to get all the clothes and get back. He hadn't been gone long, but I worried.
After I'd assuaged some of that worry by bringing my knives closer, I asked Annie why I'd never seen her before.
"Probably because I get up before you do to go to school and get back later. I've actually seen you, I'm just really good at hiding, so you've never seen me."
"Oh. You must be really great at hiding since I've been here three years. Do you actually not remember anything from when you were three?"
"You've got secrets too."
"How about I tell you a secret I haven't even told my friends? It'll sound stupid, and if you want you don't have to tell your secret."
She shrugged.
"I'm a commissioned assassin for a group of people whom I have never met. I receive a package in the mail every once in awhile with an assignment. Sometimes I don't have to kill people, but most of the time it is."
"Do you have a license?"
"Well, sorta. I keep documents of execution to prove that I'm licensed to terminate a subject and, in certain cases, anyone aiding the subject."
"Like guards?"
"Exactly. Or if I find out they have a business partner we didn't know about or something. It's all explained in the third or fourth paragraph."
"What does the document look like?"
"It's a really thick card stock with carbon paper at the bottom. At the top it gives a name, physical description and reason for termination. It gives known complications and location of subject, license to kill, and a time frame, if it applies. After I terminate the subject, I write a summary on the carbon paper, tear it off and send it in. I keep the document and the carbon copy of the summary. A few days later, I receive a check in the mail and later get another document."
"Wow." Annie was silent for a little while, "How many people have you killed?"
"Hard to say. Sometimes it's commissioned, sometimes the situation just calls for it. Like if I'm caught in a bank robbery or something I'm authorized to take necessary action. Commissioned executions, though...I think I've done about...two hundred maybe, which, considering people involved is really about three hundred people. Adding situational deaths, I've probably killed four hundred people."
"How long have you been doing it?"
"About five years."
Annie was silent for awhile. I wondered what she was thinking. I'd never told anyone what I'd just told her and I hoped she didn't think I was a horrible person or anything. When she finally spoke, she surprised me, though.
"I killed my mom and dad."
"Really? At three years?"
"We were driving home after grocery shopping and dad said, 'Maurine, I've never been down this lane.' My mom said, 'I haven't either.' She turned back to me and asked if I wanted to see what was down the lane and I said yes. We started and there were lots of trees on either side of the road. I could see a tree house in one of the trees and I asked if fairies lived in it. My dad said no and my mom said yes and we hit a bump in the road. All of a sudden, I felt like my head was going to explode. I started yelling and mom and dad asked me what was wrong. I reached for them and something came out of my hands. I didn't see anything, but mom and dad jerked, the car went out of control and ran into a tree. I tried to get them to wake up, but they were already dead before the car stopped running."
"That's..." I trailed off. My head hurt. Too much information had been poured into my skull and this new tale of weirdness was just too much to handle at the time. "I guess that's a terrible way to lose your parents."
"Are your parents still alive?"
"Nope, they both died when a maniac burned down the house."
"Oh."
After that, there really wasn't a lot to say, so we sat in silence, waiting for Jeremy to get back.
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