Sanguinem: Generations

    Hey there! Feeling run down with a sadistic case of insomnia? Boy, howdy, have I got the cure for you! Let’s take a trip down to the world of Sanguinem – a land not so different than the one you call America. But instead of the land of the free and the home of the brave, Sanguinem is run by assassins. Skilled, highly trained individuals paid in the sacred art of murder. These individuals are cautious as they are elusive; they are the best of their profession, and for good reason.

    “Bishop Patterson, will you step on it!” Selene shouted from the back of the trio’s SUV, frantically looking through the back window.

    “I’m going as fast as this worn down thing can!” Bishop cried. “And what did I tell you about using our last names?”

    “Just stop the bickering!” Michel complained. “We’ve got one more target left for today and then we can all go home. Won’t that be nice, now?”

    “Yeah, and I can already guess who won’t be doing the killing,” Selene said, before switching to a mocking tone of voice. “Ooh, my name’s Michel and I’m an assassin who never kills anyone. I’d get out of the car and murder this person but I hurt my little toe!”

    “Oh, what did I ever do to you,” Michel said. “Here. To pass the time, why don’t we look over our files so we know who we’re going after.”

    “Hah. Unlike you, I actually do the job I get paid to do,” Selene said. “I already went over the files.”

    “The target is an old woman,” Bishop said. “Goes by the name of Mrs. Gardenmire.”

    “Yeah, of course,” Selene said with an unnerving, uncertain scoff. What her two partners-in-crime did not know was that Selene was very well-acquainted with Mrs. Gardenmire. “And I just know I’m going to have to be the one to kill her.”

    “Oh, don’t be like that,” Bishop said, as he pulled the SUV into the Good Times Retirement Home. “You’ve been all prissy ever since you found out this old woman was our target.”

    “Well, what’s the point?” Selene said. “Why are we answering a hit on a harmless old woman? All the rapists, murderers, drug peddlers and child predators in the world, yet our target is a harmless old woman? Is that not pathetic?”

    “You want me to kill her? Fine!” Michel said, before letting on a long pause. “I’ll do it. Give me a damn pistol.”

    “I’ll show you girls how it’s done,” Michel said, opening the passenger door, waving Bishop’s black pistol in his right hand.

    He took four steps towards the retirement home, before dropping the weapon and grabbing his foot in agonizing pain. “Ow!” He cried. “I must have just sprained my ankle! Yowza! Looks like one of you two is going to have to carry out this one.”

    “Pathetic,” Selene muttered.

***

“Hello? Anyone home?”

    To Bishop’s astonishment, the retirement home was completely empty. A white painted lobby dimly lit with all sorts of signs and posters scattering the walls, but not a senior in sight. “Oh! Hoh!” Bishop shouted. “Old Ironman’s here, Miss Gardenmire! You’d best get your booty over here right now so I can put a bullet in you. Harhar.”

    He paused in place, taking a deep breath, when he heard a booming rumbling sound, the floor caving in under his feet. “What the?! Yagh!”

***

    “Wish Bishop would hurry up and get this over with,” Selene said, her arms crossed in the backseat of the SUV. “It’s been fifteen minutes. How long does it take to shoot one old woman?”

    “They don’t call him Old Ironman for a reason,” Michel said. “You know how eighty-four-year-olds are. Slow.”

    “Can I ask you something, Michel? What would you do if you had to kill someone you had a great…respect for?”

    “What do you mean by that?”

    “You know, someone from your childhood. Like an old teacher, or an old friend.”

    “Well, we all know that killing is as wrong as it gets,” Michel said. “We all feel bad until we check our bank accounts, right? But say, I’m no dummy. I can sort of take a hint. So I’m going to ask…do you know this Mrs. Gardenmire?”

***

    “I’m telling you! I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Bishop cried, his hands shackled behind his back with a thick piece of duct tape. “I wasn’t here to kill you!”

    “Oh, yes indeed you were,” Mrs. Gardenmire said, Bishop’s pistol in her hands, her eyes wily and her thin gray hair a mess. “You can’t fool me. You’re Bishop. The legendary assassin! And you were here to get me, yes you were.”

“I’m not Bishop,” Bishop lied. “I’m Bishop’s cousin, Tishop.”

***

    “Yeah. I know Mrs. Gardenmire,” Selene admitted. “She used to be my babysitter, a long time ago.”

    “So our boss wanted you to kill your childhood babysitter?” Michel asked in disbelief. “Wow. Just wow. She really doesn’t like you very much.”

    “Gee, thanks,” Selene sarcastically said, climbing out of the car. “Really used to love this old woman. I think I was closer to her than I was to my own mother. She used to call me Leanie. Putting bandages on my fingers for every boo-boo, tucking me into bed at night, telling me I was her favorite…oh man, and her food. She made the best ice cream sandwiches ever…but a job is a job, right? Knowing Bishop, he’s probably having a cup of tea with her. Guess I’ll go and kill her myself.”

    “Wait,” Michel remarked, putting his hand on Selene’s shoulder, an overwhelming sense of compassion coming over him as he reached for his katana strapped to his waistband. “You don’t have to do this. I’ll kill her.”

    Selene smiled. “Thanks, Michel,” she said. “You’re a real friend.”

***

    “Bishop! Hey!” Michel shouted, stepping into the old house for sight of the elderly assassin. “Old Ironman! You in here?”

    Michel looked up, and then down, his eyes widening at the sight of the large hole in the floor. “Hmm? What is this?” He asked, jumping down into the hole. “Agh!”

    With a loud grunt, Mrs. Gardenmire smacked Michel over the head with the pistol.

***

    Come on, Michel, where are you? Selene asked, a blatant concern growing within her as she bit her nails and felt her legs shake uncontrollably. It’s been twenty minutes…

    Never did Selene imagine the day would come where she would find herself being paid to kill Mrs. Gardenmire, a lady she considered family to her. The entire reason she became an assassin in the first place was to provide for her family – the painful conundrum she found herself was unbearable, and she couldn’t stand it anymore.

    She stormed out of the car and headed into the building.

***

    “Let Tishop and I go, you crazy hag!” Michel cried, his hands and legs tied up beneath his back.

    Mrs. Gardenmire smiled and shook her head. “You said he was Bishop a few minutes ago,” she reminded him. “That means I was right.”

    “You’re wrong,” Selene said. She clenched her fists and cleared her throat and exhaled a long, painful breath, before falling down into the hole.

    Mrs. Gardenmire cackled, slowly turning around, her old tired eyes glowing feverishly towards the assassin. “Hah. There you are, Leanie,” she said, Bishop’s pistol still at her side.

    Selene raised her own pistol and sighed. “How’d you know?” She asked. “How’d you know I was coming?”

    Mrs. Gardenmire cackled once again, shrugging her shoulders. “Remember what I always told you before I tucked you into bed?”

    “Yeah, of course I do,” Selene responded. “That we can and will take different paths in life—”

    “But I’ll always be watching,” Mrs. Gardenmire gleefully said. “I knew you had me as a target. So, are you going to do it?”

    “W-why aren’t you scared?” Selene cried. “Y-you think I don’t have the guts to kill you? You think I won’t do it?”

    “Leanie…I’m eighty-three years old. My best days are all behind me. I’m getting more wrinkled, more senile, weaker and feebler every single day. All my family already went to Heaven, but I’m still here. I...I miss them. What am I waiting for? Cancer to come and take over my body? My heart to shut off, dying in an agonizing heap of pain? Nah. I want you to do it.”

    “Wait a second!” Michel said. “It wasn’t our boss who put a hit out on you—”

    “That’s right,” Mrs. Gardenmire said. “I did. I put a hit out on myself. My husband, my brothers and sisters and my God are all waiting for me, Leanie! Send me to them!"

    "Does it really have to come to this?" Selene asked, clenching her fists, her body shaking and her face engulfed in tears.

    Mrs. Gardenmire smiled. "It doesn't," she said. "But I want it to. We spend our whole lives running from death...but not me. It's time, Selene."

    Selene ran over and embraced the old woman. “I…I love you,” she said.

    “I love you too,” the old woman responded. “And we’ll see each other again some day.”

    Selene put the pistol to Mrs. Gardenmire’s head, and pulled the trigger.