For My Beautiful Friends,

Who Made It Easy to Imagine Characters Who Joyfully Kill People With Their Minds. 

“The price of anything is the amount of life you exchange for it,”

            Henry David Thoreau

Ella

I love it when they run.

 Ella taped her fingers on the table, impatiently watching through the winter bitten window. Warmth surged her body, her smile as slick as crude oil, as she fabricated the illusion for her target.  The hotel room smelled of stiff sheets, spilled martinis and rotting cologne, but he wouldn't know that. In his mind, this was his 5 star hotel, and a group of terrifying men with guns was currently chasing him down an empty street.  Ella wanted to leave more than ever, but unfortunately, her most current task was a bumbling man named Kevin Storm with an impeccable talent for being able to only run a couple feet before becoming breathless. She could feel her mind's pull on him easing up as he moved through the building. Labored breathing and clomping foot steps got closer and closer. 

She straightened her bangs and checked her watch. She had three minutes left. The door flung open and Kevin Storm slammed himself in. He hadn't noticed her yet. She took the opportunity to slide her hands down her legs, warmth flooding her body again. Ella's illusion skills weren't as strong as she desired, but she was strong enough to create excruciating pain with a simple blink.  Kevin screamed in agony, falling to the ground in a thud. She had stolen his vision. Everything was dark: to him. 

 Ella almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

Kevin's screams had muffled to whimpers. He was crawling around, trying to gain his footing to find the nonexistent light switch. Her fingers curled around a small dagger on her ankle. Ella lowly whistled through her teeth. Kevin shrieked again, nearly collapsing back to the ground. Her hand whipped out with timed precision, the blade cleanly flying the air. Gasping. Choking. Gargling. Blood dribbled over his thick fingers, coating his wedding ring in a dark gleam. Ella tilted her head in curiosity as she examined his wound. She had done well for that angle. 

She blinked. Warmth. The lights were 'on' again. Shuffling, gargling, fear dripping through clenched teeth. 

 “Who--Who are you? Why are you doing this? Where did that man go?” He managed to choke out in garbled words . Ella rolled her eyes. The blade had only cut deep enough for him to bleed out slowly,  like a slip in the shower shaving. 

“Why. Why. It’s always the same questions with you people. What did I do to you? Who are you? Why are you doing this? Nothing. No one. You’re in our way, so I’m removing you. Simple. I’m sorry it couldn’t have been easier on your behalf, but you just made it so hard. You know, Kevin-- can I call you Kevin?” Ella asked, circling him. He just choked out. She smiled, patting his balding spot. “Perfect. Kevin, we were just going to leave it up to a car crash. If you survived, great! You’d still be out of way, unable to run the race this term. But then, you leaked all those nasty rumors about Senator Terry and pushed our hand. We need Senator Terry as Governor of Texas this round for--personal reasons. Surely you understand. Politics can be so cutthroat, don't you agree?" 

 Ella thrust her foot into his chest. His back hit with a hard thud. Tears were streaming down his ruddy cheeks. She hated when they cried. Placing a thin finger over his lips, she shushed his pitiful whimpering. The fluorescent lights lit up the thin slit where she had hit him. She was getting better for sure. 

"The--the--man--" He mumbled. Ella smiled maternally. 

"Oh, no. There was no man. Just an illusion.  I'm all you have to worry about." Ella whispered, touching his shoulder. Warmth. Kevin body tensed and he tried scrambling back. To him, her face was contorting in horrifying shapes, her voice was melting around him, and he felt the heat of flames licking his ankles. This was her game.

"Don't you see, Mr. Storm? Nothing is real. It's like a bad dream that you won't wake up from. I could even take away the pain." Blink. Warmth. Kevin blinked, confused as his throat dribbled blood but he felt no pain. Blink, warmth, agony. "Kevin Storm, it’s been a real pleasure. However, I’m going to need you to hold still now and take this here, yeah, there you go,” Ella whispered soothingly as she placed an unregistered Glock in his palms, “It’s aimed up exactly where I want it, you’ll be dead within seconds and that nasty scrape will be erased. So don’t move.” Ella bent down to be eye level with him. He did have nice eyes that were so fogged with pain. Her hands curled his, putting pressure on the trigger finger. He could barely gargle out a whimper.

 “Goodnight, Mr. Storm. Stone and Rose gives our deepest condolences.”

 Click.

 Ella’s nose wrinkled as she wiped off the blood from her face. Kevin’s body dropped, twitching. She ripped off her rubber gloves, digging in her back pocket for her cell phone. She was almost late. Almost.

 “Hello?” Connor answered gruffly. He was almost as impatient as she was. Ella kicked Kevin’s foot.

 “It’s done. Send clean up?" 

"Of course. Cause of death?"

"Bullet through a couple major arteries."

“You take clean a little loose, Crawford.”

 “Death isn't clean, Cunningham.”

 "Not when you actually kill your victims. Clean up should arrive soon."

Click.

Ella heard the shuffling of feet and hushed whispers from young trainees through the halls. Nothing made her more happy that she was long past the initiation age. She never had to forge a note, wipe up brain matter, or swipe DNA ever again if she didn't want to. 

 “Hello Ms. Crawford.” Two young boys echoed as they stepped into the room. Ella turned and smiled brightly at them. They flinched, as if afraid she were about to strike.

 “Gentlemen, thank you for your service. I’d like you to meet Mr. Storm. A bit messy this one was, I’m afraid. Do we remember how to set a scene?”

 Nod.

 “Excellent! Excellent. Such bright boys. I like it when they send the smart ones. Less for me to do. I have my field report to do, you know, the real fun of the job.” She said coyly. The boys tried to crack a smile but were hesitant. Ella was patient. She was aware her stature was intimidating, the blood speckles smearing her face causing a crazed gleam in her catlike eyes and her reputation preceded her. Two steps closer. Taut shoulders. A soft smile.

 “What are your names?”

 Ella didn’t care. But she felt that if she knew, if she was friendlier they might think she was less likely to kill them on a whim. Ella rarely killed on a whim. She was a strictly on order, those in her way, kind of girl. Didn’t mean it hasn’t happened. Plus, they were apart of the order. Red letter Illusionists. She couldn't touch them if she valued her own sanity. 

 “Henry Wilcox.”

“Jeffrey Bates.”

 Two steps closer. Closed fists. Wide smile.

 “You’re Richard’s boy, aren’t you, Jeff! Richard is a dear friend to my daddy. You’re going places here, whether you want to or not. One day, you’ll be just like me!” Ella laughed, tossing her bangs back. Jeffery looked scared. Ella’s phone buzzed in her pocket then. She lifted a ‘one moment’ finger and the boys immediately went to work on cleaning up.

 “Hello?”

“Where the hell are you? Why haven't you left yet?” Connor barked.

 “Hi sweetheart, lovely to hear your voice again, glad for the concern, I’m fine.” Ella said bitterly.

“Oh, hush. Taking your sweet time out there tonight? Or particular to cleaning this one up? Miss the feeling of getting dirty?” Connor teased. Ella rolled her eyes.

“Not in particular. If I wanted to get dirty, it wouldn’t be with an overweight senator from Texas, mind you. I was having a pleasant chat with the two new pledges. Richard’s boy and a Wilcox.” There was a sound of interest on the other side.

 “Wonky Wilcox had a kid? Hopefully this one keeps his head on. Or should I say, his targets.” The volume must have been high because Henry flinched. His mother, Viola Wilcox was well known for going mad with blood lust and decapitating her victims by the ending. It wasn’t clean. And it was no longer for the orders hit list. The Order rarely goes rogue, but when they do, it’s never pretty. They prefer the Illusionists to  take the orders by their gifts, not physical brutality. Ella rarely followed that agenda. 

 “Well hurry up. I’ve got a bottle of Chardonnay waiting for us, Lizzy just got promoted and the Quartet is making lemon tarts. It’s been a good night.” Excitement bubbled in Ella’s chest. Nothing sounded better. 

 “I’m all the way out at in Montpelier." 

 “You did not buy that Ducati for nothing, Ella Crawford. See you shortly.”

 Click.

 Ella cursed beneath her breath, only thankful that it hadn’t rained recently and said goodbye to the boys. She got no reply, just, “Oh god, brain bits, gross. Shit, I don't want to be a damn superhero any more. 

 Ella arrived at Bennett house within 20 minutes, skin tingling and numb from the wind. It was Audrey Bennett’s family manor, given to them to attend Everstein College  and maintain status within the order nearby. It was a large Victorian mansion that they overstuffed with college students. Besides being apart of Stone and Rose, it wasn’t much more different than a normal college household.  Connor winked at her as she walked in the door, tossing her helmet on the garage bench. Ella glanced into the ornate mirror beside the door. Her pixie cut was static and bangs wayward.

“You look exhilarated.” Connor chimed as he skirted into the kitchen. There was banging of cabinets and clanging of glasses.

“Please tell me that’s my Chardonnay.” Ella called back to him. There was just a chuckle from the kitchen. She heard a squeal from the far living room and padded footsteps scampering down the hallway.

“Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella!” Lizzy came shrieking at her. Ella braced herself for the impact as Lizzy barreled into her. Lizzy pile drived into Ella and wrapped around her tightly. A pile of red hair tickled Ella’s nose, causing a rapid fire of sniffles.

“I’m promoted! I’m off mission control! No more bullshit secretary duty for me! Jack can kiss my ass, I am never getting him a cup of coffee again!” Lizzy was exuberant.  Ella patted her back, gently peeling her off.

“I’m so proud of you, Liz, but please get off.” Ella winced. Lizzy smiled shyly, climbing off her best friend, tucking a curl behind her ear.

“How was the test?” Ella asked hesitantly, accepting the glass from Connor. Lizzy bit her lip excitedly. While most children from Stone and Rose families were raised cold and calculating, for the purpose of passing the test of promotion, Lizzy Buchanan’s mother was an artist and didn’t believe in the order. She raised her with beauty in mind, the gentle touch of an artist and soft tongue of a poet. At first, killing didn’t come naturally to Lizzy; she couldn’t even hurt a bug. Now, she only painted with the color red and choked the most beautiful words right out of a dying man’s last breath. Ella didn’t know what snapped; maybe the paperwork drove her mad.

“Beautifully,” Lizzy wiggled, “Jack and Cicily were so proud of me. They said it was one of the cleanest tests they had seen in a while.” Ella grinned and kissed Lizzy’s cheek. Ella wasn’t one for much affection but Lizzy craved it. “It was just some kid, you know? No big deal. One of those punks who don’t believe in smiling and wants to be some kind of rebel. Well he’s smiling so big now, the sun is jealous. I laced his body with ribbon and beautiful flowers so when spring comes, he’ll be the prettiest flower bed. It’s my best work yet. ” Lizzy said dreamily. Connor shook his head, turning back to the kitchen.

“Oh! Don’t tell Jack, but I took home the blood I drained out. Its mostly in the freezer, it was just such a lovely shade of crimson, I thought it would add that special touch to that autumn painting I was doing.” There was a grunt of disgust. Connor was a purist.

"Come on, Picasso, off to bed. No need to allow your first assignment to be ruined by lack of sleep." Lizzy made a mocking face, but sighed and bounding back down the hall. Nothing could kill her excitement. Ella leaned against the door frame of the kitchen, swirling her Chardonnay.

“I will never understand why the order allows those of us who weren't born red letter to receive them. It's just messy. There's a reason they didn't allow her to take the test until she was twenty. So everything went smoothly then?” Connor asked, corking the bottle. Ella nodded, taking a solid gulp.

"And watch your tongue. Not all of us are purists."  Connor snorted. 

"You mean sadists. You're red lettered and still prefer to watch blood spill by your own accord. Speaking of," He jerked his chin.  A crimson envelope sat in her wicker basket on the counter. She groaned.

“Really? Why me? I just had one. Are you sure?” Connor nodded. Ella slugged the rest of the Chardonnay and slammed the glass down. Her fingers nearly crumbled the envelope. The order’s thick silver seal held it shut.

 "Some cases desire your certain bloody charm.' 

“Damn it. I don’t get a weekend off, do I?”

 “No rest for the wicked,” Audrey Bennett said as she slid into the kitchen. Her blonde hair was slicked back into a bun, making her look like a ballerina as she moved with easy grace.

 “Isn’t that what we’re for?” Connor murmured, snatching up a lemon bar. Audrey smirked. Her dishes clashed into the sink, the water crashing over them. Audrey loved to do dishes. Even though they had a dishwasher, and a housecleaner came by every other day to tidy up, Audrey still did the dishes. She found it soothing, the rhythmic patterns of scrubbing and warm suds over her hands. Where Lizzy was almost out of control, artistic, beautiful and spontaneous, Audrey was calculating, rhythmic and consistent. She was the first to pass her tests, despite being the youngest. And much like Connor, she was a purist red letter with the cleanest kills around. 

 “Are you going to read it?” Connor asked, handing her a lemon bar. Ella opened her mouth as a nonverbal acceptance. Connor shoved the bar in playfully, receiving a glare. Ella bit it down the middle and shook her head.

“Please. You know the rules. For all you know, it could be a hit on you.” Ella said with a full mouth. She flicked Connor’s nose and sauntered out of the room. She could hear Audrey’s chortle.

Lizzy was sound asleep in the bed beside Ella’s, blankets draped across her body tangled fashioned. Soft snores echoed the room that brought warm comfort to Ella’s chest. She tossed the envelope on her desk, leaving it for the morning. Unless fate took the reins, her mission would be breathing still tomorrow. Exhaustion swept over her, the way that the blanket of darkness covered her. She pulled off her sweater, the crunch of dried blood speckles leaving her uncomfortable. Into the dry clean basket for Hannah, their housekeeper. She replaced it with a large t-shirt with Everstein’s logo and swept back her hair from her face. Wiping away the day from her face: mascara, blood, sweat.

Pure. She was new again, fresh and felt nothing. Taking a new breath, she sat on her floor space between her bed and Lizzy’s. The rug curled beneath her fingertips as she stretched out her back. Breathing in and out, the exhaustion edged away. Pure. Clean. Renewed.

“We should come home from adventures, and perils, and discoveries every day with new experiences and character.” –Henry David Thoreau

Charlie

Terrified. Purely terrified.

How did anyone, especially his father, expect him to do this? Sure, pass the calculus exams on his own was a piece of cake. Hack the computer servers at Saint Peters and fry the networks so he could have a well deserved holiday? Whatever. That was fun. This?

 Charlie was going to have an aneurysm before he even stepped a foot onto campus.

 It wasn’t going to college that Charlie was terrified of, like his mother feared. No, the woman was overbearing and zealous. Charlie was thrilled to get out of Saint Peters. The same droning professors for years had drilled Charlie to near insanity; a change of pace would be refreshing. It was the…

 “Hey there,” A group of girls sauntered by in a variety of short skirts and tight jeans, smelling of sweet perfume and swishing their hair around. Charlie inhaled deeply, briefly closing his eyes. He smiled nervously; unsure whether to wave or say hi back or run away.

 Saint Peters had been an all boys school. Twelve years of purely male contact. The only women Charlie ever got to see was his mother, his cousin Bailey--who was seven-- and his aunts. Of course there was girls on family vacations but his mother was so gung-ho on “and this monument over here” that he never got to even utter the word “bonjour” to a pretty girl overseas.

 Charlie was an honors student from Saint Peters and yet, here he was, in remedial dating. It could be said he was lacking in a couple departments and playing catch-up in college was the most frightening idea.

 Who the hell hasn’t kissed a girl by the time they were nineteen?

 He tried to push back his hair, realizing it had been cut: again. Right. Shit, he had to pull himself together. Back home, he was confident and suave and this? This was a disaster. God, he was so glad Drew and Paul couldn’t see him now. The shit they would give him for not saying something—anything—to those girls. Should he have winked? Damn it, he should have winked.

 He changed his mind. He missed Drew and Paul. At least they had talked to girls before. If the mere thought of even asking for advice weren’t mortifying, he’d call them right up. Like he’d ever live that down.

 Charlie was glad that Everstein  was small at least, about the same size as Saint Peters.  How lost could he get?

 The answer was very.

 Charlie ended up wandering campus, mostly distracted by the scenery and sheer amount of housing and pointless outdoor staircases, before he found the building he needed. His parents told him to always be early, he had that going for him at least.

His face was buried in his map and schedule and mumbling to himself when he bumped into her. He had seen someone out of the corner of his eye, but they hadn't registered as impeding disaster if he didn't move. His shoulder collided into hers but it was like she barely moved. He, however, went  completely off balance, teetering around to avoid the wall. He was rarely that thrown off guard. Charlie fumbled for his papers, his cheeks ablaze. The girl stared at him, half with anger, half with startled curiosity. She obviously hadn't seen him either. 

 "Oh shit, I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there. First day, just trying to—uh—nevermind—sorry—I’m Charlie—“

She reminded Charlie of a cat, with dark hair cropped close and large green eyes, framed by heavy lashes and black liner. Her pants were skin tight but her sweater hung loose and Charlie couldn't tell where to look so he looked down only to be terrified of her sky high heels that could crush his larynx.

 “You’re fine.” She murmured, offering a hand, almost as if it were a second thought. Her simple rings crushed into his hand. 

“What are you looking for?” She asked him. Her politeness seemed forced, uncomfortable.  Charlie liked the way her voice lilted, like a cup of good coffee. Deeply rich and smooth, with a bitter edge laced through out.

“113? Philosophy and Lit with Overmeyer?”

“You’re on the second floor.” She looked bemused. Charlie’s brow furrowed and he glanced back down his papers. 

“Right. Makes sense I would enter on the second floor at ground level? Completely.”

Her lips twitched in a soft smile and she pointed down the hall. Her bag slipped down her shoulder, causing things to jangle around.

“There’s a staircase down around to your left. Your class should be right around there, if I remember correctly. Good luck.” She gave him a tight smile and sauntered away. Charlie stared after her, a little shell shocked. She began digging around in her bag, pulling out things in handfuls. 

“Wait! What was your name?” He called after her. She glanced back, her eyes rather mischievous. Her fingers were curled around a red envelope and she winked.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Charlie!”

And she was gone.

Charlie sighed in defeat. Everstein wasn’t that big, he’d find her later, he decided. As long as he didn't get lost again. Charlie found the class, just sneaking in with enough time to find a seat before the professor began his droning ‘welcome’ speeches. It was in the worst spot, directly in the middle of everything. Nobody wanted to be in the stare off zone. 

Overmeyer was a hefty man with a 1970s stache and a love for group assignments. Charlie assumed it was because he didn't actually like talking, or just enjoyed shutting down large group ideas at once, and gave one immediately. The guy in front of him turned more to see Charlie's face. He was bright and friendly looking, like a dog when you had the ball. His teeth were overly white, it was the first thing Charlie saw about his face.

“Hey. I’m Tyler. You want to work together? Awesome, don't look so petrified. You must of got lost, didn't you? Are you a freshman or transfer?” His voice was warm and rambled like someone who was given a time limit to get every idea out or else he'd explode. Charlie was distracted by his consistent flipping back his hair. He wondered if he purposely imitated the surfer stereotype to emphasis that he spent all summer hiding in the tropics. 

“Uh—sorry?”

“You just got this 'should I stay or should I go' look about you. It's hilarious, and I enjoy it. I believe the term is 'deer in the headlights'." 

“Are you always this friendly to petrified looking freshman?”

“Generally.”

Another guy slide in next to Tyler, giving him irritated looks.  Charlie smiled in what he hoped was a friendly manor. 

“Are you frightening freshman into being your prodigies again?” The newcomer asked Tyler. Tyler looked bemused.

“I prefer the term alluring. Bambi, meet Nick Greene. Last year’s frightened freshman prodigy.” Tyler said, gesturing towards Nick. Nick winked, pulling out a notebook. The professor looked annoyed at their Nick's late arrival, but Nick and Tyler paid no attention.

“Charlie McClaine. Uh--shouldn't we be starting--”

“Erica is going to punch you for ‘alluring’ more freshmen.” Nick whispered, glancing over the assignment sheet with feigned interest. Tyler shrugged.

“She’s just jealous that I bond with men more than her.”

“Should I be scared? Is this some form of social experiment? Are you enticing me to some secret drug ring?” Charlie whispered. Nick chuckled beneath his breath.

“Tyler’s a sociology major. He just likes to…collect people. Gain general perspective. Push buttons. You know, 'research'.  No needles and wires though, I promise. He's scared of blood.” Nick tried to reassure Charlie. He wondered if this was what making friends outside kindergarten standards was like.

“We’re meeting Erica for lunch after this. You’ll join us.” Tyler said, turning his attention finally to the professor. He wasn’t asking, just stating what he assumed. Charlie didn’t know how to say no, or if he should.