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The Demented Assassin
Part 2: The Answer
By: My Plaid Pants
The faint click of the sliding slot interrupted my light slumber. I lifted my head up to look, dreading to see those terrible brown eyes. But to my great relief, it wasn’t the brown circles I had come to know so well, but a pair I had not seen before. The irises were dark green on the outer rim fading to blue as the color proceeded towards a dilated pupil. This pair wasn’t stern and menacing either, but rather soft and slightly bloodshot as if the owner had been under a lot of stress. As the pair stared down at me, they filled with a small amount of water at the lids. The man blinked repeatedly attempting to clear the moisture away. His features looked tired, the skin worn and wrinkled, with dark shadows surrounding his eyes.
“I wasn’t going to come.” The bulb flickered inside my cell and a delayed reaction caused the man to look up towards it before going on. “They only gave me a few minutes. It took me a lot of persuading just for that though.” The man chuckled nervously. He shifted his weight uncomfortably causing his head to sway from side to side before sitting back into place. The forced light hearted tone quickly faded when the next sentence came in a sharp accusation. “How could you Steven? Especially under my name. I thought we were friends.”
Steven? The blue-eyed man said my name was Mark. Then why did Steven seem to fit so well? It didn’t make sense.
Saying only what made sense for an answer, I responded, “We are.”
The man behind the door glared, his eyes flamed dangerously as his eyebrows quickly narrowed in anger. “No we’re not,” he spat through clenched teeth. The rage that was held within before began to seep into the man’s voice. “You stole my identity. The government thinks you’re me! I’ve lost my job, my name. I’m not a person anymore! You took that all away!” By now, the man was shouting in a crazed rage, the sound echoing inside my cell and down the halls. “Never! I would have never believed it! My best friend! You’ve taken everything from me!”
The man’s head was pulled roughly out of view. From the muffled shouts, it sounded like the man was struggling against a couple of guards. Every once in a while he managed to get out a short yell, each one more faint and echoed from its predecessor. Once again, I dropped my head into my hands, cradling my eyes and forehead. I had no idea what that was about, but clearly I had done something terrible. Never before had I seen such a strong hatred in one being’s eyes.
“Mark, I can’t do that. I know nothing about politics, I only came here to keep you company. I’m not even the one who received an invite.”
“So use my name, we look almost exactly alike, no one would know the difference! And you don’t need to know about politics, you only have to listen.”
“I still don’t think it’s a good idea.” At this, Mark banged his fist angrily on the wooden table next to him.
“I need you to do this for me, Steven! I’m in no condition to go! Look at me,” Mark flung his hands at his chest. “I’m in a terrible state! I can barely stand up right without the help of support.” And sure enough, Mark lost his balance and stumbled over onto the bed as his blue green eyes rolled dully into the back of his head. “You have to go,” he whispered through heavy breathing.
“Ok,” Steven sighed. “But promise me you’ll get some sleep and then some coffee. No leaving this room, alright?” Steven picked up his coat and Mark’s wallet that held his invitation and left the hotel room muttering, “How do you get drunk in Paris?”
“Steven,” I whispered to myself carefully. The word fit my lips so perfectly. It matched me. It fit me. My name was Steven!
I almost jumped for joy. The relief of finally finding my true identity after days of miserably asking myself so many unanswerable questions gave me the greatest feeling of accomplishment. I had a name. I had a name, and it fit me so perfectly.
As if on cue to ruin these happy thoughts, the slot opened on my jail door and the dreaded brown eyes came peering through. They glared in at me with the usual menacing smirk as my meal slipped into view and the slot closed again. It was once the eyes were gone that I realized that I had goose bumps crawling up and down my back. They slowly crept their way up to my scalp standing my hair on end. I shuddered dramatically and stood up to get the food from the opposite end of my dank cell.
There were still many things I didn’t understand, however. A few distinct memories and images flickered in my mind, befuddling it with confusion and circling thoughts. There were so many questions I wanted answered. So many emotions I couldn’t seem to comprehend.
I spent quite a while after that attempting to organize my bewildered thoughts and emotions. I’m not sure how much time went by, but however hard I tried, I couldn’t figure it all out, until another odd realization came to me.
“Here’s your food,” the guard sneered nastily pushing it into the cell. His accent was still unalterably French, but I had never noticed how low and raspy it was. It sounded like tumbling rocks spilling out of his throat, roughly pouring over his tongue. Suddenly, I shot my head up so quickly I received a bad cramp searing into my neck. But for some reason, I knew I had heard that voice before.
“May I help you find your way, sir?” Steven turned around sharply to see a tall, large man stood in the shadows of the hall, his face covered by darkness.
“Yes, thank you,” Steven answered awkwardly, handing the man Mark’s invitation. The man studied it carefully in the dim light and handed the paper back to him.
“You are right down this hallway, third door on the right.”
“Thank you,” Steven repeated, before turning away quickly and making his way to the correct door. Something about this man made him uneasy.
Later that day, the slot opened to show the stiff blue eyes staring in on him. They glared nastily down at me before speaking in a business-like voice.
“Mr. Mark Oliver Wackett, I am your attorney. You may call me Mr. Jones. In exactly one month from tomorrow, the trial will be held and I am to defend you of the accused.” Mr. Jones’ perfectly enunciated words and sharp nasal filled voice gave the distinct impression of smugness. I cringed at the obnoxious sound that seemed to come more from the back of the throat than this attorney’s vocal cords.
“And what am I accused of, Mr. Jones?” I asked as politely as I could, although the attempt wasn’t well accomplished.
“Well, the assassination of course,” Was the cold answer as Mr. Jones scoffed in an obvious manner at me.
“A-Assassination?!” I tried my hardest to keep my voice calm. I tried to pretend like I knew what was going on. I had been doing so well fooling those around me, but now this was to much. “No, Mr. Jones, I’ve never killed a human being in my life! I didn’t do it!”
“Yes,” Mr. Jones answered in a skeptical tone, “that’s what we’re trying to prove aren’t we?”
“Well, yes, but how are we going to prove that?” was my clueless reply.
“Well, so far I have no idea. There is no proof justifying that you are innocent. All evidence points directly at you.” The last word was intensified as if Mr. Jones was trying to make a point.
“I didn’t do it,” I repeated stubbornly.
“That is a good defense, Mr. Wacket. From all my experience of law, you are sure to win the whole of France’s opinion with that simple sentence.” His sarcastic manner flew sparks inside my chest.
“Well, you’re the one who is supposed to think of all these clever tactics. Besides, why would the whole of France be interested in a murder trial?”
“This is not just any murder trial, Mr. Wacket,” sneered Mr. Jones. “You assassinated the president of France! It is least unlikely that anyone will be on your side considering there is not a thread of fact hinting your innocence.”
“I didn’t do it!” I yelled this time.
“Well, except maybe we have your word but that is highly unconvincing at this point.” He sighed exasperatedly, “I must admit I was not happy to receive this job. It will look bad on my record for the rest of my career. Me, trying to defend a murderer who is so obviously guilty you’d have to be mad to believe otherwise.” He shook his head unhappily, “Good day, Mr. Wacket.”
And with a snap, the eyes were gone, leaving me in an utter state of shock and rage. Killed the President of France? It was impossible. How could I have landed in such a sticky and unpleasant dilemma, with not one person in the world on my side?
“This is the most important part. The President of France is ready to speak!” hushed an urgent response from the gentlemen to the right.
“It will only be a minute,” Steven answered. The man beside him shook his head disagreeing but all the same moved his legs so Steven could move along the row of seats and into the isle. He supposed being in the back wasn’t all bad when he reached the door quickly and only attracted a few stares as he pushed it open as quietly as possible.
Once back in the now deserted hallway, Steven looked around for the man who had helped him to his seat. Although he had been creepy, he was hoping he could ask where the nearest bathroom was. Looking around, Steven saw no sign of him anywhere. Searching the long hallways, the only interesting thing Steven was found was a set of stairs leading steadily upward. Deciding he had no luck on the first floor anyway, Steven proceeded up to the second. When the second proved to be similar, Steven continued on up to the third, and again to the fourth.
By this time, Steven’s bladder was feeling exceptionally heavy. He was walking so quickly he didn’t realize how much darker it was on this floor than all the others had been. Suddenly, someone’s faint muttering made him stop his fast pace. He turned the corner of the hall and found that the light was steadily growing fainter the further he went. However, his curiosity got the better of him when he was able to hear the muttering again only slightly louder this time.
Turning one last corner, he saw a strange image before him. A man, tall and large, was leaning over something; his front faced the opening that looked down into the council room where the President of France was talking. Steven cocked his head and stepped closer to this man, and he recognized him as the man who had showed Steven to his seat. Triumphantly, he coughed trying to get the man’s attention. Steven’s cough made the man swing around quickly, revealing the object he had been leaning over.
Steven’s eyes widened as he realized what was going on. A sniper sat in front of him pointing directly at the President of France. Completely forgetting his urge to pee, Steven tried to get to the sniper. But just as he was about to grab the gun, the man hit the back of his hand hard on Steven’s jaw, causing his teeth to grind painfully. Steven looked up quickly into the man’s face, and it was then that he saw a pair of terrible brown eyes. Deep set and menacing, they glared down at Steven glowing with crazed rage. In his state of shock, the man punched Steven hard in the nose causing blood to spurt out onto his face. The bitter taste of blood seeped between his lips and onto the tip of his tongue. Now on the floor, Steven scrambled up, got one hand on the gun, and attempted to pull it down with him. However, the man grabbed hold of it with both hands and flung it around forcefully out of Steven’s grip. The last thing Steven saw was the pair of frightening brown eyes before the heavy blow of metal on bone knocked him out.
“You framed me,” I whispered. The guard’s eyes only squinted in a nasty grin, before shutting the slot closed with a snap.
Love.
