The Contract

Alexandra wakes up that day just like she does every other morning. The beeping of an alarm echoes in the air, painfully loud as it reverberates across the complex in waves of shock; the sound is annoying, obnoxious and familiar and the silence that comes with it even more. She doesn’t need a clock to know the first five hours of the day had just passed, quick and inconspicuous, and, even though the morning hasn’t arrived yet, she knows her few hours of authorized sleep are over.

She stands up, letting her nude feet to find the polished wood that fills up the floor of her dorm. The planks are cold, humified by the calcareous water that transposes the cooling pipes underneath, and the wood is of a yellow-brown color, the disgusting color of manure under a toasting sun, addled by rats that nested there before the last fumigation. The walls of the small room aren’t better, although they were painted last summer. The chalk stands up randomly across the wall, small and medium pieces of whitewash and yellow paint flaking like encrusted skin. But humidity is common there, being a part of the underground dorms for as long as she can remember; the water ducts that trespass the soil above the concrete have been fissured by years, but no one cares to fix them or even protect the building from the water infiltrated in aquatic sheets that sometimes threatens to spill over. They were told they had to live with it.

The bed is the only thing adorning the room except from the small trunk that saves the only things that are actually hers. It’s small and a mess of summer sheets and a quilt, but it’s enough. A set of hygiene necessities is sitting by the door like every morning, a new and unused set each time, and she doesn’t need to look to know it’s nothing but a rough white towel and some cheap gel that smells like soil and lime in a capsule smaller than the palm of her hand. Alex decides then not to think about life eight years ago, but the disposal of her room is enough to bring back the unwanted memories. However, she never dwells on it too much; she doesn’t have time to, and that clandestine ‘school’ is part of her life whether she wants it or not.

She finds it hard to leave her bed that day. The cold and damp room is, for once, an acquaintance she fears to let go, for, that moment, she knows it’s what is keeping her sane. For some moments she considers laying back on her bed, but the second alarm echoes some seconds after the first, telling her it’s 5 a.m., shower time and today she knows she can’t pass it up. It goes by Community Shower, the hour between the early five and tardy six they are allowed to use for what they call ‘personal time’. It takes place on the only other floor that lays underground apart from the dorms. The whole floor consists of only two separated spaces, boys and girls not allowed to mend together. Alex has never entered the men’s showers, but she supposes they are some bluer copy of the women’s, with a total of thirty shower beads along a vast and bare space, each spilling warm water for ten minutes only before turning it icing cold.

When she enters the Community Shower, Alex is wearing a thin white nightgown like every girl in the room except the naked ones that have already reclaimed their daily bath. She hesitates for a second. She still hates to expose herself and feeling vulnerable is something she despises even more, but she needs to wash her skin, tainted with the odor of wine, blood and some cheap men’s cologne and, alas, she has been doing this for almost eight years now, she tells herself, she shouldn’t care. She moves across the decrepit room towards the lockers, small but large enough to hold the school’s uniform and trainers for another day of hard exercise and illicit classes. Alexandra Casley is written on the middle of the locker door, some letters barely noticeable from being scuffed with the passing time.

For long moments, as she takes off her white nightgown and stacks the old piece inside her locker, leaving her completely exposed, she feels eyes on her. It doesn’t bother her, if she’s honest. Being the best recruit of the whole school never really had perks; it only brought unwanted attention and snarls and jealousy she could almost see crepitating in the air. It was horrible before, excruciating to know she was being watched and could do nothing against it, but then, one day, she just didn’t seem to care anymore. Besides, they already know her body – except the few newbies here and there - and the deep scars along her breasts are now something she isn’t ashamed of.

It’s five-thirty when she’s finally done with her shower. Although she is still tired, she’s more content now; the prospect of water had never felt so good as it does today, but yesterday it was one of those cases, the ones that get messy but effective. Alex doesn’t really want to remember, but the face of the last man is painted on her memory: the way his orbs were dilated, the way he screamed for mercy that wouldn’t come, the blood. It’s not that she regrets it, because she stopped regretting a long time ago – the man was a criminal anyway, having raped more girls than the ones observing her in the Community Shower. She figures, she’s still messed up by the blood. She doesn’t like it, the scarlet viscosity that was embedded in her long hair since yesterday, but she was forced to sleep alongside the metallic smell. There was no other way; she had to wait for the early five, for the Community Shower, the only one of the day. Not even missions have effect on the rules after all.

She stands against the shower’s wall with some other girls, bee-lining as they wait for the rest of the group to be finished. Code says every recruit needs to present itself on the 3-B-0 canteen by six-five and the group must be stoic and never dispersed for the normal procedure of the daily breakfast. This time, both males and females are allowed to share the meal, but only because breakfast means the announcements of the day. Lunch and dinner have both parties separated again, as it says in the Code that specifies the recruits as asexual beings.

By six am, the group is heading towards the quarters on the third floor above the soil. No one makes a move to start a conversation, but now they really can’t. Alex watches as they walk in groups, although silenced, planning to have breakfast and casually converse with the blonde in the right or the redhead a few steps ahead. Alex doesn’t have a group, but she doesn’t want one. She likes to sit alone, surrounded in a makeshift silence of distant rumbles and a rusty fork scrapping against an equally rusty plate. She lives off of it, really.

Most of the times her wish is answered; no one really wants to talk to her and those who do, well… they are always far too scared to go forward with the matter. However, there is always an exception. Their names are Sam and Tim Fairbury, the twins. Alex is thankful they are part of the male squad and, therefore, few are the times they have to spend together. Of course, they have seven breakfasts a week in the same room, but they share only two, three if they have the newest gossip falling off their tongues. Before she enters the room, she crosses her fingers for today not being one of those days. She really wants her fickle silence.

The food is not bad today; a bowl of thankfully-not-soggy cereals rests on the middle of the tray and two small cinnamon buns rest beside a glass of sweet orange juice to its right. Alex grabs the first small bread distractedly, biting softly across the edges and taking her time. They have half an hour to eat, followed by another half of announcements on new missions, and the bread actually tastes good. She might just be having a content day, she concludes.

She’s half way done with the cinnamon bread when they come to view. They are alarmingly identical, from the frizzled bronze-colored hair to the eyes, round and caramel-like that resemble almonds. They are not substantially broad or tall, but they have an exotic beauty to them with the full lips and narrow hips bellow defined four packs. They talk quietly to themselves, probably about the case they completed last night, since that is all Alex can remember them talking about yesterday’s breakfast. She wouldn’t really put them past that. They were a team of beautiful and smart individuals and, although they were nice enough, they were just like everyone else Alex knows in that school. They loved the kill.

When they approach her table, they are both smiling like idiots. Each holds a hand up for a high-five Alex doesn’t return, before sitting opposite her.

“Good morning, Alex!” both greet at the same time, seemingly excited.

Alex moves her head in acknowledgement, nodding at them before stuffing the rest of the bun in her mouth.

“G’morning,” she says lazily, more out of habit. She wishes they would be quiet today, but they can’t really hold themselves from starting a conversation.

“You have no idea what we found out today!” Sam starts, looking at Tim who nods excitedly. The food on their trays suddenly doesn’t interest both.

With the roll of blue eyes, Alex looks up from her food, asking with no real interest, “What is it?”

Tim looks around to make sure no one is listening in and bends forward, shushing his voice to an almost whisper. “We were just coming back from Community Shower when we heard some voices. The guards from sector 7 were talking about something and from the looks of it, it seemed important. So we thought it would be better to find out what it was.”

Sam nods, face set in a serious expression, before continuing after his brother. “They were talking about a new case. And from what we heard it isn’t just any case, either! It’s a big one this time.”

Alex looks at them with an eyebrow raised almost dramatically and sighs. Here they go again, gossiping like teens on a hormonal breakthrough. However young they are, – 20 years old, Alex would guess. - they have been a part of the school for almost two years now. For her, that’s enough time to have you grow up. That is definitely not a place for children.

“Why is that important, exactly?” she asks.

They look at each other again, doing that thing twins do that seems like they are having a conversation inside their minds, before Sam speaks up.

“Like we said, this is not just any case. It’s a big case. Those that take months to complete, you know? And from what we heard, Cassidy has already chosen the recruit that’ll take it,” he clarifies, before continuing in an unsure tone. “He chose you.”

Alex laughs then, loud enough to have some other people looking at her weirdly, but she didn’t care.

Big cases were a rarity in their school. Being the newest clandestine school in New York City, they tended to take the simplest cases, like minor robberies or rich ladies who had an obsession for underage boys. New York was the third state with most clandestine schools with a total of 5, Texas being the first with a total of 8 and North Dakota the second with 7. When she had first known about the school, Alex thought hers was the only one, but soon found out it belonged to a chain of underground education for justice, born with a soldier whose name she couldn’t remember almost seventy years ago. A total of twelve states are involved now, although the majority has two schools in a maximum, and superiors are planning a new one, this time hopefully situated in Arkansas or Ohio.

Despite situated in different states, the schools follow the same rules created all those years ago by the initial commandant. The first rule is the most obvious: the recruits must be selected from the criminal base relative to USA; they must be at age between 15 and 25 and present no trace of mental or physical illness. Once accepted to the underground education, each is offered three months of preparation before being sent to one of seven sectors. The sectors are numbered in crescent order of danger, being sector 1 for minor robberies and sector 7 for murders of importance (Alex has been part of sector 7 for seven years now).

However many rules they have to follow, recruits are also given rights, including being regularly fed and medically taken care of. But the most important right is that they can’t be held in school for more than ten years, unless the recruit volunteers for a place at the base in Texas, where professionals keep ‘implanting justice where justice isn’t made’ – the aforementioned by Dr. Cassidy logo of every school. The years every recruit stays serving the underground government are decided by the president of each school and the life as a secret agent ends either after ten years or, in some rare times, with a big case. Since Alex’s school operates with minor criminals, she has witnessed recruits being let out because of the second instead of the prior. No one has ever lasted more than 6 years in that school except Shane Talus who entered the school when he was 18 and, nine years later, still remains there.

Alex has been there for eight years now. She knows the chances of being given a big case – meaning her last case as a recruit in that school – are, clearly, few to none.

“Don’t be stupid,” she finally tells the twins, grabbing her cereals and eating a spoonful absentmindedly. “Cassidy won’t ever let me out before the fucking ten years are over.”

“I think he will,” Tim counters with a thoughtful frown on his full lips. “This is a big case, Alex. Like, the biggest case this school has ever had. And you’re the best for it.”

“I’m not the best.”

“You are!”

“No,” Alex says, sighing tiredly. “Talus is. Besides, his time is almost over. I bet he’ll take the case and then get the hell outta here. If there really is any important case, I mean.”

Sam looks at her in shock, while Time seems just simply outraged.

“Fine,” Tim concludes, eyes narrowed. “Whatever. But you’ll see soon enough.”

Alex rolls her eyes at that, but doesn’t respond anyway. She wants the twins to be right, she honestly does, but she knows they can’t be. It doesn’t matter anyway; she only has two years left and then she’ll be free. The option of a big case has been taken off her mind many years ago.

“Agent 7-55.”

It takes her a moment to realize her recruit number is being called. Both Alex and the twins look up to stare at a guard, the number 0-A-6 on his uniform meaning he was part of the president’s personal squad. He looks at Alex stoically before speaking with a distant tone and Alex has to remind herself that he was once just another young recruit like her.

“President Cassidy wishes to speak with you.”

She looks back at the twins for a second then. They have that look on their faces that tells her they knew this was coming, but she decides to ignore it and tell them she will see them later before she follows the guard down the familiar building.

Although her efforts to forget, the small talk she had with the twins keeps nagging her and she finds herself wondering if they aren’t right. But she soon forgets it, because it can’t be true. She’s bound to stay here for some time, bound two kill some more. It’s only two years and then she’ll be free. That’s one of the two things she was sure of. The second thing, well, she despised it. But it still was a certainty in her mind.

Cassidy would never choose her for a final kill.