Status: A light story to get me out of my writer's block!
Killing Atlas
Day One
“Do I know you?”
Atlas’s familiar blue eyes glimmered with innocence as he gazed up at me in wonder. His chin was littered with patches of growth, his hair unruly to match. And on his head was a large gash, mostly healed thanks to his weeks in hospital, but was now an ugly lump that spoiled his once pretty face. This wasn’t the Atlas I knew. This was the John Doe I’d seen on the news in the police department’s attempt to find his family.
I gave him the smallest of smiles, my fingers tightening around the tiny vial in my palm. I had, on numerous occasions, dreamt of the day that I saw Atlas again. To feel the arrogance that oozed from his pores like water seeping from a sponge. The very thought had me rippling with the urge to punch him square in the face.
But his face held no arrogance like I had expected. Awe was fixed into his brows like a puppy waiting for a pat on the head. At my lack of response, he edged forward on his chair, his gaze flitting around the small coffee shop. Almost as if determining that I was actually there. As if he’d been expecting me.
I tensed instinctively as he peered up at me again; my thoughts focused solely on his every move. I’d prepared myself if he happened to recognise me. If he moved an inch, I would kill him.
“It’s just that I’m sure you’re the one in my dreams,” he added, blinking rapidly.
My brow rose, and I almost scoffed, wondering if this was perhaps a poor attempt at a pickup line. Relaxing slightly, I sat down across from him, folding my hands neatly over the table. Amnesia, indeed.
“In your dreams?” I mused evenly. “I’m sorry, I can’t say the same.”
John’s eyes narrowed, his head tilted slightly in thought. I pursed my lips at the familiar motion, recalling how Atlas had looked when he was solving a particularly difficult problem. “Do you know who I am?” he asked, his brows furrowing.
My smile widened, sparking with amusement before I gave him a slow nod. Amnesia had certainly not affected his logic. He always had been clever, even if I wouldn’t openly admit it.
John’s eyes grew wide, perking up so quickly, he narrowly missed knocking over his coffee. “Tell me!” he pleaded, pressing his palms flat against the tabletop. “Tell me who I am!”
I considered telling him the truth. To watch his reaction. Perhaps he’d be crazy enough to believe me. For a moment, I even considered telling him who I was. But I did none of that.
Instead I leaned forward, my hands sliding smoothly over the tabletop before my fingers grazed his coffee cup. Nose inches from his; I tilted my head, eyes pinned to his blue. “I don’t want to,” I whispered.
The moment was gone in only a few seconds before I leaned back in my chair, relishing the desperate look in his eyes and the begging that laced his tone. I never thought I’d see the day that Atlas King would look at me in such a way, or even ask my help. I couldn’t help but notice that I enjoyed it.
John’s eyes flickered, realisation dawning when he pulled away. He seemed genuinely distressed, something I never thought overconfident Atlas King would feel. “We… we weren’t… friends?”
I shook my head, gazing at him indifferently.
“But… but in my dreams…” he trailed. “You’re… well, you and… I…”
My brow quirked. “We were what? Friends?”
John blushed, his brows furrowing.
“More than friends?”
Reluctantly, he nodded, his cheeks reddening further when I gave a bark of incredulous laughter. “I’ve been looking for you,” he blurted. “Ever since I woke up.”
I smiled wryly. “Well that was your first mistake.”
John ignored my comment, seemingly too invested in whatever was running through his head. “I wanted to tell you something.”
I sighed. “And what was that, Mr Doe?”
Once, when we were much younger, Atlas had said the same thing. Back then, I’d been naïve. I thought he was telling me a secret. Something about him that only I would know. I was met with a raspberry in my ear. Since then I knew never to trust him.
“I think I love you.”
I faltered for only the briefest of seconds, shifting uncomfortably in my chair. A glance at my watch told me I didn’t want to stick around much longer. “I didn’t realise love was in your vocabulary,” I noted dismally, avoiding his gaze.
“There must be a reason I dream about you. About us,” he insisted.
My eyes darted back to him, flashing with anger. “There is no us,” I snapped venomously. Unless my hands are wrapped around your neck, squeezing the last breath from your lungs. “Now… Mr Doe, I can’t tell you how… delightful this chat has been. But I’ve grown tired of this, and I’m in no mood to stay any longer.” I stood, and gave him a tight lipped smile before I turned on my heel. “I’d drink that coffee before it gets cold,” I added over my shoulder.
I almost expected John to stop me as I moved briskly to the door. It was clear he had many questions for the girl he dreamed of, and my abrupt departure would have anyone stumbling over themselves for answers. But he kept quiet, his gaze burning the back of my head.
The sound of smashing porcelain stopped me at the door. I hesitated, my heart pumping with adrenaline as I chanced a glance in hope to see my success if only briefly. It really did only take ten minutes.
I turned to see a waitress at John’s table. She was hastily sweeping at the glass shattered at his feet, a towel soaking at the poisonous liquid pooled on the floor. And instead of being limp at the table, John stared at me with wide eyes; completely oblivious to the poisoned coffee he’d narrowly missed drinking.
I scowled bitterly at my failure, leaving the coffee shop, and John’s curious eyes, without another word.
~
“Is it done?”
I breathed deeply, my heart pumping erratically at dad’s even tone. I didn’t know how to tell him I’d been unsuccessful. I’d trained for this day, and I’d failed to kill the easiest of targets.
“It was too crowded,” I replied, grateful I couldn’t see his disappointment through the phone line. “But I have a tracker on him.”
The line was quiet a moment; a sign that dad was not impressed. I could only imagine his light smile turning to a hardened frown, his brilliant mind turning over the possible reasons for his heir failing. He knew I was capable of escaping a scene unnoticed. There was no excuse in ‘too crowded’.
“This should be an easy mark for you,” dad finally said.
I bit my lip at his emotionless tone, hating Atlas even more for making my dad feel anything but pride for me.
“I know,” I replied. “Don’t worry dad. I have it under control.”
There was no excuse. Tomorrow, Atlas King would be nothing more than a corpse.
Atlas’s familiar blue eyes glimmered with innocence as he gazed up at me in wonder. His chin was littered with patches of growth, his hair unruly to match. And on his head was a large gash, mostly healed thanks to his weeks in hospital, but was now an ugly lump that spoiled his once pretty face. This wasn’t the Atlas I knew. This was the John Doe I’d seen on the news in the police department’s attempt to find his family.
I gave him the smallest of smiles, my fingers tightening around the tiny vial in my palm. I had, on numerous occasions, dreamt of the day that I saw Atlas again. To feel the arrogance that oozed from his pores like water seeping from a sponge. The very thought had me rippling with the urge to punch him square in the face.
But his face held no arrogance like I had expected. Awe was fixed into his brows like a puppy waiting for a pat on the head. At my lack of response, he edged forward on his chair, his gaze flitting around the small coffee shop. Almost as if determining that I was actually there. As if he’d been expecting me.
I tensed instinctively as he peered up at me again; my thoughts focused solely on his every move. I’d prepared myself if he happened to recognise me. If he moved an inch, I would kill him.
“It’s just that I’m sure you’re the one in my dreams,” he added, blinking rapidly.
My brow rose, and I almost scoffed, wondering if this was perhaps a poor attempt at a pickup line. Relaxing slightly, I sat down across from him, folding my hands neatly over the table. Amnesia, indeed.
“In your dreams?” I mused evenly. “I’m sorry, I can’t say the same.”
John’s eyes narrowed, his head tilted slightly in thought. I pursed my lips at the familiar motion, recalling how Atlas had looked when he was solving a particularly difficult problem. “Do you know who I am?” he asked, his brows furrowing.
My smile widened, sparking with amusement before I gave him a slow nod. Amnesia had certainly not affected his logic. He always had been clever, even if I wouldn’t openly admit it.
John’s eyes grew wide, perking up so quickly, he narrowly missed knocking over his coffee. “Tell me!” he pleaded, pressing his palms flat against the tabletop. “Tell me who I am!”
I considered telling him the truth. To watch his reaction. Perhaps he’d be crazy enough to believe me. For a moment, I even considered telling him who I was. But I did none of that.
Instead I leaned forward, my hands sliding smoothly over the tabletop before my fingers grazed his coffee cup. Nose inches from his; I tilted my head, eyes pinned to his blue. “I don’t want to,” I whispered.
The moment was gone in only a few seconds before I leaned back in my chair, relishing the desperate look in his eyes and the begging that laced his tone. I never thought I’d see the day that Atlas King would look at me in such a way, or even ask my help. I couldn’t help but notice that I enjoyed it.
John’s eyes flickered, realisation dawning when he pulled away. He seemed genuinely distressed, something I never thought overconfident Atlas King would feel. “We… we weren’t… friends?”
I shook my head, gazing at him indifferently.
“But… but in my dreams…” he trailed. “You’re… well, you and… I…”
My brow quirked. “We were what? Friends?”
John blushed, his brows furrowing.
“More than friends?”
Reluctantly, he nodded, his cheeks reddening further when I gave a bark of incredulous laughter. “I’ve been looking for you,” he blurted. “Ever since I woke up.”
I smiled wryly. “Well that was your first mistake.”
John ignored my comment, seemingly too invested in whatever was running through his head. “I wanted to tell you something.”
I sighed. “And what was that, Mr Doe?”
Once, when we were much younger, Atlas had said the same thing. Back then, I’d been naïve. I thought he was telling me a secret. Something about him that only I would know. I was met with a raspberry in my ear. Since then I knew never to trust him.
“I think I love you.”
I faltered for only the briefest of seconds, shifting uncomfortably in my chair. A glance at my watch told me I didn’t want to stick around much longer. “I didn’t realise love was in your vocabulary,” I noted dismally, avoiding his gaze.
“There must be a reason I dream about you. About us,” he insisted.
My eyes darted back to him, flashing with anger. “There is no us,” I snapped venomously. Unless my hands are wrapped around your neck, squeezing the last breath from your lungs. “Now… Mr Doe, I can’t tell you how… delightful this chat has been. But I’ve grown tired of this, and I’m in no mood to stay any longer.” I stood, and gave him a tight lipped smile before I turned on my heel. “I’d drink that coffee before it gets cold,” I added over my shoulder.
I almost expected John to stop me as I moved briskly to the door. It was clear he had many questions for the girl he dreamed of, and my abrupt departure would have anyone stumbling over themselves for answers. But he kept quiet, his gaze burning the back of my head.
The sound of smashing porcelain stopped me at the door. I hesitated, my heart pumping with adrenaline as I chanced a glance in hope to see my success if only briefly. It really did only take ten minutes.
I turned to see a waitress at John’s table. She was hastily sweeping at the glass shattered at his feet, a towel soaking at the poisonous liquid pooled on the floor. And instead of being limp at the table, John stared at me with wide eyes; completely oblivious to the poisoned coffee he’d narrowly missed drinking.
I scowled bitterly at my failure, leaving the coffee shop, and John’s curious eyes, without another word.
~
“Is it done?”
I breathed deeply, my heart pumping erratically at dad’s even tone. I didn’t know how to tell him I’d been unsuccessful. I’d trained for this day, and I’d failed to kill the easiest of targets.
“It was too crowded,” I replied, grateful I couldn’t see his disappointment through the phone line. “But I have a tracker on him.”
The line was quiet a moment; a sign that dad was not impressed. I could only imagine his light smile turning to a hardened frown, his brilliant mind turning over the possible reasons for his heir failing. He knew I was capable of escaping a scene unnoticed. There was no excuse in ‘too crowded’.
“This should be an easy mark for you,” dad finally said.
I bit my lip at his emotionless tone, hating Atlas even more for making my dad feel anything but pride for me.
“I know,” I replied. “Don’t worry dad. I have it under control.”
There was no excuse. Tomorrow, Atlas King would be nothing more than a corpse.