Heart of an Assassin (Circle of Spies) by Laura Pauling

Author:Laura Pauling [Pauling, Laura]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780985232726
Publisher: Redpoint Press
Published: 2012-11-20T06:00:00+00:00

Twenty-five

Smoke still lingered in my nostrils. The damp scent rose off my clothes and hair as I ran. I wanted. I needed to get lost. Let the coastal town wrap me up in her arms of vendors, white washed homes, and narrow streets. My chest heaved and tears blurred my vision.

Malcolm was dead.

Those three words repeated in my head. I ran harder. And longer. Ignoring the tourists I bumped, the kids I tripped over, and the head of lettuce rolling across the street. The vendors and their angry words yelled in Greek went right past me.

Malcolm was dead.

How could someone survive an explosion like that?

I kept running away from the answer even though it tugged on me, trying to yank me back to reality, back to the docks. Pain flashed through my side, screaming at me to stop. Pain felt good. After turning down street after street, my legs buckled and I fell, the pavement scratching my face and arms as I landed and rolled.

The sky filled with fluffy clouds spun above me, mocking me. I was aware of certain sounds: the sharp intake of each breath as my chest rose and fell, the pounding of my heart, and the pain jabbing through every part of me.

When an elderly man walked past and I heard his “tsk tsk,” I pushed up and leaned against the wall of a nearby store. Streaks of dirt on the wall across the street blurred in and out of focus. Malcolm’s family appeared one at a time in my mind: Edith, Bartholomew, Janelle, Will. I groaned. I had to tell them. Would their faces harden and they’d turn me away?

The walk back was long and slow, but eventually, I stood at their door. My hand paused in midair, trembling. The scrapes on my cheek and arms stung. My hand rested on the door and slowly dragged down. My fingers crossed over the grains in the wood.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

The door opened and I fell into Will’s arms.

“She’s alive!” He pulled me into the house and shut the door.

The whole family surrounded me, smiling, talking, asking question after question. Janelle shouted something about food and I heard cupboards open in the kitchen. Bartholomew immediately started arguing that I needed a stiff drink. They were taking care of me, concerned, assuming their son was okay. I hated to shatter it with the truth.

“Back away. Give her some room!” Will ordered.

He led me over to the couch and I sank into the cushiony softness. I scratched my finger over and over against the smooth fabric. I tried to talk, but every time I did, they shushed me. A cool washcloth pressed against my face. Someone dabbed at my arm. Janelle stroked my hand. Did this callused family, who mocked and joked about my death to my face, care about me? And had I learned to care for them despite it all? When you love someone that should extend to the ones they care about too. Shouldn’t it?

While I debated this issue, I sensed Edith’s stare.

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