Master assassin, Jasper Whitlock, has been assigned to, on the behalf of a vengeful ex-lover to kill Alice Cullen. However, when complications arise, will the master be beaten at his own game?
Part One: An Assassin's Scars
An assassin's body is heavily scarred. Mine is no different.
I was standing bare-chested in front of my mirror, evaluating the results from five years of killings. I was a Master, the best of the best, yet even I had not escaped my fair share of close calls and impending disasters.
I had a bullet puckering in my left shoulder. That was a souvenir from my first ever assignment, Jane Volturi, who had been on the verge of drowning her family's reputation with an outrageous elopement. I was successful but had underestimated the threat of her estranged lover, hence getting shot. In another scenario, I also had vivid memories of tiny stab marks which littered my abdomen; they were the first I received after becoming a Master assassin. I had been asked to gate-crash a highly protected wedding event and annihilate the groom, all in broad daylight. To be honest, it was amazing that I had managed to escape, almost unscathed, when so many had died alongside their victims.
So, my scars gave me a sense of pride. My body was the proof that numerous had tried to take my life. And, I was the living proof that they had failed. Yet I have never failed an assignment.
It's ironic to remember that in high school I was the geeky kid who was squeaminsh. Any sort of bloodshed or violence made me feel quaint. If somebody passed out in biology class, it was probably me. And now?
Jasper Whitlock. Master assassin. Un-bloody-beatable.
My phone beeped suddenly, alerting me to a new text message. It was my boss, Rosalie Hale, asking that I go to her office immediately. I knew what this meant and my heartrate increased in anticipation. A new assignment. I smiled and the mirror returned an equally sinister smile; it had been three weeks since my last assignment and I was thrilled to go people hunting once again. Without musch fuss, I threw on a shirt and leather jacket, locked the front door before jumping onto my motorbike. It was black and sleek, fast and sleuthy; in other words – perfect.
Riding through the city traffic took no time at all.
Rosalie's office was on the top floor of a regular office block. It (and all other subsequent offices) was hidden within a labyrinth of legitimate lawyers who worked for Rosalie's fiancée Emmett McCarty. I nodded to a few of those airheads as I walked through. I'm not sure how but they kept their mouths shut about the illicit dealings of this place. I assumed it was related to the number of killers who would be after their necks, if any leaks of information did occur.
"Jasper Whitlock", I told our 'receptionist' once I arrived. "Requested by Rosalie Hale."
"Of course" she replied and then spoke quietly into her headset. "Go right through." She told me. "Ms Hale will be in her office."
I nodded before continuining down the narrow hallways, passing a few fellow assassins on the way. I didn't get lost, finding Rosalie's ornate door and bronze knocker with ease. I knocked, waiting for the customary 'come in' before turning the knob and stepping inside.
"Boss" I nodded in acknowledgement.
"Good job Whitlock, that was quick." Rosalie responded briskly as I fought the urge to roll my eyes; had I ever been late? "I'd like you to meet Mr James Harte, who will be providing you your latest assignment."
I took this opportunity to inspect the man who was standing, like an awkward statue, in the middle of the room. He was tall and well off in appearance, I had to admit. Light shoulder length brown hair which was pulled into a neat ponytail, startling grey/hazel eyes, a prominent jawline. Well dressed with dark jeans, boots and a jacket. As James shuffled his feet and cleared his throat to speak, I wondered what he was going to say. Perhaps I was to be looking for a wild maniac thief of a massive inheritance which would involve a skip across multiple continents?
"My ex" He stated. "Ex-fiancé, we were to be married next month. Except she suddenly decided that I wasn't worth her time."
Ex-fiancé. A simple lover's spat. Something that even a rookie assassin could take care of without many major difficulties. I knew my eyebrow was slightly raised; where was the catch?
"Her name is Alice Cullen."
Ah. That was the catch. I was familiar with that name. Alice Cullen was the daughter of Esme and Carlisle; the latter being the CEO of some elaborate airplane company. Carlisle used to serve in the army and so everybody knew he was extremely paranoid. He insisted on bodyguards, carrying firearms and missile proof cars, not just for him, but the entire family. Their home was equally fortified; it was rumoured that a team of America's best snipers were hidden on the rooftop. Imagining the house made me smile. I loved the thrill and my latest assignment was undoubtedly going to be an epic challenge. In the corner of my eye, I saw Rosalie nod minutely, as though she somehow knew of my affirmation. James was still droning on about Alice's description, black hair, pixie; did he think I was stupid? I was holding a picture in my hand!
I decided to stop him before I lost my patience and broke the man's neck.
"Mr Harte" I stated politely. "Thank you for telling me all about Alice, but I think I have enough information now. If you would allow me to get to work, Alice will be dead in no time.
Dismissively, I took a step to my right and opened the door to Rosalie's office. He took the hint and I bade him farewell. A simple 'good luck' and James was gone.
"Good job, Whitlock." My boss chuckled. "I thought he was never going to stop."
I had to agree.
If there was anything I had learned from my experiences was that patience was vital because without thought and precision, one could end up seriously injured, if not dead. Accuracy and attention to detail was vital. I needed to know where everybody was positioned; else, I would be easily taken off guard. A quick mind was vital. I needed to make adjustments whenever something was altered in my plans. I needed contingency options. I needed to have emergency escapes and plans for the scenario that I was compromised before the assassination could take place. The first step? Spy on Alice Cullen.
I quickly learned that Alice was an avid shopper and enjoyed spending countless hours trying on clothes at a variety of high end stores. I memorized her routines; when did she normally leave home? And when did she normally go back? Was she normally out with friends or did Alice prefer to spend time alone? How observant was the lass? Was she the gullible type or did she prefer to be the trickster? I was satisfied to attain an answer to each of my questions.
Unless she was entertaining guests, Alice always left home at 10 in the morning. She arrived back between 4:30 and 6 PM – only once in two weeks had my target made a stop home for lunch. I had also discovered that although Carlisle had invested hundreds of thousands of dollars in a complex security system, there were some rather obvious flaws. Only a fingerprint identification was needed to permit a person entry and I knew there were ways to 'steal' a fingerprint or better still, cheat the system. However, I knew that one failed attempt and a whole array of alarms, lasers and booby traps would be my enemy. Patience was vital.
Alice was the popular type. It was not unusual for her to be surrounded by friends. With a personal bodyguard, Edward Masen, I realized that Alice was rarely alone; in other words, untouchable in public.
Untouchable. And either extremely observant or had an uncanny sixth sense to detect the presence of other people. I had been watching Alice as she enjoyed a picnic in the nearby park, hidden in thick hedges, of course. I was confident that I was 100% out of sight; yet, I noticed that Alice's eyes kept flitting to the bushes where I was hiding, as though she knew I was there. In fact, just two days ago, I was observing Alice as she visited yet another shopping mall. I was standing outside the newsagency with a magazine clutched in my left hand. Alice was a good distance away, laughing as her friends tried on all sorts of ridiculous shoes. I confess to be slightly creeped out when she turned around and stared at me for half a minute, before looking away, joining friends as though nothing had happened.
She must have noticed my staring, I reasoned. Did I look like a moronic perve?
Probably. But then again, I was rather handsome too.
It may have been interesting to pull out a gun and kill her, in that surreal moment. But .that would mean a difficult escape and then a lifelong stay in a police cell. No, I would not meet that sticky fate. Patience was vital.
But surely three weeks was patient enough? I knew there were other assassins who enjoyed spending months on assignments but I preferred to use the minimal time feasible. I liked to be adequately prepared, correction down to the tee but in a job like this, there would always be an element of chance. I didn't think that pointless waiting would eliminate that element of chance when I could be finishing off a job and giving myself a pat on the back, extending an already perfect record. I was ready. I decided to attack at night because I loved being protected by the darkness. Additionally, I always felt more powerful at night where my agility, stealth and quick reflexes outshone the abilities of my victims.
I was standing outside the mansion. I watched slowly as light after light went out, leaving only the yellow glow of the guards' flashlights. Finally, the family was asleep.
I darted out from my hiding places between two large trees and moved confidently towards the front gate. I knew that any moment, a guard could spin around and see mel. I would be ruined. With practiced ease, I removed a single cotton glove and blush from my pocket. I dabbled a loose layer of the cosmetics onto the keypad, smirking as the last print showed up. I then poked it with my gloved finger; I wanted to laugh at the simplicity in which I thwarted the system. "Too easy" I grumbled as the gate swung open with a low hum.
I rushed inside, hiding in the squishy space between the statue of Carlise's grandfather and Esme's white rose garden, keeping my hand firmly clutched around a concealed dagger. The guards were scattered, most of them running towards the gate with an expression of disbelief and confusion. I held back a snicker as they grumbled about computer errors. It would be too ironic to get caught while laughing at not getting caught.
I waited until they were sufficiently distracted before walking towards the front door of the house. I already knew where the spare key was, having noticed Alice fiddle among the pot plants the day she came home for lunch. I found it and frowned a little; for a paranoid ex-soldier, this was rather tame. I stepped into the foyer with baited breath.
No alarms, no flashing red lights. Not even a quiet, barely audible buzz as motion sensors came to life. Just an eerie silence.
I had seen a vague floorplan of the house and hence climbed up the stairs, on a direct path to Alice's bedroom. Enroute, I passed the master suite. I heard two distinct snores and concluded that neither Carlisle nor Esme would ruin me tonight. With lithe steps that made no sound on the carpet floor, I made my way down the hall. I could see Alice's door now and my muscles tensed ever so slightly.
I opened the door, entered and without a moment's hesitation shut it behind me.
The room was smaller than I expected. It was dark but I could still make out the silhouette of the desk, closet and Alice's sleeping figure in the bed. I had one very simple plan – slit her throat and then get out of here; I clutched the knife in my hand, sliding towards the bed. I was close. My heart holted with nervous yet excited anticipation. I was nearly done.
When suddenly, Alice's eyes flew open and her peaceful expression transformed into a smirk.
And then she leapt onto me, grabbing the knife in an attempt to wrestle it from my grasp. I held on tightly as I stumbled backwards, eventually pressed against the far wall. Her face was within spitting distance; none of us were budging. I scowled and she responded with a mischievous smile.
"Jasper Whitlock." Alice whispered in a voice which cut like ice. "I've been expecting you."
So, this is my latest story. What do you guys think? Is this darker version of Jasper believable? I'm open to all comments and feedback; I would be very appreciative of any reviews. I have written parts 2 and 3 and will be posting them soon. For now, I hope you are enjoying this story. Please REVIEW!