It was not a temporary matter to begin with…
"We believe you are the most qualified assassin for this mission, Anabelle. Twenty-seven year old Laurent Archambault is a precarious target," declared Elisabeth, my manager. Adrenaline rushed through my veins. I perked up in my chair as I heard the intimidating assignment. My stomach used to lurch at the uncomfortable thought of killing someone. Now, it's second nature. With the mission seeming like a lucrative deal, I asked, “What’s your offer?”
"10.5 million, firm," she replied.
"Eleven," I demanded with a fixed glare. She looked at Anthony, the president. He gave her the look.
"Deal." Madeleine, my accomplice, winked at me. I was not expecting them to be that easy to convince, either.
"You'll be flying out of Logan tomorrow with Madeleine. Laurent will be on the plane with you. Pack your bags. Here is your packet," he continued.
"Sounds good," Madeleine and I replied in unison. After numerous formalities, we left the building.
"See ya," I said to Madeleine.
"Looking forward!" she shouted back. I now had that feeling I always have the night before. I began to question everything about my mission. What if he's the wrong person? What if…?
__________________________________________________________________ (Change of scene to the other agency)
Au revoir!" said the secretary. She slammed the phone down. She had spoken in an uneasy tone.
"Camille…" said Pierre, walking up to me.
"Hello," I replied.
"Eh, um… We need to cancel tomorrow's mission… Laurent can do it himself…We don’t need you out there. You'll see him in a bit, anyway," he stuttered unsteadily. Worries flew through my mind. What if something had happened? I wanted to be with Laurent in case something happened. "Camille?" Pierre repeated.
"Sorry…I was just thinking. It is no problem. You are right. He will be back soon," I lied. I was boiling with rage. I wouldn’t allow myself to turn red as a ripe tomato. I wouldn’t let this go.
"Merci, Camille," said Pierre, rushing away.
"I'm sorry," said the secretary in a sympathetic tone, "I know you two are close with each other…"
"Mhmm," I mumbled back. Leaving the building, I slammed the door.
"Poor Camille," replied the secretary.
Beep. Beep. Beep. The ever so familiar sound of my alarm clock greeted me. I crawled out of bed. I opened my curtains, something I do every morning. This would be a big day. I felt the dread of my job. I would get it done. I had pulled the trigger more than once. Downstairs, I was comforted by the familiar smell of coffee. It had a strong smell of rich, fresh-ground coffee beans. I lived on that energizing, brown, cloudy liquid. A combination of packing and worries kept me up until two. I popped a waffle in the toaster, the sweet, pleasing smell diffusing...