Carter's Mark - Chapter 2
Chapter 2: Two Years Later
He walked down the
corridor leading to room 209. It was an
old building. Tattered walls, absorbing
the drips from the ceiling, were gloomy, a far cry from the once respectable building
it used to be. The steady echo of water
transferring from ceiling to floor was constant, almost instrumental. The perfect scene for an almost routine
crime. Shaking the water from his
hair, he collected his thoughts, and focused.
He now stood in front of 209, holding the vase of red roses, which were
to be presented to his mark. His orders
were to take the gift to one Felicity Rose (he considered giving roses to be a
rather corny irony) and allow her time to read the card that came with the
vase. The rest, it was decided was
completely up to him to devise.
Before knocking, James
Carter realized just how easy this job was going to be. The storm outside had presented him with an
overcoat (which would have been otherwise impossible, as it was July in
Savannah) and a relatively vacated sidewalk, which he preferred over
taxies. As an added bonus, he managed to
catch a glimpse of his target entering her building, which reassured him that
she would be alone in her residence. A
faint smile came to his face, and he knocked.
The smell of cooked vegetables filled his nostrils as the door swung
open, and standing in the doorway was his mark.
“Good evening Miss,
are you by chance Felicity Rose?” Carter
always liked giving the impression of utmost kindness.
“Yes, can I help
you?” Her voice was that of
surprise. He guessed that she rarely got
evening visitors. She had wavy brown
hair, emerald green eyes, and wore a smile very reminiscent of the fake smiles
that Carter had remembered in his early years.
He had given her about forty minutes to make herself at home, and she
had taken advantage of that time to change into a house attire of sorts, which
consisted of denim and a white t-shirt.
“Sorry for the
intrusion at this time of night, but I was instructed to deliver this to you in
a timely manner.” While she looked down
at the flowers, he took the opportunity to glance around the apartment, eyeing
the intricate paintings of nature scenes, then across the room to the
collection of movies and books in a beautiful, almost antique looking mahogany
bookshelf. It seemed that Miss Rose had
a thing for the arts. As his focus
veered to the woman in front of him again, he realized she was no longer
looking at the roses, but at him. She
had a look of sadness, a tiredness that presumably came from a long day.
“How did you know
where I live?” she questioned, staring straight into Carter’s eyes, almost
peering through him to the wall behind.
“I’m merely following
instructions from my employer, Miss Rose.
I was told to bring this vase to 121 Cavanaugh, Apartment 209, to a Miss
Felicity Rose.” That should suffice,
thought Carter.
“Hmm. Well, do come in then, if you may.”
These words came as a
bit of a shock to Carter. The scene that
played out in his mind not an hour before was that of a murder in the hallway
of this old building, as most women that are presented with flowers are
prompted to grab the vase and read the card hurriedly to learn the bearer of
such a gift. Felicity, as Carter was
quick to learn, was not most women. As he entered, he noticed the surroundings
once more. He had grown accustomed to
familiarizing himself with future crime scenes, in case he needed to cover his
tracks due to the occasional struggle, in which things would change their
position in the room. The entrance room
was most normal, and had a “hand-me-down” look to it. Quilts and pillows lie on top of a very
traditional looking loveseat. Off-white
lace drapes hung over the windows. The
paintings that he had noticed before had a worn look to them from a closer
point of view. He was intrigued by his
realization that this young woman, much unlike most, seemed to have never
bought anything for herself. He was
interrupted from his thoughts as she spoke.
“Would you like a
drink? It’s been a long night, almost
too long. I don’t recall your name?” She
was fishing for conversation topics, Carter assumed. Almost as quickly as he
replied “No, thank you, I won’t be staying.
The name’s Carter,” she spoke again.
“You know I half expected this from him. I mean, I knew he’d be grateful
for my helping in this matter, but flowers don’t really suit his
character. I assume you work for
him?” What an interesting question…
“Yes, I’m… new.”
Carter had not expected much conversation, but he was plenty capable of holding
his own. “Listen, I should really get going, and I don’t want to interrupt your
dinner,” he glanced at the steaming vegetables that seemed close to boiling,
“but before I leave, I was told that you needed to read the card that came with
the roses.” He was forcing the issue, but he had already outlasted the time he
thought it would take.
“Right. Let’s read the
card,” said Felicity. Carter could pick
up the slightest bit of sarcasm in her tone.
She came forward slowly, as if to imply she was not enthusiastic about
the gift. Maybe she had an idea that something was wrong. As she removed the note from the vase, she
read it at an angle to which he could not eavesdrop. A few moments later,
Carter realized she had finished reading, and was now simply staring towards
the card, but more into empty space. She
was deciphering the context of the note.
Then, she started to cry. It was
a slight sobbing, followed by the hand to the face, an almost grimace like
wrinkle at the corners of her eyes.
Suddenly she did
something else unexpected. She removed
her hand from her face, and reached out for something to grab on to. She moved forward, stopping only when she
came in contact with Carter, and she hugged him as if he were a long lost
friend. For about a minute he held her,
until he decided the time had come, as if a small voice in his head had told
him it had been long enough. Very
softly, his arm shifted from a comforting position at the small of her back, to
the coat he was wearing, and he grabbed his custom pistol. Then, with the most subtle of swift
movements, he slid his arm between himself and the girl, and positioned the
barrel at a forty five degree angle against the lower area of her ribcage. A soft, dull noise replaced crying with a
quick intake of breath, which didn’t completely take, and then the sound of a
woman that had just lost all feeling in her legs slouching into his arms. Such a pity most would have thought, for her to
die during such a vulnerable time. Carter,
however, never really liked pity. He set
her down on the loveseat, in a position that hinted that she was still among
the living, resting her head with one of the freely lying pillows on the arm of
the couch. He took a second to admire
her intricately, then picked up the note.
My dearest Felicity,
I cannot begin to tell you how
appreciative I am of your actions tonight.
The flowers are from Bill, as I am not much the sentimental type. I do hope you made it home without any
trouble. I would have driven you home if
I’d have known it was going to rain. You
rushed off in such a hurry that I didn’t get to tell you a couple of things.
First off, I will be sending word of
your bravery to your parents, as they will be most pleased that you are finally
doing something with yourself. My how
you’ve grown up right before my eyes.
Secondly, I wanted to let you know
most regretfully, that your husband Ralph will not be coming home tonight. You see, my love, he’s been shot. It happened after you left. He was searching
for you in the madness and caught and unexpected bullet. Please forgive me, but you have to understand
that it is for the greater good that we could not involve paramedics or
hospitals in our business for the threat of being exposed. If you need a shoulder to cry on, use my
delivery boy. He’s very good at dealing
with this sort of thing. I’ll be by
tomorrow to explain in full detail the happenings of the night. Again, you have my sincerest apologies. I
wish I could have prevented it.
Hopefully
yours,
Robert
C. Weatherington
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