Stockholm Syndrome? - Chapter 1: Chapter 1

Temptation.
It was something I couldn't resist. Anticipation. Tension. Desire. Heat touched and slid over my skin, reminding me of what I had missed ever since I took on an identity that wasn't mine. Every nerve was being ignited, I was aware of every rise of my chest as I drew in air. My muscles were tense, longing for a release, demanding I release the most primal part of myself.
As I sat in my 2016 Audi R8, I found myself gripped by yearning that was pure and strong. It was July and the sun was beating on me hard. I enjoyed the heat; it was a change of scene I had longed for for a while. It was about time.
Felix.
It's what my mother named me, what she called me. What she had called me. I was her pride and joy, her only child. I was the miracle, the baby she thought she would never hold in her arms. I came too late because even I couldn't save her.
I pressed the power button for the high-end music player in the car and smiled as "Serve the servants" by Nirvana came on. I closed my eyes for a few seconds, just listening to the guitar riffs. It drowned out the sound of the car's engine which was idling at the spotlight.
That was until I heard the sound of an equally impressive engine on my left. I turned my head slightly and met with a Porsche Carrera GT. The driver nodded. I nodded back, accepting the challenge with no moment's hesitation. I couldn't ignore my primal urges. I had something to celebrate and winning a drag race would give me the satisfaction.
I shifted the sunglasses I was wearing slightly and the driver of the other car revved his engine in response. I gave him a slight smile and put the car into first gear, easing the clutch as I floored the gas pedal. I felt the car's back-end jerk as the back tires spun against hot asphalt.
A split second before the light turned green, I released the brakes and the Audi shot forward in a cloud of white smoke and burning rubber. I could not fight the temptation.
*
A few hours later I eased the Audi into the garage and parked. I stayed in the car as sounds of a guitar finally drowned out. I switched off the running engine and was greeted by silence. Leaning back on my seat, I exhaled actively.
I thought back to moments before the drag race that had ended in a speeding ticket for the other driver and victory for me.
For a month I had been someone else. Jeremy Welsh was a conservative guy who worked as a personal assistant; blond haired, blue eyed and the clumsiest person alive. He owned an apartment, didn't smoke, didn't drink and pretty much had no social life. He was an identity constructed for a mission. The mission was accomplished. Jeremy was dead.
Jeremy wasn't the only person that died. Jeremy's boss died too. He had a heart attack. He supposedly had a heart attack. Only Jeremy knew what had really happened to Mr. James Harvey, and Jeremy was dead.
I reached over to the passenger seat of the car and grabbed a blond wig. It wasn't supposed to be in the car. It was supposed to be somewhere along the path I had chosen to make my getaway. But due to my excursion, I had forgotten all about it.
For a second I thought it might come in handy in future missions, until I remembered that James Harvey was the last mission. He was the last contract.
I finally made my way out of the car and into the house. I set new alarms and disabled some, checked the property surveillance footage and made sure the property was secure.
Taking off my jacket, I poured myself a glass of scotch and relaxed on one of the couches in the living area. Taking a sip, I switched the TV on and turned down the volume. I didn't bother checking the house for any signs of intruders considering that I had been away for almost a month. Everything was as I had left it, the place looked untouched. It was a misplaced jacket short of a display house. Everything was in place. The mansion was posh, something not quite like me. Everything was opulent and clean-cut, subtle yet drew your eyes to it. It was the work of an interior designer I'd been all too happy to throw money at.
The news was on. I couldn't be bothered. I placed my legs on the glass table in front of me, relaxing into the couch. I couldn't have relaxed for more than 5 minutes before the phone in my pocket vibrated. It was a text message, and a reminder I had to get rid of the phone.
National bank Save6565 07/13/16 Deposit $5 000 000, Available $5 000 900 Seth Hurst
The text message didn't get the sort of reaction people usually had when they had just come into money. There was no elation or even a smile. I was used to such text messages. Deposits of such large amounts of money into one account might raise suspicions from authorities but I had a good cover up. Besides my missions, I had an actual job. I was an art dealer, a good one. I bought and sold paintings. I represented various artists and had relationships with art collectors and museums. People said I had a keen eye and good judgment. It was what allowed me to become successful in my other job.
But my keen eye wasn't natural. No. It took years of training. 3 years in Russia of hard work and what I referred to as indoctrination. I trained like the military, only for me it wasn't because of patriarchy. I learned about all kinds of weapons, even the harmless kind. I learned that everything could be used as a weapon, just depended on how you use it. I learned to move at the speed of light, dodge punches and the feds. Judo, karate, jujutsu, archery, shooting different guns, human anatomy, human psychology and behavior, I learned it all. I learned how to kill and smartly so.
Jeremy Harvey died of a heart attack. Martin Smith had a seizure and hit the bath. Glen Collie died of a self-inflicted gunshot wound. Francesca Simeone died after releasing chlorine gas in a contained environment when she mixed two different detergents. Those were the only ones I could passively remember, mostly because they had been the first for each method. Some were investigated and ruled death by natural causes. Some weren't suspicious at all.
I pried my phone open and removed the sim card, breaking it into little pieces. Downing my drink, I scrolled through the TV channels until something caught my eye. A movie had just ended and the credits were slowly rolling. It was a name, particularly the last name; de la Cruz.
It reminded me of something.
Felix Alexander de la Cruz.
It had a nice ring to it. Too bad it wasn't my name anymore. I went by many names depending on the occasion. Seth Hurst, Ryder Leighton, Axel Haynes...; I picked names for the occasion.
Felix meant "lucky" and I was anything but lucky. With a childhood marred by a dead mother and an absent father, I practically raised myself. My parents died within a year of each other and I would lie if I said I was sad to see my father go. He was lucky I didn't help him leave the land of the living myself.
Thinking of my parents made me realize the time was now. 7 years on the other side of the gun and I was ready to retire. It was a decision I had taken even before the last job I accepted. I'd taken out more targets than I cared to count. It was nothing personal; it was a job, a job I did without questions. I felt the time had come for me to retire. I didn't need the money. It was the thrill that drew me to the profession. It was time to put the guns away and I was going to go out with a mission close to my heart.
This time it wasn't a job, it was personal. I had saved the last bullet for that moment. For once in my career I had a motive. I had waited long enough. There were no contracts, no money. I was going to be rewarded in the best way possible.
I stood up to pour myself more scotch and caught a reflection of my face on the glass case. Tall, dark, handsome, mysterious; I had heard it all. Some said I had just the right amount of devil in my smooth grin, and many couldn't stare into my dark eyes long enough. No one would say I had a kind face; something my mom had taken pride in when I was young. I had outgrown the face she got to see and then some more. At 28 years old, I had none of the round soft face, pink lips and shy smiles. My face was more chiseled, my strong exquisite jaw-line ever present. Slightly dark skin layered over the bones, comfortably taut over the high cheek bone. I spotted one deep cheek dimple which was rarely seen since I changed appearances and in my natural form, rarely smiled. Dark black facial hair grew above my upper lip and along my jaw. The hair on my head fell in thick short barely discernible waves, sleek and darker than my facial hair.
I ran a hand through my hair, fixing it. If felt good seeing it after wearing a wig for such a long time.
I resumed my seat. In the silence of my million dollar mansion, I was in the danger of thinking about my past, really thinking about it.
I retrieved my other mobile phone from my jacket pocket. I had one purpose for it in mind but before I could do that, I decided to do something else. I accessed my gallery, scrolling through a bunch of pictures.
I came across the one I was looking for. It was a picture of my final target, taken not so long ago. I had taken time in-between my penultimate mission to check up on my final target. To perform the perfect murder, knowledge was crucial. I couldn't afford to make mistakes.
I forgot about what I had intended to do and instead switched my T.V from normal to surveillance. I picked out the camera and entered my password, selecting 'real-time' once the options popped up. It took a few seconds of loading before real-time visuals came onto the screen.
I was greeted by a boy's bedroom. Blue walls, plush soccer balls, band posters...everything I didn't have when I grew up. He was in the room, sitting Indian-style on the bed and scribbling in a book.
His phone beeped and he looked at it.
"Fuck!" he cursed, throwing his phone hard on the bed. It bounced a little and fell onto the bed face-down.
He tore a page from his book, crushed it and threw it on the floor. He was obviously not pleased with what he had written because he muttered something under his breath.
"Archer!" someone shouted. I hadn't looked at the visuals from the camera I had planted in the boy's room many times, but I knew the voice already. It was his mom.
"I'm coming!" Archer shouted back.
He stood up just as I switched back to TV. I always put up surveillance on my targets, but watching them had never been as personal as watching Archer. Archer's debt was to me. Soft grey eyes, sleek pointy and glossy black hair pushed back, soft porcelain skin, small nose and pink lips characterized Archer Christensen. He was good-looking and he knew it. His face and personality made him a chick magnet; it was too bad he batted for the other team. He wasn't short of admiration from both sides. I don't know if it was the little bit of dorkiness he had in him or his confidence, but the combination worked well for him.
He would be missed. At 18, he had just graduated high school. He had a lot to look forward to. He was too young.
I cursed under my breath. It wasn't the time to get sentimental. Finding my phone, I dialed a number I knew off by heart. The person on the other side of the line could possibly get me out of my sudden sentimental state.
"I was just about to call you", the person said as soon as he answered.
I looked at my watch. It was just a few minutes after 6 in the evening. It was too early and not usually the time I called.
"Why?" I asked firmly.
"You said you'd be back today so I thought you'd like to see me", he said.
"You are getting attached", I said.
"Um...sorry. I just thought..."
"If you throw yourself at me, you are not getting a cent", I warned.
"Right. Sorry Seth", he said apologetically.
I grinned, what most would call a devilish grin. "Come over", I said confidently.
"What time?"
"Now".
"Anything specific you want me to come with? Something you want me to wear?" he asked.
"No. You know what I like. Just make sure you are worth what I pay you", I said.
"On my way", he said and I hung up.
I could tell he was getting excited. I didn't like that. He was getting clingy. I would have to replace him soon. I had never kept anyone that long. It was a bad idea. My relationship with him was in danger of becoming personal.
I had barely touched the sandwich I had decided to make for myself when the house surveillance system alerted me to activity on my grounds. I looked at the screen which displayed Cam 2. Sure enough, a certain blond guy was walking up my driveway.
I adjusted the security system and made sure certain rooms in the house were properly secure. I had a sophisticated system which allowed me to lock doors remotely. My house was beautiful and more secure that Fort Knox.
In my line of work security was top priority. I wouldn't put myself in the position I was if I couldn't protect myself. It wasn't my targets that posed a threat, it was my employers. They knew how to find me. Every transaction was done anonymously but most of them were powerful. I had no doubt some knew what I looked like.
There was a knock on the main door. The knocker looked directly at the camera and smiled. I pressed a button, unlocking the door. A few seconds later a guy walked into my sight.
"Hi", he said.
I had resumed my seat on the couch. I raised my sandwich slightly in reply. The guy came to sit by me.
"How was Paris?"
"I saw a man carrying wine, wearing a beret and serenading a random woman", I said nonchalantly. "Go set up".
"Okay. Third door on the right?"
"The only door that will open when you push it", I said and took a bite of my sandwich.
"I charge by the hour so you better hurry", he said grinning as he stood up.
"I'll pay you double if you leave now".
His eyes grew in excitement. "Really?" he asked.
"No", I said coolly.
He rolled his eyes as he left the room. I focused on finishing my food, ignoring another of my primal urges for a few minutes.
I put my dishes in the sink when I was done. Locking the main door, I walked in the direction of the bedrooms. The only unlocked bedroom was one I had chosen specifically for the kind of meetings my guest and I had. It wasn't the bedroom I slept in; I didn't need reminders of activities that happened there.
When I walked in, I found my guest lying on the bed naked, playing with himself. My eyes roved over his body hungrily, and I found that I couldn't ignore my urges any longer. I took off my shirt and my pants followed shortly after.
A few minutes later my guest and I were lying on the large bed. Our bodies were glistening with sweat.
"Get dressed", I ordered.
He sighed slightly, something he probably thought I didn't see. Raising his body into a sitting position, he collected his clothes from the floor and put them on. I looked at him with my hands under my head as he ran a hand through his hair.
Sex was meaningless to me. I didn't have room in my life for sentiments. Feelings of any kind were prohibited. Sex was a primitive urge, desire I couldn't always contain. It didn't matter with whom; my desire had nothing to do with the person standing in front of me. It was unabashed carnal desire; lusty, dirty and raw. I had no interest in emotional connections.
I changed hookers frequently. I got bored easily. But my boredom wasn't the only driving force. My life was a mystery and I preferred it that way; the last thing I needed was someone getting attached to me. It's why I preferred hookers; it was a job to them. But even they had their fallacies. They were human. I had a lot of money. I could possibly be a ticket out of their way of making a living.
"Your hair looks fine", I drawled looking at my guest. He was busy creating numerous partings on his head. "I need to shower, so hurry up".
When he was done I got off the bed and put on my boxers. I led him out of the room and downstairs. I fished for my wallet in the jacket I had thrown onto the couch. Pulling out several bills, I handed them to him.
"That's more than my rate", he said. It was a stupid thing to say and he knew it.
I shrugged. "I'm generous".
"Or maybe I pleased you more than you are prepared to admit", he said with a cheeky grin.
"Okay, I'll take my mon..." I said but was distracted by him taking the money from my hand quickly.
"Call me again", he said.
I nodded, knowing fully I wasn't going to call him again. The extra money had been a goodbye gift. A part of me felt guilt for using him and discarding him -weird, considering he was a hooker - so I compensated with money.
I led him to the main door, locking it after he left. I unlocked my bedroom door on the security system and sauntered over to it, which was a flight of stairs up. It was a large room and admittedly, I didn't know what to do with most of the space in there. Apart from the four-poster bed, a bench at the foot of the bed, twin nightstands, a one-man couch and a walk-in closet there was nothing else. It was the only part of the house that had wraparound windows from ceiling to floor, bulletproof of course. At that time the drapes were shut.
Taking off my shoes and boxers, I walked along the plush carpet to the adjacent room, whose door looked exactly like the closet doors, indistinguishable from the closet. It was the master bathroom. Walking into the glass contained shower, I turned the tap and let the warm water fall onto my bare skin.