Chapter 3 Kat #2
“Hi, I’m Ella,” I say to myself, glancing at my new self in the mirror as a subway rushes past the apartment I now live in. The floor vibrates slightly, just as the glasses in the old glass shelf do.
“Oh, you mean me? I’m sorry, Ella Larsen, nice to meet you.”
I play through several rounds of introduction and small talk in the mirror. The more I talk, the more comfortable I get. Taking on a new personality is something magical. Like getting another fresh and clean chance at life.
As a next step, I start going outside. I talk to people in the neighborhood, tell them my story, and make them remember my face and my name. I smile heartwarmingly, listen to their stories and backstories, build superficial friendships, and become part of a community gardening project.
And while I do become Ella, I research. I listen to Lilian’s conversations and comb through more data. What I recognize most is how scared she is, even as she pretends she isn't.
“Whom are you hiding from?” I ask myself as I listen to the fifth call in one day with an experienced bodyguard and an ex-secret-service agent, with whom she discusses security protocols.
I get suspicious because Sutton’s death has been declared as an overdose, although I am quite sure it wasn’t.
Lilian, however, should feel safer, but somehow she is more on edge than ever.
Maybe, because she knows something I don’t.
Maybe I’m missing something. Maybe Sutton’s death posed a threat to her because there was more than the official business.
Maybe she was part of his organization. Part of what he did in silence and secret.
If so, she will be the one I kill for my revenge.
But therefore, I must know. I have to be sure.
After three weeks of getting nowhere, I decide it is time to make a move on her.
Tomorrow will be the day. My heart beats faster at the thought of tomorrow. I like the thrill. Finally meeting my target, seeing how good my preparation was—A wave of anticipation rolls through me.
After a wonderful night’s sleep, I prepare for my move by following my character's routine as she searches for a new job after being “fake-fired” from her fake job. I check nearby restaurants and diners for open positions. All of it is a farce, of course.
When it’s roughly time for Lilian’s routine leave of the office, I draw in closer. The nearby Chelsea Market gives me an excellent opportunity to watch her leave through the glass front stairs of her company’s building. Lilian always takes the stairs, and I wonder why.
There is only a small window of time between leaving the office and stepping into the car. My move needs to be perfect.
It is already dark outside, and Manhattan has become a buzzing firework of lights. I watch her walk down the stairs through the lit glass stairway. She’s wearing a female suit in bordeaux with black heels, and a bodyguard is shadowing her. The impression of her is so hot, I almost drool.
The car turns up.
I remove my eyes. It’s time to play.
I focus on sadness, shed some fake tears, smear a little mascara, and walk fast down the sidewalk, cramming in my bag.
From the corner of my eye, I see the door opening. I turn back, faking as if someone was after me, and then I crash into her.
“Oh god,” I cry out, glancing at the stumbling Lilian and putting a hand on her forearm, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t—” I stop deliberately, bend down to grasp my glasses, glance around me, and aim to hurry away.
“Hey!” I hear Lilian call after me, “Wait!”
I stop and turn around anxiously.
“Are you ok?” she asks, closing the distance between us, and I nod, looking at the ground and aiming to leave again.
She grasps my arm, stares at my well-chosen lesbian flag bracelet, and I have to fight a smirk as the sensation of success burns through me.
“I have seen you before,” Lilian says, “You work at the Ritz, don’t you?”
“N-not anymore,” I stammer and glance nervously behind Lilian.
Lilian follows my gaze, the bodyguard as well.
“Is there someone following you?”
“I-I don’t know, there was this man, he’s been watching me for a while now, I think, and when I left the market, he grabbed me and told me, ‘I’ll have you all’. I just ran. I—”
I glance at Lilian with wide eyes, playing my role well.
“Is he there still?” Lilian asks.
“No, I can’t see him—” I crane my neck and turn around. “I’m so sorry I bumped into you, I didn’t mean to, I was just—”
Lilian interrupts me. “Don’t you worry. Where do you live? Let me call you a cab.”
“No, no, I’ll walk, the subway is around the corner and—”
“I’m not letting you walk when there is someone after you,” says Lilian in a very bossy voice.
“I-I don’t have money for a cab,” I say, and avert my eyes back to the ground. “It’s okay, I’ll take the sub,” I add and try to walk.
Suddenly, my body tenses. I can’t tell what it is, probably my instincts, but my eyes shoot up and glance around. It feels like the cold night air has frozen, and everything around me runs in slow motion.
I see the little red laser point at Lilian, and I react without hesitation.
“Down!” shouts the bodyguard, and as Lilian still grasps my arm, unaware of what the bodyguard and I saw, I swirl-push her back and lounge us both out of the shooting line. I hear a bullet cut through the air; it rushes by my ear.
I hit the hard concrete with Lilian in my arms. The impact's pain pulsates through my shoulder and back. There is this one infinite moment of a nanosecond, where Lilian stares at me, fear in her eyes as she realizes what just happened.
It takes all my willpower to resist the urge to become my killer self and act like a professional. I have to keep my cover, keep my role, or it will all be in vain.
The bodyguard pulls away Lilian. I immediately jump into the safety of the car’s body, too, pretend to be scared, and grasp my throbbing shoulder as I lean against the front wheel.
Breathe and focus, I tell myself. You’re Ella. Ella would panic.
Lilian is pulled in the car as a second bodyguard appears next to me with a drawn gun. It’s only then that I become aware of the other people around me.
There is shouting and screaming.
I glance at the glass front of Lilian’s company, and the bullet has hit one of the huge windows, and it has splintered into a million pieces.
“You hurt?” asks the bodyguard, with one brief glance at me before he returns to scanning over the opposite building with the drawn gun.
“It’s minor, hit my shoulder, but I’m okay, I think,” I say. “I saw—what the hell is going on?” I ask with a shaky voice, pretending to be scared. Honestly, whoever the shooter was couldn’t have picked a better moment. All of it plays into my cards.
“Get in the car,” orders the bodyguard.
“I—I—but shouldn’t we wait for the police?” I ask as innocently as possible. Of course, I don’t want to wait for the police, but I have to keep my cover.
“Get the fuck in,” he says in a harsh voice, telling me he is under stress.
I glance at him and the car, shake my head, get up, and run—deliberately leaving my bag behind.
I can’t have the closeness right now. What I do need is a careful insertion of my persona into a life, not a life-or-death moment of weakness.
Gladly, the bodyguard does not follow me.
I run down the stairs to the subway, where I slip in whatever line it is.
Panting heavily, I walk to the end of the carriage and sink onto a seat, taking in the mixing scent of people who apparently hate deodorant and the suits who meant too well with their perfume. The good thing about the New York Subway is that everyone just minds their own business.
My mind is wide awake, assessing every angle of what has happened as I scan the crowd for a potential threat, while the subway rattles through the underground tunnels. I categorize all the new information I got.
First of all, I am one hundred per cent certain now Sutton did not die from an overdose. He was murdered by someone else, the same someone who tried to kill Lilian, which rules her out as Sutton’s killer, but makes it even more likely she was in on his underground network.
Whoever is after her has to be professional, that’s for sure.
If all goes well, the bodyguard will take my bag, and it will be enough for Lilian to have a desire triggered and reach out. If not, I will have a reason to return for my bag. I’m ready for whatever happens, even if Lilian contacts the hotel to check Ella’s story.
I get off the subway at High Street and walk the four blocks leading to the Dumbo apartment. I love the darkness of night, which allows me to disappear into it. I have always been a lover of the night.
I turn the corner leading to the apartment as a subway rushes loudly over the bridge above me with that distinct metallic rattling sound.
There’s a black SUV standing in front of the entrance door.
The door opens, and for one tiny second, a flutter rushes through my stomach.
I made many enemies over the years, and while I generally leave no trace, I’m still prepared for anyone finding me.
My body readies itself to fight, just in case—
I hold my breath for a moment as I see a man get out of the car, until I recognize him as Lilian’s bodyguard. Relief spreads through my chest.
I knew it, I tell myself in my mind, because it couldn’t have gone any better.
“Miss Larsen,” says the bodyguard. “You lost something.” He hands me my bag.
I smile vaguely.
“Thank you,” I say, take the bag, and aim to get into the building.
“My employer wishes a word with you,” he says. “Get in the car.”
I turn my head slightly.
“I’d rather get home now,” I say as I put the key into the lock. “It was a long day. Maybe some other time.”
“My employer doesn’t take no as an answer,” he says.
“Well,” I say, turning with a weak smile as I push open the heavy door. “She has to this time.”
And I walk without looking back, fighting to keep a grin off my face. Lilian truly is a predator. One that gets whatever she wants.
Not with me.
Not getting what they want is the worst for people like Lilian, and I will absolutely use that to get close to her.