Echoes

by Alex Bennett

Echoes

A short story

By

Alex Bennett

“Another box! Another, bloody box!” he said as he put his case down on the floor. So much of his work was now taking place in boxes. Box rooms, to be precise. I wonder if it’s a new trend, he thought as he scanned the interior. The four walls were all badly painted. “Cream! God, I hate cream”. Two small landscape pictures, of the type bought in cheap seaside souvenir shops, were hanging on the wall to the left and the far wall accommodated a metal framed window. The floor covered, wall-to-wall with a well worn red carpet. Crammed into this small room were a small leather sofa, a dark varnished dressing table, two chairs, a desk, TV, and a bed. All looked third-hand, never mind second-hand. There was also a small bookcase in the right-hand corner, which looked strangely out of place, as this seemed almost new. No books mind you. Just an ashtray, a box of tissues and a tiffany lamp similar to one he recalled his mother once owned. Looking over at the dressing table he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. “Damn! I wish the hair on my head grew like the hair on my face. I need a shave” Still it wasn’t his appearance or that of the room that was his main concern now. No, for the next few hours this room would be his home and workplace. He’d been given a job to do and do it he would.

Maybe it was the thought of his mother’s tiffany lamp but, for some reason he found his mind wandered briefly to thoughts of friends and family. He could count the combined group all on one hand. Being so few you might think they’d be close but, none knew what his job or skill was. Yes, skill it was. He saw himself as a craftsman in his field. However whatever pride he felt for what he did he couldn’t tell them. Only certain people could know. Namely, past, present and potential clients.

Time to check things he decided. He picked up the case and carried it over to the desk and placed it on top. Click, Click went the cases locks as he adjusted them to the opening combination, of 08-09-65 (his birthday) Not very original, but he liked it. He lifted the lid and then the padded cover beneath to reveal the tools of his trade. There, carefully packed in its dismantled form was a sniper rifle. Yes, his job was a paid assassin or as he preferred, a facilitator, who cleaned up and sorted out other people’s problems. The fact that the problems were people had never really bothered him. Although, as a rule he would never accept a job where the target was a woman. He guessed that in one way or another, the target had done something to deserve it. Never ask too many questions about your target. As long as you have enough information to do the job and the right tools to do it then that’s fine. That was his rule.

As he looked at the gun his mind started to drift again. This time to his earlier life. These echoes of the past were happening to him more and more often, maybe it was a sign that it was time to call it a day. He had more money in the bank than he needed, he wasn’t getting any younger and one day things might not go to plan. But hell! What could he do? Settle down to a normal life (whatever that is) it really didn’t fit. Although he did once have what most call a normal life.

He smiled as he thought back to his school days at St Marks in London. Its claim to fame is that it was the first school in the city to be closed down because of falling exam results. Good job that in his line of work he didn’t have to write a CV. With that school’s name on it he wouldn’t have much success. He would say to himself “St. Marks school for the under achievers. That should have been its name.” He could visualise the interview he had with the Careers Advisor. “What about retail? Lots of jobs in shops, you know”, “Maybe a Government training scheme? There really good!”, “What about clerical work?”, “What about the local car plant?” – What a load of crap! He wondered what the Careers Advisor would have done if he’d turned round and said “Yeah, I know exactly what I want to do. Kill people, starting with you! You boring wanker!”

As things turned out he joined the army. This was to be his college of further education. Training him for what he was going to become. He had never touched a gun before in his life but once he got one in his hands he surprised himself by being very good with it. His abilities were noted and eventually he ended up being a sniper. He sometimes thought, “Funny, when I killed people then it was all legal and above board. So to speak. Doing it all for Queen and country they said. Well now I’m doing it for myself, it’s illegal and I make loads more money – Thank you very much!”

Married? Oh yes, he’d been married. Maria was her name. The, sister of his best friend John. After 18 months of marriage they became the proud parents of a beautiful daughter, they named her Jade. That was the happiest day of his life. He thought she was the most beautiful girl in the world. He’d do anything for her... But try as did to be the best husband and father possible, army life meant he was away too much for both of them, which lead to problems and arguments.

It was during one of his absences that it happened – Hit and run. Maria died instantly, Jade hung on for a couple of days. That was a turning point. They never found the driver but he knows that if he ever found them it would be one killing he would do for free, man or woman. The thoughts faded and it was back to the present. The room, the gun and the job at hand.

“That’s it” As the last part of the gun was put into place. Now all he had to do was load it and make a few sight adjustments. These completed, he took one more glance around the room, wondering as he did how many others had spent time in this drab room. He went to the window and opened it enough so that he could get a good view of the office building on the opposite side of the square. That’s where in 1 hour and 15 minutes the target would breathe their last breath. How the client had arranged for the target to be in that spot at that time, he didn’t know or care. All that mattered was that the target would be there.

All was ready.”I’ve got time to kill”, he chuckled whilst setting the alarm on his mobile phone. Lying on the bed he allowed his mind to wander one last time. Prague in winter, 6 years earlier and his first kill as a freelance. That one was close range, very close. Hand gun with silencer. “My voice, the last thing my target heard, my face the last thing he saw”. The alarm rang; bringing his consciousness back to the present. It was time.

Standing by the window, he raised the gun and concentrated his thoughts. With the barrel of the gun resting on the window frame he positioned himself and put the sight to his eye. It was only a few moments before he could see a blue Lexus pull up outside the entrance of the office block. He waited for the moment, the right moment. Someone got out of the rear of the vehicle.

“Wait! “. It wasn’t his target. He held his position. A second person emerged from the car. “Yes!”

It was the target, right on time. He took aim and a split second later the trigger was squeezed, the shot fired. The sound of that shot echoed around the room and out through the open window into the square below.