17 BLACK | HS

PROLOGUE

Miller Langley

"Before we go any further, is there anyone else who has any words to share about Thomas?" The priest I've come to learn as Father Mark asks the attendees as he stands over the closed casket waiting to lower it 6 feet under.

A woman, clearly middle aged but still beautiful nonetheless, stands up and moves towards the top of the casket. She begins speaking about how much Thomas will be missed and how much they love him.

I feel my eyes roll at her words.

I don't know why I keep coming to these things. It's the same boring shit every time. No one has anything new to say. It's like these people take the phrase 'reduce reuse recycle' a little too seriously.

The same "they're in a better place," "this must be god's plan," and the whole "gone but not forgotten," kind of thing. My personal favorite is when the eulogy sounds like a pinterest board threw up on their paper. When they say "don't cry because they're gone, smile because you knew them." I think a little bit of vomit makes its way into my mouth every time I hear that one.

For as long as I can remember I haven't really been able to process emotion in any regard. I don't know why, it's just always been this way.

I remember watching movies and not really being able to understand what the big deal was with them. Romance movies never pulled at my heartstrings, 'sad' movies or tragedies never made me cry, the only ones that really kept me interested were the action ones. I always loved the adrenaline rush that came from simply watching them unfold.

Maybe that's why I'm so good at my job now.

My father has always been hard on me to be the best– never really showcasing any of that lovey dovey shit. After my mom passed when I was six and I moved in with my dad, it was full speed ahead with him. No coddling and never settling for anything but the best.

Although, I don't know what I expected with him running the number one hit man operation on the west coast.

Regardless of the hard ass my dad is, we're still extremely close. I can't imagine my life without him. The two of us became quite the pair once I started tagging along with him on his tasks.

He took me out on our first one the day of my tenth birthday. I asked for an American Girl Doll and got a lesson in assassinations instead. Said it was time I became the child he had always hoped for.

I can't complain though. He taught me to be nothing but the best and just because I don't feel an extensive amount of emotion doesn't mean I can't enjoy being the best in the business. From the planning, to the execution, to the escape— no one is better than Miller fucking Langley.

The two of us went on tasks together for a while, until he made the choice to take a step back. Once the business became a little bigger and more legit he decided it was best to run things himself and let his employees complete the eliminations.

At that point I started tagging along with a few different assassins that my dad trusted enough with me, but none of them were as good as he was. Believe it or not he became nervous one of them would fuck one up and I would be the one to get caught. He trusted them to complete their tasks perfectly on their own, but didn't want a teenager's presence to throw them off at all– not that I was sloppy or bad at the job at that point, he just wanted to keep me safe.

He sent me to school to wait out the time until he felt comfortable letting me take on tasks on my own. When I was eighteen I enrolled at Stanford, and chose to study psychology. I was so curious as to why everyone but me seemed to be able to feel their emotions so intensely. I've always been fascinated with the concept of the brain and how it all works, I just haven't been able to figure out my own. You'd think someone who graduated top of her class would be able to, but alas, you'd be wrong.

Since I graduated and started carrying out these tasks alone, I've begun to come to my target's funerals in hopes of finally getting myself to feel something. It's been a year or two of this– I can't keep track at this point. Everything seems to blur together, but I can tell you that I haven't felt even an ounce of sadness or regret from any of my target's deaths. I know I should feel some sort of remorse towards them– I just can't.

"Thank you Martha, that was beautiful."

I'm brought back by Father Mark's voice. He reaches to engulf Martha's hand with his, visibly giving it a squeeze of reassurance, as she tries and fails to stifle her sobs.

"Unless anyone else has anything else they'd like to say..." he pauses, looking around at the attendees to see if anyone else will speak up. When no one does, he continues. "Let us all take our neighbors hands, and say our last prayer for Thomas as he's lowered to his final resting place."

They all grab the hands of the people around them and begin their last prayer. I'm not a church goer myself, and yet I feel like I could recite this prayer forwards and backwards with the amount of times I've heard it.

There he goes. Down and down, further and further into a pit of oblivion.

People say they'll remember them, that they may be gone but they'll never be forgotten. That's the biggest load of bullshit I think I've ever heard. We'll all be gone before we know it, not one person left here to remember any of us. Whether they're using their words to comfort themselves or others, they're not doing a very good job.

It's pathetic if you ask me. Clinging to the hope that they're in a better place and that they'll meet again. I've never believed in any sort of afterlife– when you're gone you're gone it's as simple as that. Anyone who believes anything else is just foolish.

As he finishes getting lowered into the ground, I let myself take one last glance at his loved ones in the hopes that they might make me feel something. That this time might be different from the rest. I give myself until the count of three before admitting defeat.

One.

Two.

Three.

Nothing... there's nothing

But I could've guessed that one.

Pity.

With a heavy exhale I decide it's time to make my exit. I always try to leave before the friends and family of the deceased start moving around. The last thing I need is one of their loved ones to see me and ask how I knew them.

As I turn around and begin to find my way to my car, I hear my phone ding.

Xavier
You've got another task.
Meet at my office in an hour for the details.

Just another Tuesday.
____

oh my god this is gonna be a wild ride

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