Blairwood Academy

Chapter 02: Crimson

When Cee walked out of her motel, she didn’t look like herself. Her pale hair was tucked into a hat, with a hood drawn over, and her figure was so hidden by the baggy top she wore, it was hard to tell she was a girl. On her face, she had piled on make-up – though, she had put it on so that she looked sickly, weary and in overall, horrible. A backpack was swung over her shoulders, the weight of it digging into her skin through the thick fabric of her hoodie, but she was used to it.

            She was walking differently, in a way that suggested the delusion of a swaggering confidence, but in reality was merely a drunken stumble. As she walked, the air she left behind left a heavy stink of alcohol. All Cee had really done was wipe her body down with a towel soaked in vodka. On closer inspection, it’d be easy to realise her breath didn’t actually smell like alcohol, but she was walking in the darker alleys tonight, so it was enough.

            Cee tilted her head up as her feet came to a stop. The dank, narrow path she was on was lit only by a flickering streetlamp, and the only sound was her slow breathing. Her lips turned downward in distaste when the smell reached her – the smell of stale drunks and piss and vomit.

            Her eyes darted around, checking both ends of the street. She slipped the strap of her backpack from her shoulders, dropped it to the ground and took a thick rope tied to a heavy grapple hook from within. The roof of the building was about twenty feet above her.

            Making sure her backpack was safely zipped and on her shoulder once more, Cee took aim. The familiar weight of the hook rested in her hands. With one swift, powerful throw, the grapple hook sliced through the air and caught onto the platform above. Cee took a few steps back. Then she ran and jumped.

            It was almost inhuman, the speed at which she climbed. Her hands pulled herself up effortlessly, the muscles in her arms flexing as she supported her own weight. Finally, her gloved fingers curled round the edges of the roof, and with a grunt, she was up. She stood and surveyed the scenery before her. The top of the building offered her a view filled with city lights and and tall office buildings. In the distance, the Golden Gate Bridge was visible, stretching far into the darkness. Her eyes, however, latched onto a three-storey high hotel – Casa de Lujo. Directly translated, it meant luxury home.

            The name did not fail its expectations. The hotel, though small, made up for its size with grandeur. Gold lights that decorated the signboard glared out into the night, and the windows were giant slabs of transparent walls with vines creeping up the sides. The balconies that protruded from the buildings held a fine, mahogany table. The curtains, where one window was left opened, blew in the wind, silk and velvet. The wind allowed for occasional glimpses into the suite. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, and a large TV took up most of one side of the wall. On the table, there was a choice selection from the finest whiskies to the finest wines. A glass of white wine glinted at Cee, and there was a teacup next to it, looking as though it had come from the Queen’s personal collection.

            Cee remembered the research she had done into the Casa de Lujo. Its rates ranged from $1,560 to $2,550 per night. They had two function rooms – one of which was being used to hold the Peace Winter Ball, hosted by Morris Lee. The funds would go to medical aid for wounded soldiers and victims of war. “It’s not even winter,” she muttered to herself – they were a month into autumn.

            She glanced up at the skies, with grey clouds shrouding the moonlight. In the distance, she heard a faint rumbling. She took off her hoodie, stuffing it into her bag; the extra weight would be inconvenient if she had to run.

            She worked with a quick efficiency, pulling what looked like a folded cloth with awkward lumps out. She opened it, revealing black chunks of metal strapped into place on the fabric. Almost mindlessly, her fingers assembled all the parts, and within seconds, she had a rifle in her hand – a UTG M324. She tested its weight, and looked through the scope. Then, she waited.

            The first rain droplets came after she had been laying there, completely still for almost five minutes. Soon, there was lightning, too. Cee smiled, the curve of her lips ghastly and terrifying with the sudden light that flashed across the sky. The rumbling came a few seconds later.

            By the time Morris Lee entered her sights, the rain was cascading down on her. Her makeup, though waterproof, ran down her face like melted ice-cream. She waited until the thunder and lightning were almost on top of each other.

            Cee drew a deep breath, and then she took aim.

            Her finger curled around the trigger.

            Almost.

            The lightning drew a jagged line of light across the skies.

            Cee fired.

*

            Morris Lee was having a wonderful time. His Winter Ball was an even bigger success than last year’s, with the charity raising $20 million dollars. His thick lips had been stretched into a beam since he had come in. Fifteen minutes ago, his ballroom full of guests had given him a standing ovation with his entrance. Now, he had already made his speech. The food was to be served in twenty minutes. The night was going to be perfect.

            As he made his way around the fantastic room to greet his guests, Morris Lee found himself admiring how far he had come in these five years. This ballroom was out of a fairy tale, with the finest decorations, the finest catering and the finest of anything one could get. Next year, he would be able to hold the ball in New York. Perhaps, more high-profile guests could come. He’d be able to raise more money, help more charities.

            “Well, really,” he was telling Pamela Verne. “It’s all going to go to charity – all twenty million dollars. Half of it will go to medical” – lightning flashed – “supplies, and the other half to help mitigate the damage caused by the war in Syria. Perhaps the relocation of Syrian citizens, help them rebuild their homes. It’ll be a fantastic -” He raised his voice over the sound of thunder.

            Then he was thrown back by a violent force slamming into his chest. Pamela screamed, but it sounded fuzzy and faint to his ears. He saw people staring at him from above, their mouths wide open and one of them bent over his torso. He blinked, slow and heavily. He opened his mouth to say something, but something was stuck in his throat. All that came out was a choked gargle. He coughed, and saw red fly into the air above him.

            With all the strength left in his body, Morris Lee touched his chest. He felt something wet and warm on his palm. He brought his hand over him, and all he saw was red.

            He blinked again, but this time, when his lids slid over the white of his eyes, they remained shut.

            His hand fell limply to his side.

            Cee had seen the red blossom on his white shirt like some flower blooming on his chest. But if anyone had looked – even if anyone did look – they wouldn’t have seen Cee on top of the building nearly a thousand miles away.

            She was already gone.