A Portrait of the Killer as a Young Man

Chapter Three

Home wasn't a place I was accustomed to. The cutesy wreath over the front door, the little welcome mat with the pile of shoes next to it, the large foyer and shiny floors, all of it was alien to me. When I walked into the kitchen, my littlest sister, Amy, came barreling at me.
"Jake! Jake! Guess what?" she shrieked as she launched herself into my arms.
"Hey, kiddo. What?" I asked, ruffling her hair with my free hand. Amy was five, still young enough to see me as a brother, not a murderer.
"I missed you," she gushed. "And I got a new stuffed kitty, and I made a painting for you, and Mommy says she missed you too."
I looked over at the doorway, where Matt stood taking his shoes off. "And what about Matt? Did you miss him?" Amy wriggled in my arms, nodding, and I put her back on the ground so she could run to fling herself at our brother.
Turning back to the kitchen, I was met by a dozen pairs of shocked eyes. My father sat at the table with a gaggle of children, my siblings and cousins, and my mother stood at the sink, water still running from the tap as she gaped at me wordlessly.
"Jake?" she whispered, and dropped the plate she'd been washing back into the sink with a crash, enveloping me in a hug. I stiffened, hoping she wouldn't mention the weapon on my hip. I didn't need to worry, though, because I was immediately passed off to the rest of the family like their own little hugging doll.
By the time I made it up the stairs to my old room, I had had enough human contact to last me a lifetime. I didn't have a bag with me, so I ruffled through the dresser drawers, still packed tight with my clothes from my life before I'd left. I shoved the few that still fit me into an old duffel bag, and grabbed new toothpaste from the bathroom. It couldn't hurt to restock once in a while, right?
About an hour later, a commotion from downstairs startled me out of my peaceful reverie. I had been cleaning my gun, a slow, methodical process that usually helped to calm me down. My brother Ash, only a year older than me, barged into the room, flopping facedown on his bed dramatically.
"Oh, god, Jake, they hugged me. Did they do it to you too?" he said into the pillow, and I laughed.
"They hugged me too. It was terrible," I agreed.
Ash sat up, and looked me over. "Hey, you grew. You aren't tiny anymore!"
"Thanks for noticing," I said drily.
"So did you hear about the job, though?"
"Job? What job?"
Ash grinned. "It's the whole reason they called us in. I guess some obscure cousin of ours has a group of art theft girls taking on a big one, and Gramps is calling for the infamous Baxter boys to assist them." Ash rubbed his fingers together mischievously. "And word on the street is that it pays well."
"You wouldn't be talking about Emma's group, would you?"
"Maybe?" Ash looked sheepish.
"No." I turned away. "I've told you a thousand times, I'm done with her."
"Oh, come on, Jake. Even Ben is considering it. You wouldn't have to work with her, just her sisters."
"And have them making jokes about how miserably our pathetic little relationship failed every time I turn my back? No. I still have a very small scrap of dignity left, and I'm not looking to throw it away. Tell them I'm not interested," I said with finality. I rolled over on the bed to face the wall, my back to Ash.
Ash took in a breath as though he was going to say something, but paused. I could hear him shuffling around in his bag, and then the creak of the bed as he laid back down as well.
"You know, Jake, you're kind of an idiot," he muttered.
"You know, Ash, you probably don't want to push me." I was tired and sick of his endless babbling. "You know you can't take me."
"I know. But it's fun to get you all riled up." Ash chuckled. "Sorry. I'll shut up now," he added quickly, when I glared over my shoulder.
I dreamed that night, of home and family and love. I dreamed of Emma, a little wisp of a girl but deadly in a fight. I dreamed of the girl with Beatles shirt, and wondered what her life was like. I even dreamed of a time, long, long ago, when the word, "assassin," didn't describe me better than my own name.
When I woke, I padded down the stairs quietly to the kitchen. Ash was sitting at the counter, sharpening a wickedly curved blade that Ben had given him for Christmas a few years back. Matt stood by the fridge, orange juice in one hand and assault rifle in the other, humming to himself quietly.
"So, did you think about it any more?" Ash piped up from the corner.
"I don't need to think about it," I replied, glaring. "My answer is no."
Matt scoffed. "What, are you scared of a girl?"
"I'm not scared. I just have an intense aversion to her. And her little friends. And their way of life. Besides, why would they need us, of all people?"
"They need us because the target is armed. These girls have taken on the Henley and succeeded," Matt paused as Ash's jaw dropped, "but put a gun to their heads and they're worthless. That is why they need us."
"Are you saying I should be guilty about letting someone die?" I let my disbelief ooze out of my every word.
"They're family," Ash added, giving me a look. "They need us."
"I work alone," I said, slamming my fist into the table. "Damn it, I've told you a hundred times, I work alone. By myself. Singular. Ah-looone." I drew out the syllables in emphasis.
"Then I suggest you clear out now, because they're coming in about--," Matt looked down at his watch, "--ten minutes. Ben is driving them, so maybe sooner." On a good day, the allusion to Ash's twin's legendary ability to speed and not get caught would've made me at least crack a smile, but that time it only made me angrier.
I stormed up the stairs like a moody twelve-year-old, shoving my clothes into my duffel and pulling on my jacket. From under my bed, I pulled out a large cardboard box, hoping my collection was still in there. I yanked out a set of small daggers and my dad's old handgun, then reached to the bottom of the box, wrapping my fingers along the handle of the long silver knife with the cruelly serrated blade. Years ago, I'd joked with Ash about how it would've been better for slicing bagels than someone's neck, but I'd long since realized it wasn't for efficiency; this knife was for taking your sweet time on a target, gaining information and listening to the music of their screams.
I headed out the back door, and made my way to the smaller garage, where they kept the bikes. I found my old Harley easy enough, and dragged it out to the driveway after refilling the tank. On my way down the driveway, I passed Ben's huge purple hippie bus, and saw the heads turn in the windows as I swerved past. Ben slammed on the brakes, and ran after me, yelling my name loud enough to wake the dead. I came to a screeching stop by the big pine tree at the end of the driveway.
"Okay, what do you want?" I said, looking him in the eye. "Make it fast, because I've had a hell of a bad day already."
Ben's mouth was hanging open, but he closed it with a snap. "Are you leaving?" he asked, shocked.
"Yep. In fact, I was hoping to avoid you all, but seeing as we're having this conversation..."
"So you aren't helping, then?"
"It would appear so."
Just then, a black high-heeled boot that I'd have recognized anywhere stepped out the front door of the van. Emma was dressed strikingly in black leather, and gave me a cold glare as she walked closer.
"Abandoning me again, Jacob?" she asked in frosty tones. "I should've known. You always did hate a challenge."
In less than a second, I was behind her, my silver blade at her throat. Put a gun to their heads and they're worthless. Planting a sarcastic kiss on her cheek, I whispered, "Of course I hate a challenge. It's no fun when the target doesn't know they're going to die."
Emma stayed still, eyes widened ever so slightly. They're worthless. "Jake, get off me," she rasped out, a thin line of blood appearing as I slid the uneven blade a half inch to the right. Worthless.
Ben spoke up, his voice even and quiet. "Jake, let her go. You aren't helping anyone by hurting her."
I stepped back, wiping the blood and skin from the blade and shoving it back in my jacket. "You know what," I mused, "I kind of like seeing you squirm. Maybe I will tag along." Ben's eyes lit up, but Emma glared as she slid back into the van.
Oh, yes, this would be fun.
Ten minutes later, Ben and I made our way up the stairs, laughing our heads off about some cheesy joke. We rounded the corner, almost crashing into Ash, and he did a double take.
"You didn't leave?" he asked, and then shook his head. "Okay, that's a stupid question. Why, though?"
"I'm not here to help, really. I'm just coming along for the ride." I answered, remembering the feel of Emma's soft neck convulsing beneath my fingers. "I terrify her," I said quietly.
"Are you sure you won't..." Ash trailed off, leaving the unspoken question hanging in the air. Are you sure you won't snap, he was asking. Are you sure you won't kill us all?
I nodded, reigning in the unpredictable anger that lay deep inside me. "I'm sure."
Ash smiled. "All right then, welcome home. Again."
For the rest of the week that we spent at home, I divided my time between training and sleeping. I stayed asleep during the day, putting far too much trust in my family to leave me be. Nights, I spent in the woods, throwing daggers into tree trunks and pummeling the air. A few times, I could've sworn I felt someone watching me, but no one ever showed their face.
Avoiding the horde of thieves that had descended on our house quickly became the most important part of my daily schedule. I passed a few of the girls in the hall, and they giggled amongst themselves as I passed, not even bothering to be subtle as they looked me up and down. A nimble twirl of the Bagel Knife, as Ash had once again taken to calling it, shut them up real quick. When I strode away, I heard the short one whisper, "God, Emma's an idiot, just look at that boy. I mean, they're all gorgeous, but him..." She whistled softly.
The redhead sniggered. "Yeah, but he's completely off his rocker. Who cares how pretty his face is, he'd rip your throat out over a stray hair."
They weren't wrong. It had certainly happened before.