Shadow Voice
"Pull the trigger." The ghostly voice whispered in her ear. In front of her a woman sat, bound and gagged. She didn't know this woman, but the voice insisted that she kill her. "Pull the trigger," the voice commanded, more forcefully this time. Gently she reached forward and picked up the gun. She aimed it square at the woman's forehead and paused. "Pull the trigger." The voice echoed off the walls of the plain white room. Pull the trigger, pull the trigger, pull the trigger, PULL THE TRIGGER! Shaking, she pulled the trigger hearing a click.
She bolted upright in bed, sweating and gasping for air as a ghostly chuckled filled the room. Running her hands through her sweaty hair, she glanced over at the heavy drapes over her window. Every night this week, she had the same dream. A disembodied voice ordering her to kill an unknown victim. Slowly, she laid back down, pulling the blanket up to her chest. Ever since she had escaped from the King's secret unit, she had felt this dark presence stalking her every move. Last week, she had seen a cloaked figure standing in the shadowy alley across from her house. The figure had tilted its head up and their gaze had burned into her.
She managed to get a couple of hours of restless sleep, tossing and turning, before dragging herself out of bed. She pulled back the curtains, letting a bit of the early morning sun peek in, and walked to the mirror above her dresser. Her eyes were bloodshot and deep bags were carved under her eyes. She raked her fingers through her loose brown waves before weaving her hair into a loose braid over one shoulder. Tossing on the first clothes she could find, she grabbed her cloak from a hook next to the door and carefully pulled the hood over her head, casting her face into shadow.
The sunlight warmed the narrow streets as early risers hurried to start their day. She slipped into the crowd, keeping her head tilted down just enough to stay hidden while not drawing attention to herself. She had the sensation of being watched, but she shrugged her shoulders, dismissing it as a lingering panic from the dream. She ducked into her favorite fruit seller, a petite old woman with gnarled hands. As the old woman was wrapping up her purchases, she could feel eyes on her again. Turning, she looked through the open door to the busy street.
Across the way, the same cloaked figure she had seen before leaned against the wall, arms crossed. The figure seemed relaxed, but she knew appearances meant nothing. When she was a soldier, she had perfected the art of feigning calm and relaxation moments before striking. The old woman gently tapped her on the arm and she took the wrapped package, numbly nodding her thanks.
Gathering her courage, she strode across the street, cutting through the people walking around her. The figure straightened as she approached.
“You're following me. Why?”
The figure tilted their head. He spoke, his voice deep and smooth. “Why do you want to know?”
She glared at him. “Isn't it obvious? I don't need some guy poking into my life.”
“Well, good thing I'm not poking. Just observing.”
“Stop.” She turned and was about to wall away when he spoke again.
“They know where you are.”
She tensed, turning back to him slowly. “Impossible,” she whispered.
He shook his head slowly. “They've been tracking you. I give them a day, maybe two, before they get here.”
“Let me guess, you want to capture me and turn me in first? There must be some kind of bounty on my head.”
He shrugged. “I wouldn't know. I tend to avoid the King and his lackeys.”
She scoffed. “Well then, I wouldn't be around when they come find me.” She started to wall away.
“I can help with the dreams!” he called after her. She turned to look at him and he took a step towards her. “The dreams that plague you every night? The voice echoing in your head? The blood you have to spill? I can help you.”
She looked down at the hand he extended towards her. Looking up into the shadows hiding his face, she hesitated for a moment before placing her palm into his.