Noir Fan Fiction ❯ Sanguinaire ❯ Sanguinaire ( One-Shot )

Sanguinaire

 

She adjusted the shower head till the water was almost too hot to bear. Then she stood underneath the spray until it warmed her cold, clammy and bloodstained skin. Wearily, she watched as the reddish pink water at her feet finally turned clear as it washed down the drain.

 

Mireille gingerly washed her arms, wincing in pain at the deep scratches and bruises that covered them. Her latest hit had been difficult; she knew she was lucky she had escaped with her life.

 

It was just another day, another paycheck, another body count.

 

The blonde wiped away rare tears from her blue eyes. She was only nineteen, and even though this kind of work was all she was knew, she couldn't help but wish that this wasn't her life. Why did the fates decide this should be her destiny? She was tired of being alone and on most occasions- covered in someone else's blood.

 

She washed her thick blonde hair and rinsed off the rest of the soap from her body. The water had turned cold on her, but she finally felt clean again. She opened the shower and grabbed two fluffy towels to wrap her hair and body in.

 

Stepping out of the shower, she turned to face her reflection in the small mirror in her tiny bathroom. Regal features and brilliant blue eyes gazed back at her. Mireille lightly traced a purplish bruise under her right eye, and noticed she also had a small cut on her cheek. But at least she was alive.

 

Her target had been tipped off and she had been ambushed by two of his men, who beat her up and took her gun. But they had underestimated her. She had slumped to the floor tricking the men into thinking she was unconscious. When one of the men laughed and told the other one that he was going to take advantage of the situation, and bent down and ran his hand over her leg and thigh. Fueled by anger and the threat of getting raped- She quickly kicked him in the face and jumped up with her hidden gun and shot them both. Then she found her target, which, to her surprise had two of his young employees with him. She had hoped that her target would have been alone. She knew her orders were to take out anybody that had seen her face, or could link her back to her client. With a heavy heart, Mireille carried out her assignment.

 

Toweled off and dry, she walked into her living room where a billiard table that she used as a desk took up most of the room. She glanced toward the windows and noticed her plant on its stand.

 

She walked over to it, absently stroking one of its leaves as she checked it over. “Hmm, you need water, don't you?” she said to it.

 

She turned and headed for her kitchen and retrieved a glass of water which she carried back over to the plant. She carefully watered it and once again stroked the leaves. It was the only living thing besides her that occupied her apartment. “There you go. I wouldn't want you to shrivel up and die.” she told the plant as she walked away, then stopped and looked back. “I don't kill everything I touch,” Then she turned away.

 

 

She lay on her bed, watching as the late afternoon sun filtered through the shades of her windows and made a cross against the wall of her room. She turned on her side, trying to avoid the fragile surface tension she felt. But all she saw was the other side of her bed, empty as she felt inside right now.

 

She quickly sat up and climbed out of bed. She needed to leave her apartment and this unbearable loneliness and guilt that had suddenly come over her.

 

Mireille grabbed a long sleeve sweater to wear; it would cover the bruises and scratches on her arms. As for her black eye and the cut on her cheek, she used a heavy duty concealer on them, followed by base and powder, blush and lipstick. She was glad her blonde bangs helped cover the discoloration over her eye.

 

Earlier that day, she had burned her burned her red sleeveless sweater and black skirt. Both pieces had been soaked with blood and ripped- they were evidence that had to be destroyed. Her black boots had made it unscathed, but she burned those too. She'd buy some more tomorrow or maybe never.

 

She finished dressing by throwing on a pair of jeans and athletic shoes, sunglasses, grabbed her purse and left her apartment.

 

 

Mireille slowly sipped her tea as she watched the news from one of the televisions at her favorite outdoor café. The coverage of the brutal killing of a local businessman and his employees were the top news story. She avoided looking at the pictures of the men that flashed on the screen. `They deserved it.' She tried to convince herself. Her target had been a corrupt businessman and a child molester. But she hadn't planned on killing the others, one of his employees was a newly married man with a baby on the way- yet she had cut him down like a dog.

 

What kind of monster was she turning into? She was no better than the person that killed her parents and young brother.

 

A vibrating noise from inside her purse caught her attention. With a bit of apprehension, she picked up her phone and clicked it on.

 

She waited.

 

“Mireille, are you there?” a man asked.

 

“Yes. Have you seen the news?” she questioned.

 

She could hear her client chuckle lightly on the other end. “Yes, I have. I must admit that I'm impressed that you were able to take out five men. You'll be compensated nicely for this. Your money is already in your account.” he said.

 

“Thank you, but…” she began.

 

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

 

“It's about those other men. I'm sorry I had to take them out, I was hoping to avoid that outcome,” she said, as she looked around the café.

 

“Mireille, you did what was necessary. Don't tell me that you're developing a conscience now? It'll only get you killed next time.”

he replied.

 

“You're right. I suppose I didn't have a choice,”

 

“No, you didn't. You did what you were trained to do, what you are supposed to do. Like it or not, you are one of the top assassins in France.” he reminded her.

 

“The career path that all young girls should hope for.” she said bitterly.

 

 

_________--

 

“Would you like some more tea, Mademoiselle?” the dark haired waitress asked Mireille, the teapot she was holding paused in midair as she waited for a response.

 

The blonde looked up at the waitress and nodded. “Yes, I'd like some more please.”

 

The waitress poured the tea, and then stepped back.

 

“Thank you.” Mireille replied.

 

The waitress studied the blonde woman's face. “Have you had a hard day, Mademoiselle?”

 

Mireille looked up at the woman in surprise. Had she heard the conversation with her client? Did the woman somehow know of her part in the day's big news story?

 

“Why do you ask?” she asked the waitress, trying to keep her voice as even as possible.

 

The waitress blushed. “You have sad eyes, Mademoiselle, that's all. Forgive me, you're a beautiful young woman- I'm sure that you have a wonderful life.” the woman rapidly remarked, then skittered away embarrassed.

 

Mireille pulled out her compact and looked at her eyes. She had done such a good job concealing her black eye, that she was sure the waitress hadn't noticed it. As she took another look into her compact mirror she saw the sad, dull look of one who's seen too much tragedy in their life.

 

She snapped the mirror shut with a click.

 

 

Long past sunset. Mireille was still wandering the Paris streets. She wished that she could just disappear and start over somewhere else. She could change her identity, color her hair, and find someone to replace her murdered family. She was becoming tired of waiting to exact revenge on the persons responsible for killing her family, robbing her of her childhood and turning her into someone she wasn't sure she wanted to be.

 

 

She looked down at her hands and noticed that on the inside of one of her nails was a speck of blood. She didn't know if it was hers or one of the five she killed.

 

She would never be able to be anything but herself. She was beautiful, skilled and smart, but she was also alone and lonely.

 

And she would forever be bloodstained.

 

 

At least her plant was waiting for her at home.

 

-END-