"Are you his wife?" the voice was deep and husky with a familiar accent. The question was directed at me. I tried to keep calm in order to answer but the tension was too much to bear. I could feel my stomach begin to defy gravity. I brought my hands over my belly as my vision blurred. "Lady. Hey, I'm talking to you," His voice sounded distant as the room begin to move. I felt my knees buckle beneath me followed by the coldness of the floor against my head.
Elsewhere a different scene unfolded:
The knife was sharp. She knew it was, but she slid a finger over it anyway. It was cold to the touch. Blood stained the knife edge and she frowned, she had spent ages cleaning it just the other day. The knife was special, it was given to her by her father on a camping trip just before he had died. her name, Cynthia, was engraved on it in delicate cursive writing. Licking her wound she put the knife back under wraps.
Her tired eyes gazed upon the photo on the wall as she slipped into her thoughts. The photo was of a couple. A dark haired man with piercing green eyes held onto his wife's hand a tall blonde with blue eyes. They had showed of their rings to the camera. Newly weds, they were. Cynthia fiddled with her ring. It had been three years since her husband had gone. Three years and there was still no peace, she wanted justice. She was close now. She just had to get someone to talk. Someone to tell the world that the dark haired man on her wall was innocent. Someone to say that her husband was innocent.
Cynthia closed her eyes and leaned back in her leather chair. The last few days had passed quickly, the plan unraveled itself... the execution a little sloppy - they hadn't intended a fatality- but things were cruising along fine. The thing now was to make sure she wouldn't get caught. Her partner in crime was a shady figure with motivations of her own. That was the problem. She at least understood her motivation for all this, but her partner's was beyond her control. She would have to eventually take her out of the equation. Little did she realize her curly haired partner had thought the same thing. She was caught by surprise as the cold steel pierced through her.
Letting her hood fall she caught a glimpse of her wild curls cascading around her pale face in the large framed photo, on the wall. She was right to have killed off Cynthia. Her plan was helpful to begin with, but she was too soft. Cynthia had worried too much about getting caught, after all she had a family: her mother, her sister and her two sons. She had got scared when Yani had died whilst being interrogated. How could she handle it when she killed her true target?
Then it occurred to her that she could get caught as well. If she did get caught, she pondered, what could she do? She was the only one left of what she referred to as family. Her possessions were limited. Would anyone really miss her?
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