Love in the Line of Fire

Ilana absentmindedly ran her thumb along the wooden handle of her dagger, tracing the carved out initials as she prepared herself for the throw.

She stared at the target in front of her with bold red circles, the colors burning the back of her eyelids.  

Thirty five feet. She had never thrown at this distance. She pulled in a breath. She was confident in her skills.

The people around her continued to chatter loudly and she gritted her teeth. There was a time when she had absolutely loathed any and all company while she was practicing. She still hated it, make no mistake, but she had learned to work with it.

Now, she focused on the cold handle of the dagger, finding a rhythm in the even beats of her heart. Her eyes stayed strictly on the target in front of her until, slowly but steadily, the voices around her slowed.

Focus. She whispered. The chatter dimmed down until it was nothing but a vexing buzz in her head, a white noise she could easily block out.

She loved this feeling, the sensation of letting go of every anchor holding her to her painful life, drifting apart from the body adorned with scars of her past yet still being so in control.

It was intoxicating, the command she could get on her mind when she was in her element.

She smiled at nothing in particular, letting go of the handle. It cut through the air, zooming towards the target. She had barely blinked when the dagger found the bullseye, the handle sticking out as if proud of the achievement.

She gave herself a moment to appreciate the milestone. 

But then something odd happened.

She felt something solid, something a lot like skin that snaked around her waist.

She froze on the spot. She saw a figure in her head. A looming, terrifying figure. It stalked towards a little girl cowering in a corner. Felt as the figure’s slimy, mud covered hand touched the girl’s cheek.

Her makeshift world shattered around her in shards of glittering, piercing light. Like a flower opening its petals, exposing the sensitive, fragile stamen inside to the harsh environment.

Except there was nothing fragile about Ilana. She was a trained assassin, for god's sake.

She reached for the knife tucked safely in the band around her upper arm, hidden under her long sleeve. It slid out easily. 

She spun around as if she were floating, heart thumping wildly and yanked the arm from around her waist. She pressed the sharp blade to the person’s neck and the creep stumbled backwards.

She finally registered the face in front of her, his eyes wide and hands thrown up in surrender.

“God, Ilana,” Nathan muttered. She gritted her teeth, pressing the blade harder against his pale skin.

“What the f*ck, Nathan?” she demanded, staring at her colleague slash occasional hookup partner.

Her heart calmed a little but she felt disoriented, like she would see the figure from earlier walk in any minute now.

“I’m sorry. I just wanted to surprise you,” he said, a hint of defensiveness creeping in his voice.

“You do not surprise a girl with a dagger on her. That’s how you get killed,” she hissed, still annoyed at his audacity to actually touch her without her permission.

“You did not had a dagger on you when I grabbed you,” he pointed out and she pressed the one against his neck a little harder, just to prove a point. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Just put it down.”

She rolled her eyes but obliged. She felt the need to get out of here, unable to regain her composure after what he had done.

She pushed past him but then stopped midway, turning around to face him.

“Oh and Nathan, do not, ever, touch me without my permission again. Dagger or no dagger. Or else I'll make sure you’ll regret it,” she said, her voice hard in the way that had brought millions to their knees.

She pushed through the crowd and the sounds - the gunshots, successful yelps of newbees on completing simple tasks or disappointed grunts when a shot missed the target - followed her until the back door swung shut after her.

She took deep breaths, her fists clenched so tight she felt her nails leave half moon marks on her palms.

She'd overcome every single weakness, she had become unshakeable. She had spent her entire life training to be the most ruthless, the scariest in any room she entered.

But this, this particular horror she can never get rid of no matter how hard she tried.

“Cigarette?” a voice asked.

She blinked back her thoughts.

“Can I get one without the company?” she asked, extending her arm anyways.

Helene laughed, handing her lit cigarette to her. Ilana took a long swig, feeling some of her nerves settle.

“I’m sorry but you’ll have to suffer through the company,” she said and Ilana smiled, passing the cigarette back to her.

“What are you doing here, Helene?” she asked. Her boss rarely ever came to their secret practice arena.

Something to do with not wanting to mix with lowlife criminals and killers like her. Ilana wondered how Helene managed to conjure this patronizing authority when she was the one at the top of all this. When she was the one who pulled the strings of most of the people in the arena right now. That these killers and criminals might not have become killers or criminals if it wasn’t for her.

She had concluded that it must come hand in hand with the prerogative of never having to actually get her hands bloody. Of being able to go to bed without the faces of people she’d killed haunting her.

“I wanted to have a little chat with Vincent,” she said. Ilana allowed herself a secret frown.

“I also have a new assignment for you.”

Ilana nodded.

“But there’s a problem.” Helene said and Ilana scoffed.

“Dealing with problems is your sector, not mine.”

“The employer doesn’t have the proper history of the target.”

“The employer doesn’t have information on the very person he wants killed?” she asked, looking at Helene incredulously. “You know how crazy that sounds, right?”

Helene sighed, as if she was very done with Ilana. Ilana braced herself for the potential argument that could ensue.

“The target killed someone close to him,” Helene said as if that was reason enough for Ilana to accept the mission.

“Unprovoked? Just went up and killed the person for no apparent reason?” 

“He claims that she’s mentally unstable.”

“Well, then, that solves it. I want proof. Medical reports. Statements from people close to the target.”

“Ilana, come on. If he could get it, there wouldn’t be a problem in the first place.”

“Then, it’s a clear no, Helene. You know this. I’m not killing anyone until I know for a fact that they deserve it.”

It was one of her demands she never swayed away from. Playing underpaid vigilante was no easy task. The horror of killing people was a burden too heavy for Ilana to shoulder anyways. But if it ever got coupled with the knowledge that she’d killed someone innocent or even someone who had stumbled in that gray area between right and wrong, Ilana was sure she would crush under the weight. 

She would lose that last shred anchoring her to sanity.

“The pay is great,” Helene tried, even though she knew it wasn’t going to work on her.

“Helene,” she said warningly. Helene relented.

She was, after all, Helene’s best assassin. The fact came handy a lot more than Ilana would have anticipated in the beginning.

“You know my requirements. If they want me, they should comply. Or else, you can find someone else,” she said, leaving Helene alone in the courtyard.