Catch, Mr President

“So, what’s the catch?” Jordan asked, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he picked at his nails. The girl stared at him, eyebrow raised. 

“Catch?” She questioned, looking him in the eye. God, her stare made him squirm. It felt like she was turning his brain inside out and picking it apart. 

“Yeah. A catch. There’s always a catch.” He insisted, grimacing at the smirk spreading across the girl’s face. 

“Always? Don’t tell me the president’s son has done this enough times for there to be an always.” The look of pure glee on her face was one that would haunt his dream’s forever. 

“I-” He was stumbling over his words as badly as his sister’s walking skills. She was nine. “So what if I have?” Jordan had no idea where that spout of courage had come from, but he was savoring it. The girl laughed aloud at this, her stare leaving his face for about a second. The quick relief made the stare even more terrifying. 

“I don’t believe you.” She said, finally speaking again. Her voice was smooth, her tongue a knife slicing through the piercing sound waves she sent at him. The dark room suddenly felt much darker. Jordan shivered, trying to hide it from the girl.

“You’re terrified. Nobody who’s done this that many times is that scared. Hell’s sake, you’re shaking. I’m the one who should be concerned. I’m the one who never should have let you in here. Which makes a fine segway into my next point. If I find out you’re a spy here to catch me, and I always find out, I will be gone before your police friends hear your voice, and you will be dead. So if you don’t have a name for me, I’m going to assume-” 

“No!” He shouted, needing her to stop. He wasn’t a spy. He really was willing to pay for this. He needed to pay for this. Determination coursing through his veins, he stood tall and took a breath. 

“I have a name.” The silence of the room was deafening, pounding his ears along with the beating of his heart. 

“Shall I read your mind for it? Tell me what it is!” The girl said, leveling him with a stare as she slapped the table. But the thought of his name had wiped his fear of her. 

“Marcus Sanchez.” 

For a moment, there was nothing. Pure, complete, nothing. Just two teenagers in a room. Staring at each other. The girl finally spoke up. 

“The president.” 

“Yes.” 

“Your father.” 

“Yes.” 

“The father of your sister.” 

“He is no father to her.” 

“Jordan Sanchez.” She was silent again. “It seems.. you’ve made yourself a catch.” 

Fear gripped his heart. There it was. He’d have to complete some outrageous task. He’d read about it in all his books. There was always a catch when hiring an assassin. 

“I cannot simply kill the president. I’ll need you on the inside. You’ll be bugged every minute of every day. And if you ever take it out, it’ll explode with the force of a grenade.” She explained, sitting down. Jordan let out a breath. This was the catch? He could live with that. 

“Then bug me.” He challenged, with a lot more confidence than he felt. The girl laughed, draining it. 

“You already are.” Well. That was unsettling. “What I’d like to know, however- you won’t find it, by the way, you can stop searching yourself- is why-”

“I think I deserve to know where it is!” He protested, before clapping a hand to his mouth. He had no idea what possessed him to think it was a good idea to interrupt an assassin. One who was agreeing to kill his father. 

“I don’t particularly care what you think. Why are you trying to kill your father, Jordan?” Her voice was sharp. “United States isn’t a monarchy- you won’t gain anything but sympathy from half the country and a ‘He deserved it’ from the other half.” She was spinning in her chair. He hadn’t even noticed she’d sat down. Or that her chair spun as fast as his head. God, was he really doing this? There was a glass of water in front of his face. 

“I’m not drinking that.” 

“C’mon, we’re having a heart to heart. Drink.” 

“It’s poisoned!” In response, the girl lifted the glass to her lips and drank half of it. 

“I can’t have only poisoned half. It’s not an apple.” Finally, Jordan nodded and accepted the glass. He drank and slammed it onto the table with more force than was necessary. 

“He’s hurting her.” He said. The girl nodded and continued staring, like she knew there was more. “He- he hurts me.” It felt good to get that out there. 

“And your mother’s pregnant again.” She said with absolute certainty. Alarm bells went off in his head. They hadn’t released that information yet. They were planning on waiting until next month to release that. 

“How did you know that?” He asked, not caring how fearful he sounded anymore. 

“Your eyes.” She let him have that for a moment. “I like you, Jordan. Your father will be dead by the end of the week.” She promised, standing up suddenly and speeding towards the door. 

“Wait! What’s the catch?” He asked, running after her, hand digging through his pocket for his cash. 

“You’ll find out soon enough.” She held out her hand for the cash. He dropped ten hundreds into her palm. She studied them for a minute before nodding. 

“What’s your name?” She gave him a smirk. 

“Call my Red.” She pushed him into the little elevator. He was rocketed up to street level, into an abandoned phone booth. He came out and left the alley, spying his security detail leaning against the wall. 

“How’s your girlfriend doing?” He’d been telling Michael that he was meeting his girlfriend back there, in the phone booth, every week for the past month. He’d chickened out the first time. And second. And third. But hey, he’d made it there this time. He smiled at Michael’s playful smirk and gave him a lighthearted shove. He swallowed around the lump in his throat. I just sentenced my father to death, he wanted to tell him. But he kept his mouth shut and walked to the car. He sat through dinner, barely stomaching anything. His father wanted to read a book with Lila. He grabbed Lila’s arm and told his dad that he’d promised Lila they'd bake a cake tonight. His dad gave him a look but allowed it. He and Lila sat in the kitchen, chefs showing Jordan how to measure the ingredients, and Jordan holding Lila’s hands as they measured. They ate the cake with their parents the next day, Lila keeping both hands on her fork. Marcus Sanchez stared at his son and asked to have a talk in his room tonight. Lila started crying, and their mother soothed her cries, believing her to be jealous of the time Jordan got to spend with their father. Lila went to bed early that night. Jordan didn’t sleep. 

“Turn right.” Red’s voice was in his ear and he jumped. Michael laughed at him and Jordan shoved him and turned right, saying “We’re going the long way.” 

It was Thursday now and there hadn’t been any catches yet. The only other instruction he’d received was to read a book to Lila in his room instead of hers. She fell asleep in his bed and Jordan fell asleep soon after, arms curled protectively around her. 

   It was Sunday and the president wasn't dead yet. He'd been receiving random instructions at random times all day, and was trying to have faith. "Stop walking." She'd say. Or "Turn around." Dinner time came and went, Jordan expecting his dad to keel over at any minute. Every cough had Jordan snapping his eyes up. 

  "I think I'll turn in early, I've been really tired lately." His father said suddenly, looking at his mom. Jordan wondered if this was it. No blood, just sleep. 

Jordan was pacing his room at eleven o clock, debating whether or not to go to sleep, knowing his father would be dead when he woke up next. Red's voice suddenly sounded in his ear, slightly breathless. 

   "Go to his room." She whispered. Her other instructions had been loud, commanding. This was hushed and whispered. Was he already dead? Jordan wasted no time and headed to his room. Security let him through, and he looked around. His dad was asleep on the bed, his mother was gone. 

  "Lila's showing her the cake recipe you two made together. Remember that catch you've been waiting for?" 

Jordan swallowed. What could possibly be the catch now? 

 "Yeah?" He croaked, fear strangling him. 

   "There's a knife in your pocket."