What was his name?

Everything I’d ever learned, everything I’d experienced, everything I am has led me to this moment. Years of lessons, however, become null and void when you’re up against the person that taught them to you. Unable to rely on my skills alone, I knew the only way to give myself a fighting chance was the element of-

“You can come out, Claire. I know you’re there.”

Mother fucker, I think as I step out from the shadow painted foliage onto the cobblestone walk way before my friend. I’d spent hours in this garden–his garden–appreciating its beautiful scenery and calming ambience. The quiet, stillness of the garden I’d always appreciated for its peace and tranquility turned to fuel for the awkwardness of this entire situation. For the first time ever, I felt small in front of him as I struggled to find the words to explain myself.

“What’s wrong, Claire? Not prepared to talk”

“Mike I-”

“Sparrow is fine. If you’re here on business you might as well use my business name. Besides,” he smirked as if he were letting me in on a joke, “Micheal was never my real name.”

I’d never been good with words, leaving me nodding and “hmm”-ing my way through most conversations–even those I shared with Mi-Sparrow. It was a flaw that left me feeling defenseless and exposed despite the gun in my holster. 

“Go on Claire,” he goaded, the sound of my name on his tongue making my stomach ache, “Give me the spiel.”

“It’s… It’s nothing personal,” I sputter. Sparrow raises his eyebrows, beckoning me to go on. “After what happened in Denmark-”

“It was just a job.”

“28 people died!” I raise my voice, suddenly finding my words. “28 innocent bystanders died, Sparrow.”

“It was an accident.”

“This isn’t the line of work for accidents.” I retort, my conviction returning as I free my gun from its holster, release the safety and aim the gun at him, “you taught me that.”

“I taught you everything.” He said coldly, his confident demeanor remaining undisturbed. “I think that earns me more than an ambush in my own backyard.”

“If I don’t do it they’ll just send someone else.”

“Obviously. But that someone wouldn’t have a key to my gate.”

His glare emphasizes his point even more than his words. Even now, staring down the barrel of the gun, he’s completely in control. Part of me screams to take the shot. Even after everything I’ve been through with Sparrow and everything we’ve planned, I can’t help but think about those poor people whose only serious wrong-doing was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But those people aren’t here, and even if they deserve better, they aren’t my friends. Not like Sparrow.

I lower my gun, carefully placing it on the ground so as not to set it off. As I step over the weapon, I pull out my knife–a gift from Sparrow.

“You’re right, you at least deserve a fair fight.” I say, marching towards him.

“You won’t survive a fair fight, Claire. Don’t-” I cut him off, swinging my knife at him from the side, forcing him to drop to his hands in a plank position before thrusting himself up into a squatting position and somersaulting backwards to put some distance between us. Landing on his feet, his knife is safe in his grip, having been pulled out of whatever concealed sheath he had. 

“Last chance.” He offers.

“We’re way past that.” I counter, shifting my feet into a more solid position and squaring my shoulders to be perpendicular to his person. 

Sparrow charges at me, driving his knife down at me from above while trying to grab at my wrist that’s holding my weapon. I dive to my side, popping up just in time to pivot and dodge another swing. Sparrow keeps coming at me fast and strong, as I frantically avoid each blow, trying hard to find my opening, my eyes locked on the area of his chest right above his heart. This situation is far more overwhelming than I ever could have imagined, and I’m scared that I’m just one wrong move away from actually betraying Sparrow.

Two days earlier, I’d warned Sparrow about the contract that had been issued on his life. I expected him to flee the country or change his identity. But he surprised me when instead he told me to take the contract.

“They’ll suspect something. No one would believe I would actually kill you.” I’d told him, finding the suggestion absolutely ridiculous. 

Sparrow shook his head in disagreement. “They’ll believe it. I’ve seen it a dozen times before. There’s nothing suspicious about people wanting money. And as long as we make it a convincing show, they’ll have to believe it.”

Sparrow had planned everything, down to every last detail. Once Sparrow caught someone hacking into his security system, he came outside and called me out onto the walkway–a spot that was perfectly captured by his outdoor cameras. As he said, what good is a great performance without an audience?

Sparrow had given me one job: stab him. Specifically, stab him close enough to the heart that it would look like a fatal wound on the security cameras and in my proof of death photos, without actually stabbing him in the heart. He’d made it sound like such an easy task.

Dodging his blows now, I wasn’t fully convinced he wouldn’t kill me for the sake of authenticity. His breath grew heavier as he maintained the same level of ferocity with each move. As he drove the knife down from above again, I dropped into a squat, forcing his tall frame to lean over far enough that his stance was imbalanced enough for me to sweep his legs out from under him. His knife, which had been a centimeter away from being buried into my skull, clattered to the ground as his body hit the hard cobblestone. I threw myself on top of him, pinning his body to the ground with my weight as I straddled his chest. I raised my knife above my head before bringing it down with enough force I was sure I could penetrate his ribs. As I drove the knife down, time seemed to stand still as my mind flashed to the task before me: get the proof of death photos, and get him down the street to the private team of doctors we had ready. 

He caught my hand, taking me entirely by surprise. My knife was positioned above just the right spot. I don't know why he would stop it. As I continued to push down on the knife, I felt his hand pull mine slightly to the right. When he let go, I didn’t have time to react before burying the knife into his chest, clearly puncturing his heart.

“W-what.” I cried, unable to process what happened.

Sparrow just smiled at me before closing his eyes and letting out a sigh. I couldn’t believe what had just happened–what was happening. 

A million thoughts rushed through my brain as everything in the garden stood still–as still as the body of my friend–until only one thought was left in my mind.

Was Mike really not his name?