One of the Stars

Water clung to her black clothing. It didn’t matter she had done it! She evaded the Sweep. Assassins for hire. Born into the clan and she left to have a normal life. Isda Collins sank into the sand on the beach of some small coastal town. Richfield, California. Never heard of it. Not that it mattered anything had to be better than living out of suitcases, tracking targets, and ending lives. The last target pushed her to leave sooner than she wanted. Nightmares of the small shaken child sobbing as she climbed out of the cabinets hunted her. For the first time, Isda cursed her light footsteps. The girl couldn’t have been older than eight. Isda realised the girl thought she was alone when their eyes meet across the room. That was 146 days ago. A month before summer she planned to leave. She had everything mapped out—until she woke up in the middle of the night with the little girl’s accusing eyes. Blue too blue with hints of green around the iris.

Isda sat until her bones chilled from setting on the shore in damp clothing. Without her careful planning, she didn’t have any money. Isda rose to her feet and remembered back to her training. Days alone on a private island with no weapon, money, or hope of a rescue until the end of summer. Ten-year-old Isda learned to fish, gather berries, and use aloe for a brush with poison ivy. Squaring her shoulders, she told herself she was resourceful and quick on her fight. The best and second to the youngest member in The Sweep. She got assigned targets at sixteen. Before her, the youngest to get targets was eighteen. A legal adult.

“Sorry,” Isda said. She kept her head down and mumbled as if she were shy. Van Wood, the owner of the wallet she picked-pocketed, would find that she was a party girl on the right occasion. She was several different people when she needed to be—but that was when she was a member of The Sweep.

Thirty dollars would get her a bus card and placed her at the apartment she leased and paid in full for a year.

***

Isda was glad the landlord put the apartment key on the windowsill hidden by a tall tree with large branches that covered most of the window. She was sure no one bothered to steal the key since she lived on the sixth floor. The building was an old one without elevators. She counted 90 steps until Apt #618 the place in the right-hand corner with no neighbours. She got a space that overlooked a balcony out into a busy street across the street from a church and elementary school. Her landlord suggested a grill like her last tenants used for summer fun. Isda didn’t plan to go out of her apartment. Delivery was her preferred method of shopping for essentials. Fewer chances of nosy and talkative. She couldn’t forget her guilty conscience.

Little girls gave her panic attacks. The first one hit her on the bus ride over. Isda had to ring for the stop and get off the bus three blocks away from the apartment. The little girl was being too friendly. Two large curly afro puffs and bright brown eyes, her hands waving. Logically, she knew she shouldn’t have associated the two girls. One was white and the other black. Guilt tore at her as she sat and watched that mother dot on her child. The silencer she used struck like a hissing cobra. Headshot. No going back.

Isda didn’t care usually. The Sweep trained their assassins not to think of targets like people. Her gun was the judge, jury, and executioner. Their crimes all ended in blood. Drug lords shouldn’t have families. It made them too human for her to continue on as she did. They should be dirty with red hands, only caring about money.

Sighing, Isda entered the apartment. The power didn’t work, but the water did. Having working hot water came as a shock to her.

She could squat for a month while she searched for a job and got things together.

***

Isda took in the early morning breeze as she locked up the dive bar. 5:00 a.m. and it was already 75 degrees. Pleasant and not sticky hot. When July rolled in, she had gotten used to working at the local bar. Most of her patrons were college-age kids blowing off steam. A few townies. Isda counted on the low lights and alcohol to help conceal her identity. The wigs helped. Every night she wore a different one. Her boss thought it was hilarious and a great way to keep unwanted attention from drunk co-eds asking after her when she left.

“You going to the firework show this weekend?”

“Nope.”

“Didn’t think so see you Wednesday night.”

Isda waved to her boss, got in her police auction Honda, and drove home.

***

The fireworks displayed from her balcony lit up the sky. Isla sat in her patio chair, a beer by her side, and felt content. The nightmares had gone away. Being bone-tired after working back to back twelve-hour shifts at the bar helped.

When 2 a.m. hit and she was sure everyone had gone back to their homes, Isla walked the block over to the local park. Her neighbourhood had two side-by-side. The first larger park had a playground, small manual exercise equipment, and a dog trail. Across the street was the smaller park designed for entertainment. It had several large stone tables with bench seating attached to the ground around grills.

Isda cut across the grass, dog trail, and street to get to the smaller park. She took her shoes off, sank into the grass, placing her arms behind her head and looked up at the stars.

“You never saw me. I had to rearrange my entire life because of you, and you never even notice the destruction you left behind. I thought maybe my dad did something wrong. He’s in charge of the cartel. It’s business, I told myself. We know not to expect to live every day. People use family to take out the boss all the time. What you did was dishonourable for that you’ll pay with blood. A life for a life.” By the time Isda heard the voice of the young woman speaking to her from in the shadows, it was too late. She had already moved and pierced her heart with a butcher knife.

Her Target’s child yanked the knife out. Blood poured out of Isda in rivers and ran across her chest and continued its current down into the grass. The nameless girl who got her revenge dropped the knife and walked away. Isda thought she’d feel pain. Everything was numb. Maybe she’d gone numb long before she saw those eyes too blue eyes. Isda’s breath slowed. She wondered if she’d become one of the stars or if only the innocent got to be among them.