In Search of Utopia (Part II)

The monster. That’s what he will call her. He will imagine Utopia Woods with scales and horns and maybe a forked tail. Red eyes. The redder the better. Her voice will be a squawk. Her feet will click like hooves.

Fenwick had tried all manners of tactics to cope with the psychological pitfalls of being a trained assassin. He tried cognitive therapy, he tried drugs, he even tried the ancient art of Yoga. None of it ever worked. Sadly, while searching through the annuls of history, he came upon but one surefire way to cope: dehumanization. So, all of his targets for assassination, he dehumanizes to make the act less taxing.

As he watches the camp from afar, he can see his monster -- wiery little thing -- moving amongst the camp of strange humans. The humans were unlike anything he had seen in Zirconium city. Their movements are sloppy. Uncoordinated. Some are happy. Some are drunk. Some are feigning happiness. While others are ready for a fight. The pure chaos of it all almost overwhelms Fenwick’s senses, but being the man of business that he is he maintains his composure, zeroing in on his target -- the monster known as Utopia Woods. Keeping a watchful eye on her foot patterns, he grabs a sheet from nearby fashioning it to a cloak. The humans are so wrapped up in their celebration, they barely notice as he follows her into her tented dwelling. 

As he enters, she is faced away from him. She appears to be cutting vegetables. She is singing a beautiful tune with a disquieting melody to it. The music is unpredictable rising and lowering at unexpected times, A mishmash of notes that seem they could never go together but they coalesce in a beautiful symphonic experience. The odd tune is such an awesome novelty, Fenwick finds himself hypnotized. So much in fact that he forgets what his mission even is. Suddenly he does not feel like he is in her kitchen, but in the kitchen with her. He forgets everything altogether until she stops, realizing she is not alone.

Momentarily his heart feels betrayed as if a dream has been ripped away. Then she speaks.

“Graeclynn?” she says turning. “Is that you --”

Snapping from his daze, Fenwick drops the disguise to the ground and points his rifle at the monster’s head.

At first, Utopia is shocked, eyes wide as she raises her hands in surrender. Then it is as if the gun disappears as her eyes journey to the gunman’s face and a smile slowly blossoms onto hers, hands absently coming together in glee. With a tone that could melt the glaciers she says, “Fenwick.” She moves toward him in a gesture that indicates she is going in for a hug but Fenwick treats it like an attack, backing away, holding his gun steady, “Don’t move.”

The gamut of emotions is almost complete as she finds herself now offended as she puts her hands on her hips. An inadvisable posture when someone has a gun trained at your head. 

Almost pouting, she snaps, “Don’t you remember me? Come on, I may have been awful at times, but I sure wasn’t forgettable!”

Her tone is almost convincing, but Fenwick has read her file from front to back several times and knows she is an artful wordsmith. Conjuring up lies with the ease of a storyteller. 

“Codex says you are a danger. To yourself and to society.”

“Codex? Certainly you’re not going to believe anything that came out of that jackass’s piehole.”

This causes Fenwick to lunge at Utopia, putting the gun further into her face and his finger deeper into the trigger.

“That ‘jackass’ is a father to me and he sent me here to kill you.”

The edge in Fenwick’s voice causes Utopia to discard her saucy tone. As if it is even possible, the gun becomes more motionless. More fixed on Utopia's skull. Fenwick’s brow wrinkles as if transforming to another person. Back to the assassin.

Tears begin to fill Utopia’s throat. Not from the prospect of dying, but from the realization of having lost him.

“He sent you here to kill me?” she asks, turning away, looking to the space in front of her for answers.

“Yes,” he says coldly, gun staying still.

Another revelation hits her and she turns back to him. With one last breath of hope, she poses the question.

"If you came here to kill me," she says with an emphatic whisper, “then, why haven’t you?”

Fenwick is frozen by the poignant riddle. He had been sent, quite literally, on countless missions. Mainly because he didn’t want to count. Countless men, women -- and even children -- struck down by his rifle. A countless array of colored eyes -- grey, brown, blue, and green -- pupils dilating in a last hurrah of terror. But not once in all those occurrences did he ever pause. Not for one moment.

Thoroughly confused, he lowers his gun at his side. Observing the transformation, Utopia resists the urge to hug him but settles for a self-satisfied smile. The moment drained of things to say, they stand there in silence, kindly observing one another’s gaze, opposite specimens across a faded glass.

Once the tension can last no more, Utopia decides to shoulder the burden of speaking first.

“Well,” she says, brushing herself off, “it’s no easy feat transitioning from attempted murder to corn and beans, but I’m just crazy enough to try.”

She goes two paces to the dining area and pulls out a chair, inviting Fenwick to take a seat.

“Pull up a seat. It’s your least favorite,” she jokes. 

She puts a bowl of corn and beans onto the table.

Fenwick smiles. He somehow likes this woman. He takes a seat as instructed and they enjoy a meal together. They begin to talk. Little things. Nothing serious yet. And soon he is taken by her intelligence and sharp wit. He is not sure of what is going on at the moment, but he knows what is to come.

He will figure out why she is hiding from the state. He will figure out why she recognizes him. And because he still sees the red eyes, Because he still sees the red tail, he remembers she is still the monster and in four days time, she will die.