Fiction Vortex - August 2013 Page 5

  ~~~~~

  Kastner woke the next morning to the sound of screeching tires on the street below. He flew out of bed, dashed through the bedroom door, and threw a quick glance at his desk. It was still there — the big black book. Kastner let out a slow, whistling breath of relief at the sight of it. No one could have broken in and taken it without waking him, but even so, Kastner was driven by an obsessive attention for detail that made him so good at his job. He needed to see the book again just to be sure.

  He prepared for the day and had just finished the breakfast dishes when a faint knock on the door broke the steady melody of the street outside the window.

  At first Kastner thought the knocking was coming from next door; he didn’t receive visitors here, and he made a point of keeping this particular location secret. No one knew where he lived, not even the woman who employed him.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  The sound was louder this time, and there was no doubt the knocking was coming from outside his door. He considered ignoring it at first — if he didn’t answer the uninvited guest would have to leave eventually — but then he remembered that it could be the building manager, and ignoring him would raise questions. Moving quickly, Kastner tiptoed to his desk and slipped the big black book into the drawer and out of sight, but not before removing the pistol from inside.

  "Just a moment," he called from across the room, then moved for the door, the gun concealed carefully behind his back. He slid the small wooden cover from the peephole and peered outside.

  The building manager was a short, balding man with a crooked nose and a single massive stripe of hair where his eyebrows should be. This was not the manager. Through the peephole Kastner saw the slightly distorted image of a woman’s face; she was young and pretty, with wavy red hair that fell to her shoulders and deep green eyes. She was looking directly at him through the glass, and she had a friendly smile.

  "Who is it?" Kastner asked. He cocked the weapon behind his back as he spoke, his voice masking the distinct clack of the gun. He had never seen this girl before and, whoever she was, there was no reason at all for her to be here.

  "Yes, uhm, hello," the woman said in a small voice. "My name is Marina, I'm your neighbor from across the hall. I’m new here, just moved in last week. Apartment 402." She stepped back from the door, pointing down the hallway.

  "What can I do for you?"

  The girl smiled, her parted lips revealing pretty white teeth. Soft dimples — as if painted on — glistened on her cheeks. "Sorry to bother you." She looked to the floor apologetically. "I seem to have gotten some of your mail." She held up a thin package in front of the peephole. "It says ‘For: Mr. Jacob Carver, apartment 408.’"

  "Hmm," Kastner mumbled. "I see." Carver was the alias he used to rent the place, and he supposed there was nothing very strange about some of his mail ending up in the wrong mailbox. What’s more, this girl was not much older than twenty; if she was sent to kill him, she would be no threat to a man of Kastner’s caliber.

  If she tried anything at all, he would cut her down where she stood. What a shame that would be, Kastner thought, thinking of those dimples. "Okay, just give me a second." His voice was more gentle now. He unbolted the heavy steel lock at the top of the door and there was a loud snap as the latch gave way. Then he turned the key in the smaller lock under the knob, pulling the door open.

  "Hi!" the girl said and cocked her head to the side as Kastner surveyed her through the open door. She wasn’t very tall, but she was fit, with ample curves in all the right places. She wore a red summer dress embroidered throughout with bright, flowery designs and Kastner could feel the sharp scent of her perfume fill the air around him. For a moment he wondered what she would look like without the dress, without any clothes at all.

  "Hi," Kastner replied and his lips curved slightly. He stood at the edge of the doorway, his right hand still hidden behind his back. The girl smiled, and her eyes jumped quickly between Kastner and the door. They were wildly green, with a thin strand of yellow around the pupils.

  Kastner held out his hand for the package, and she handed it to him. He glanced down at it for only a moment, but that was all it took; something caught the girl’s eye, and she slipped inside with a playful hop, brushing Kastner aside as she went.

  "Hey!" Kastner screamed and turned quickly to keep the gun hidden. He watched her stroll through the hallway and toward the large double windows in the living room. He braced himself.

  "Nice view," she said, approaching the windows and glancing into the street below. "It’s not fair, you know. I’m jealous. All I see when I look out my window is that stupid parking garage." Her voice was soft and playful.

  Kastner took two steps in her direction, then stopped. "Listen, thanks for bringing the mail. I appreciate it. But I have to ask you to leave now, I have work to do." He paused for a moment, adding, "What I mean is, I have to get ready for work. So if you don’t mind —"

  "Have you figured it out yet?" she asked without turning, her eyes still taking in the view.

  "Have I what?"

  "The book." She turned swiftly on her heel to look at him again. A big smile was painted on her lips. "That’s what you’re working on, isn’t it?"

  Kastner frowned. "I ... I’m not sure what you mean." He clutched the gun tighter.

  "Oh relax, will you?" Her smile broadened at the change in his expression. "I’m not here to kill you, Kastner. And if I was, would I come knocking on your door?" At this thought she let out a soft, girlish laugh.

  Kastner’s eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. He pulled the gun swiftly from behind his back and pointed it at her. "Who are you and what do you want?" His finger curled around the trigger.

  Still smiling, the girl shook her head and rolled her eyes, then placed her hands on her hips.

  "I won’t ask again!"

  "Oh fine," the girl said, a hint of frustration in her voice. "I already told you my name; it’s Marina. And I am your neighbor. I also told you I’m not here to kill you, so you can put that thing away, cowboy." She pointed at the gun, lips pursed but eyes still smiling.

  "I’d rather not, if you don’t mind. What are you doing here? How do you know about the book?"

  "Relax, baby. I’m just doing my job. I work for someone who is very interested in you and your well-being. At least that’s what he tells me. I moved in last week to make sure nothing happens to you. That’s all."

  Kastner smirked at this. "So you’re here to protect me, are you? And just what makes you think I need your protection?"

  The girl shrugged. "Nothing at all. But my boss seems to think you do, so that’s why I’m here. I just thought I’d stop by and say ‘hello’. Also, I thought I’d help you out a bit." Kastner saw her eyes move to the envelope that still hung from his hand. He had forgotten it completely.

  "How did you find me? How do you know about the book?"

  "It’s my employer who knows."

  "Who is your employer?" Deep lines were forming on Kastner’s face. He took a step forward.

  The girl stood her ground. "Ah, that’s not for me to say."

  "How about we cut the bull and you tell me what I need to know, or else I’ll —"

  "Or else you’ll shoot me?" she interrupted. "No, you won’t. I’m just an unarmed girl, remember?" She held her hands out in front of her. "And you won’t have to, because I was just leaving." She swooped past him casually, and he followed her movements with the muzzle of the gun.

  "Stop right there, I’m not kidding."

  The girl, now steps from the door, stopped but didn’t turn. "You wouldn’t shoot a nice girl like me in the back, would you cowboy?"

  He said nothing. He couldn’t see her face but he knew that even now she was smiling.

  After a brief silence the girl spoke, her voice very sweet, "I was just leaving. But my door’s always open in case you need me. Apartment 402, just across the hall, okay?"

  "Why would I need anything from you?"
<
br />   She giggled again. "Well, you didn’t think she’d just let you retire, did you?"

  "What ... what did you say?"

  "Just open the package; you’ll figure it out." She stepped forward slowly. "I’ll be across the hall if you need me." Before he could say anything else, the girl slipped out the door and closed it gently behind her.

  He stood there for some time as a single bead of sweat zigzagged down his face. He lowered the gun eventually and paced around the room, the gun in one hand and the package in the other, until his feet took him to his desk in the corner of the room. He placed the gun on the desk and ripped the envelope open.

  What fell out was a perfectly ordinary newspaper — the World News Daily, early edition. He flipped quickly through the pages. Unable to find a single hidden note or message of any kind, Kastner sighed and shook his head. He was just about to dump it in the trash when something caught his eye at the bottom of the front page. It was a small picture that showed a chaotic scene: overturned train cars sprawled across a burning landscape. The headline read: Pakistan train derailment kills 20, Minister among dead. Below the picture was a short paragraph:

  This morning at around 9:30 a.m. local time a deadly train derailment near Lahore, Pakistan sent six cars off the tracks, killing at least 20 people. Sources in the Pakistani government confirm that Federal Minister of the Interior, Asif Hammad Aazam, is among the dead. More on pg. 3.

  Kastner paused for a moment, thinking. He put the paper back on his desk and rubbed his forehead, eyes staring into space. Aazam ... Aazam ... AAZAM THE AMAZING! His eyes twitched into focus and he opened the desk drawer, fishing the big black book from inside and throwing it open on the table. Placing his finger on the first column of the very first page, he traced his way down the list. He was looking for Aazam, Asif Hammad, who had been third on the list and whose cause of death had been Train Derailment.

  But Aazam wasn’t there. Neither was Aaberg or Aarons, which had been the first two names on the list. First on the list was Aaby, Roxanna. Second was Aaker, Matthew John. Third was Abel, Johannes. Kastner leaned in closer to make sure he was reading it correctly. He flipped the page once and then twice and three times, looking for Aaberg, Aarons, and Aazm. The Aa’s and Ab’s quickly turned into Ac’s, Ad’s. Aazam was gone.

  Kastner checked the final page, and instead of finding Zwinger last on the list he saw the name Zvorsky, Boris staring back at him. "What’s going on?" Kastner breathed as he slammed the book shut again. Then he saw it.

  He hadn’t noticed before, but the cover was different, too. The Roman numerals on the front now read XXII/VI/MMXIII — 22/6/2013. This was tomorrow’s date, but last night it said 21/6/2013 — today’s date.

  The damn thing changes daily, all by itself, Kastner thought. The names, they are the names of those who died ... NO, they are the names of those who will die the next day. He dropped into his chair, eyes wide, a cold shiver clawing up his spine. Then another thought swam from the back of his mind and panged into focus, pushing everything else aside.

  You didn’t think she’d just let you retire, did you? That was what the girl said. Kastner opened the book again, but this time he flipped to the letter K. When he found it, he swept down the list with his finger.

  Kane ... Kastel ... Kastner.

  There, in bright white letters on black paper, arranged in three neat columns and burning themselves painfully into his brain were the words: Kastner, Hugo. 1:10 p.m. Explosion.

  He rubbed his prickly chin, struggling to take in what he was seeing — his demise written down in Death’s own phonebook.

  Of course the woman wouldn’t let him retire; he knew too much. He was foolish to think that after all these years she would trust him, foolish to think that he could trust her. Tomorrow at 1:10 p.m. — ten minutes after the arranged meeting —he would die in an equally arranged explosion. The woman would get what she wanted this one last time, and then all the secrets he knew would die with him.

  That was, after all, what it meant to "retire" in his particular line of work. He had known it all along; had he hoped for a different outcome? It was a lapse in judgment, trusting in the woman and the bond they shared as a result of their long and successful partnership. There were no bonds in his profession; only interest and death. Either you serve the former, or you are served the latter. No exceptions.

  Now that it was all out on the table, Kastner was surprised by his clarity of mind. He was calm, collected, and only mildly disappointed. It was part of the job — the most important part, really. This was, then, just another day at the office.

  The one thing that did trouble him was the girl, Marina. Somehow she knew about the book, knew what it was, and not only that, she knew about the woman’s intentions.

  You didn’t think she’d just let you retire, did you?

  Kastner leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling. Why did she come to warn him? Why did her employer, whoever that was, want him alive? He noticed a spider on the ceiling above, hanging from an invisible web. It was perfectly still, as if dead. As if harmless.

  Setting a trap.

  Kastner slammed the book shut, rising from his chair with the ghost of a smile on his lips.