Part I: The Blacksmith

“I like the pink one better!” Sheila said, pointing at the flowing, pink dress illustrated on the glossy magazine page.

“Pooh!” Ellen dismissed her with a contemptuous wave. “Whoever heard of a pink wedding dress? Pink? C’mon, this is reality, not Barbie and Ken…besides, you should wear black - marriage is just another of the ways men suppress us, keep us downtrodden. You’re selling your soul!”

“What a mean, mean thing to say!” Esther’s voice was loudest among the protests that greeted this remark. “C’mon Christine, this is your day - don’t let Cassandra here cast a dark cloud over it. Group hug!”

They all smothered the bride-to-be, upending the table they were working over, sending cut-outs and magazines fluttering. Christine flung out an arm and pulled the sulking Ellen over.

“Aww, girls, you’re the best. I know you all wish me the best…I’m sure even Ellen is kinda happy for me, somewhere in her stony black heart.”

They all giggled and squeezed a little tighter.

“OK, OK, enough - let’s get back to work girls!” Esther’s businesslike voice broke the huddle, and the other two ladies quickly broke away and began to pick up the scattered cutouts. Esther remained close.

“What would I do without you, Esther?” Christine murmured softly. Esther smiled. She rubbed Christine’s arm affectionately, trying to put her thoughts into words.

“Are you…you know, sure?” she asked, her eyes showing all the love and concern no words ever could.

“Yes, I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.” Christine replied, holding her gaze.

Satisfied, Esther drew back and returned to the table.

“Then we better get a move on, that dress won’t choose itself!”

They went back to work, comparing and eliminating, and squabbling good-naturedly. Christine had never had so much fun before.

“C’mon Chris, who’s this guy, Prince Charming?” Ellen asked, completely out of the blue. “There has to be something you don’t like about him! Honestly, if there isn’t, then something’s definitely off.”

Christine laughed.

“No, he’s perfect! He’s perfect, I wouldn’t change a thing!”

“No way "”Despite the protests from the rest of the girls she wouldn’t budge.

“She’s in love…she can’t even see his flaws.” Sheila said, a little dreamily. She fancied herself a poet, and often said such things.

They worked a few moments in silence.

“Well, maybe there is one thing…” she said, smiling mischievously.

Three excited voices urged her to spill the beans. She feigned reluctance, but finally leaned in and lowered her voice conspiratorially "

“Well…he…kinda…y’know…talks in his sleep?”

They all burst into laughter, Christine trying desperately not to join in, and ultimately failing.

“Well, in any case, it’s better than snoring, and more useful. Ask him his ATM PIN next time!”

And so the jokes went on, until Esther reminded everyone that they still had over fifteen dresses to go over. They went back to work, smirking, glowing in the aftermath of the laughter.

“Be careful though,” Ellen whispered to Christine so Esther wouldn’t hear. “Careful what you listen to. You never know what you might hear.”

Esther stared at her disapprovingly.

 

 

 

 

         *                           *                           *                            *                                * 

 

 

 

The man known only as The Blacksmith dragged the body into the bathroom, leaving a long, sinuous trail of crimson across the white-tiled hotel floor. The dead man had been wearing an all-black suit with a spotless white shirt - or, rather, was spotless a minute ago - a black tie and an earpiece snaking its way up his neck into his ear. The only thing missing was a big, red ‘Security’ label tattooed to his forehead. The Blacksmith studied the dead man’s expression. They always interested him - he wondered what Igor had been thinking that very instant before the blade pierced his heart and ended all thought. Maybe he was thinking of his family, or his friends. Or, perhaps, that raise he was going to approach his boss about. Or maybe even that late, late winner Manchester United had scored that weekend, in the ninth minute of stoppage time.

And then, nothing.

He lifted the body onto his shoulder then dumped it quietly but unceremoniously in the bathtub. The blood kept oozing, and The Blacksmith imagined that in a while the body would be immersed in a bath of warm, thick blood. Somehow the thought amused him.

He moved swiftly. He made his way across the opulent penthouse suite, his shiny black shoes almost sinking in the plush, thick wall-to-wall carpet. The suite itself was a beauty - sprawling, with beautiful Impressionist paintings adorning the walls; a minibar stocked with champagne and a wine list that read like a chronology of the succession of French kings; and a kind of living room area where plush, comfortable sofas were arranged in a semicircle facing the mantelpiece beneath which a fire was merrily cackling. On a table in the midst of this, a opened bottle of wine stood. Sprawled on the sofas in various states of contortion were three more bodies, suited exactly as Igor was. Their mouths were gaping, and limbs trailing, their poisoned wine glasses lying on the carpet where they’d dropped them, trailing scarlet like the blood that trickled from the corners of their mouths. Igor had stepped out before the toast, so The Blacksmith has simply waited for him to return. The beauty of the suite was lost on him. Only one thing was on his mind.

Death.

He made his way to the door of the master bedroom and knocked.

“What the hell? Who the hell is that? Who?” came the brash, irritated voice from within. “What time is it? What the hell could be so important?”

“It’s me, Bruce, sir.” Replied the Blacksmith in a crisp, polished businesslike accent. “Sorry to disturb you sir, but an urgent matter has come up, which will need your immediate attention.”

“What the bloody hell? Has Igor gotten himself into trouble again?”

The Blacksmith smiled. “Igor is the least of your worries,” he said. “He’s having a bath.”

“A bath? What the - will you tell me what in God’s name "”

“It’s a very urgent and…discreet matter sir,” he cut in. “It would be better to see for yourself.”

The Blacksmith could hear the creaky  protests of the bed as Sergei Khruvenich extracted his four-hundred-pound body from the bed, cursing angrily in Russian and snarling at whichever woman he was with that night to get off him.

Or man, couldn’t be sure.

The Blacksmith could hear the heavy footsteps beat a steady dum! dum! dum! as he made his way to the door. The jingle of a dozen keys…the scratch and rattle of the wrong key in the latch. The cursing of the doomed Russian. The steady beating of his own heart, regular as a metronome in his ears. Finally the click of the lock as the right key is found, and the handle turned…

“OK, now what the hell -”

He lunged with the deadly, unerring accuracy of a python, the blade at the apex of a human spear. The knife disappeared entirely into Sergei’s chest, swallowed in the layers of fat like a python’s meal. The Blacksmith was afraid that if he pushed any deeper his arm would disappear.

Sergei staggered back, confused, looking quizzically at The Blacksmith as if he could not believe he was dead. His lips silently formed the question ‘what-?’… he clutched at his pierced side and clutched at the tiny stump that protruded. The Blacksmith’s knives had no handles to pull out blades with. He collapsed to the floor, just another name in an assignment file which would soon be crossed through. His eyes were open, his mouth still gaping, his final question forever unanswered.

“Sergei? Sergei, what -” came the voice from the shadow. A hand found the bedside lamp, and its feeble, shaded light came on. The half-dressed woman got up and tiptoed to the doorway.

There he was, silhouetted in the half-light. A bemused expression on his face, his black suit splattered with scarlet. His hand disappeared into his breast pocket, and reappeared, holding a gun with a silencer on the nozzle.

She screamed and lunged back into the room, diving across the bed, clawing for the telephone. He barely flinched as he pulled the trigger twice, and she fell back, limp. Bullets were for women, he thought. Knives were for men.

He looked around, making sure. Then he went back into the lounge, and the bathroom. It was done.

He pulled out a special cell phone from his pocket - a cell phone with only one button. He pressed it, and put it to his ear. It was answered on the first ring.

“It’s done.” He said.

“Good. Get out of there.” Click.

Just in time, he thought, checking his watch. He still had to pick out a suit for the wedding.

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

I think it's a bit too dark for my liking...is the description too strong? Does it read right? Suggestions/corrections/errors?
Be honest, and brutal, please....

Reviews

[A.Noel]

it is really vivid, but that's definitely not a bad thing. The lightness of the beginning balances out the darkness of the second part, while at the same time showing an extremely drastic contrast of dark and light that really works well.
i had to laugh because one of my friends and i were talking about weddings and bright pink bridesmaid dresses a few hours ago. seeing that in ur story really made me smile :) the conversation between the brides reminds me a bit too much of legally blonde, but it's not too bad really cause they'd probably be acting silly out to some extent out of sheer joy at trying on dresses and their friend getting married.
a generally don't like things that're too dark, but this finds an ok borderline in my dark-o-meter. good job :)

[Hibah Shabkhez]

You change the tone quite abruptly, but I don't think it's 'too dark' - not dark enough, actually.

[Bella Egessa]

The dialogue btwn the ladies are a bit too blondish for me...it makes them sound more like teenagers than women!Generally i like the whole blacksmith thing-it's a gud attempt..my fav part was'bullets are for women,knives are for men' nice one there!i don't think its dark,maybe it's just different from what you are used too!i find it a bit predictable at the end where he kills his boss,i would have preferred the boss being killed by someone he really trusts or someone unexpected like the blacksmith could have been his son or something..u dig?bt it was a great attempt,i did enjoy reading it and also liked the humour esp where u say that you're not sure if sergei was with a man or woman!haha lovd it

[M.Babu]

OK the first two lines of dialogue between the ladies didn't sit well with me...a wee bit too mushy and childish. (But then again they're women picking dresses so it's allowedXD)
I think in the blacksmith portion 'a opened bottle of champagne stood'---> 'an opened...'

Other than that i really liked your description here. Got your usual cheekiness slipping in at intervals:
'Or maybe even that late, late winner Manchester United had scored that weekend, in the ninth minute of stoppage time.'

'a minibar stocked with champagne and a wine list that read like a chronology of the succession of French kings'
These two lines really did it for me.
The Plot progression developed slowly and sped up as we went along- this did the piece justice as your slowly developing the characters and we get just fractional glimpses of them-good for the suspence.
It's not dark at all so don't worry. To be frank i really enjoyed the Blacksmith portion-killers minds fascinate me alot and this man is a psychopath. He's brutally calm and hardened. I love characters like that...they're the ones who hold the plot and make it interesting- Blacksmith's double life. We dont know what he'll mutter while asleep....so well thought out plot! I'd love to know what you'll do this couple next! (Please be careful...i think i know what'll happen next so kick me in the balls with something i didn't see coming!)
This is an almost consummate first Part and it's laid quite a pedestal for Part Two bro. I hope you'll knock me socks off with tha' one too!
BRING THE NEXT PART IMMEDIATELY. I loved this
Brutal and Constructive Mike:O
XD

[Maureen Mwaniki]

In my opinion its not too dark!the wedding and the cheery,dreamy,group hugging girls sort of neutralize it already!Dont water it down any further!i love the way u describe the Blacksmith and his distracted humanity,almost as if killing to him comes naturaly or its just how he is programed to function!what am wondering however is how many chapters this book will go on for..the title of the book plus that ellen girl warning about being careful what the bride to be listens to and the revalation that the blacksmith is the all too perfect groom is alot of give aways especially within the first chapter,am already anticiptating the blacksmith will give himself away in one of his sleep talks!this isnt necessarily an error!you could always add more twists to it and ca tch me/anyone else who has drawn that conclusion offguard!its a great story!i'd love to read more!