A Lesson Learned

A Story by Grace S.

Don't really know where I'm going with this yet but its a about a secret agent with a secret life...slow updater...

Chapter 1

I rose up from her large bed and sniffed in the air through my nose. I was sick. Not like throw-up sick but sick, sick. You know? That kind of head stuffing, nose running, sneeze your nose off, sick. I slowly reached over to my bedside table and grabbed a hair tie. As I stuffed my long black hair into a bun on the top of my head, I could hear a sort of shuffling in the kitchen. My highly trained ears listen carefully to the slight scuffle of shoes on tile.

Really? 8:27 in the morning and you have the idea to raid my goddamn kitchen? What kind of robber are you?, I thought annoyingly to myself.

I carefully and silently pulled the out drawer on my bedside table for my pistol. Trying not make the bed squeak, I crawl out from under the covers on place my feet on the hardwood floors. I hiss quietly at the cold panels on my warm feet. Slowly rising up from my bed, I c**k my gun and hold in front of me like I have since I was in first level training.

Always on the lookout, I take wide, spaced steps with the grace of a tiger lurking on its prey. I head down the hallway and peek around the corner to see a large caucasian man dressed in a long, black trench coat, black dress pants and black shoes.

Well someone read 'How to be a Robber 101' last night.

I roll my eyes and think about which way I should take him out. Hit with gun on side of head, watch collapse, make breakfast then bury in backyard. Seems like a good plan, I smirk to myself.

My legs carry me forward as I raise my gun to hit his temple. Then the unexpected happened. He caught my gun in mid-swing.

Chapter 2

"So I see the little brat grew up to be a giant b***h after all." Says the man in a rough, scratchy voice.

My face suddenly drops as he lets the gun drop. I know that voice. But...it couldn't be. He should be dead. I'm sure... I killed him.

"Why are you here, Jackal?" I say teasingly.

"It's Jack, you little twit!"

"Jack, Jackal, what's the difference?"

“Oh, there’s a difference. Look up most popular-”

“I don’t have time for your s**t, man. I got stuff to do. You know, like, not this.”

“Luca’s out.”

“W-what?” I stutter.

“He’s been out for around a month. The FBI isn’t able to locate him at all. So they asked me to find you.”

“Don’t know why they made that dumbass decision.”

“Come on, Rip-”

“Don’t say that name!”

“What? Ripper?” He says mockingly.

I throw a punch at his nose as catches my fist it mid-air. I drop it and sigh with remorse. I knew he would dodge it but it felt good to at least try.

“You know good and well I don’t go by that name anymore, Jack.” My eyes glower up at at him. “I did my time and now I’m out.”

“We need you, Ava.” He pleads, his eyes fill with sadness.

“You only need my anger.” My voice lacing with hate.

I move around him to get my coffee that is brewing in the pot. I pour it into a mug and drink it black.

“I don’t know how you can drink that crap.” Jackal says, his nose scrunching up in disgust.

I take a sip and move over to sit at my kitchen table and try to relax in the slightest bit. He sits across from me and puts his head in his hands.

“Man, you are really worked up about this. You sure you can’t find anyone else?” I say reassuringly.

“No, Ava. I cannot.” He says through gritted teeth.

“Well...I might consider it ,if and only if, I can get my old training room back.” I say hesitantly, placing my hand on his shoulder.

He looks up at me with hopeful eyes and a half-smile. “Really?”

“I guess.” I sigh.

Jackal then jumps up out of the chair, turning around and slams me. He then proceeds to spill my piping hot cup of life all over my pajamas and the the mahogany floor of my kitchen.

“HOOOOOOOOOOOOTTTTTTTT!!!!!!! YOU FRAKKING IDIOT!” I scream as the coffee begins to blister my skin underneath my camisole and pajama pants.

“Oh...ummm...s-sorry, Ava.” He stammers.

“Just...stay here...and when I get back...you better have that,” I point to the blackish brown liquid pooling around my feet. “cleaned up. Then, we will talk.” I say trying not to choke him with my bare hands.

I march down the hallway to my bedroom, muttering words that are not acceptable to small children’s ears. Opening the door to my room, I notice an envelope lying neatly on top of my tangled sheets. It is a pale green in color with a gold swirly lettering. I lean down to pick it up and grab it. I wonder what this could be?