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“Cynthia”

by Alex Dillon

“So, you work where exactly?”, the man asked, reaching for another sip of his drink. 

“PR”, she responded, sure of the great lie she was conjuring. Everything always had a plan, a strategy. But this one was different. She had done this before, the lies, the mischief, the manipulation, but this was different. She couldn’t give in and had her first sip of that sweet nectar.

It’ll get easier, she thought. 

“I’m sure for a lady like you, it must get really stressful, you know, all the events and stuff”

And stuff. Even with that British accent and the dumbest of wordsyou make me feel something I haven’t felt in years. Who are you?she thought.

“Is that an accent I hear?”, he continued making conversation. Interested in me. Damn. His voice reaches into her humanity, the one they made her forget. 

The stars started to crowd them in the balcony of the reception. She was there for a reason. A simple task. The mission. But he made it difficult. Why? Because the mission was him. 

“British, actually”, she replied. Shut up, don’t drift. Stick with the mission. The thoughts came to her. 

The conversation had lasted a while. She had been there some time, stalling. Not like her. This isn’t me. She was always so quick. In and out. No loose ends. No need for names, just a picture. No need to open up. But he made her forget that. Damn, she thought again. 

            “British! Wow, we haven’t introduced ourselves at all…”, he added.

            Don’t say it. 

            “… I’m Fernand,” he continued.

            You said it. Damn you. Now I’m attached. She could feel her face getting red, probably from thinking too much. Or is it love? 

            “… and you are?”, he finished, while reaching for a gentle handshake which seemed unnecessarily perfect. 

            She was still, like she had a beast on her ass that would consume her at any minute. Fernand was standing there, silent, waiting for a response which didn’t seem to matter how long it took. He was interested in her eventually. Fernand. Then she remembered her mission. Her values. Her training. She couldn’t betray the Crows, her teachers, her masters. All the money she had, the glamour, the private life, the easiness of things, were all thanks to the Crows. She couldn’t avoid the mission. Fernand had to be gone for a reason, and she couldn’t question it. After all, that’s what she was: a weapon. 

            Her hands started sweating a bit. She blushed from each side of her face. She looked at his lips wondering how long it’ll take to get lost in them. And with hesitation, and a bit of fear of the uncertain future he held, she reached for his hand and shook it gently.

            “Cynthia”, she said letting out a smile. Damn, now were attached. 

            “Well, Cynthia, allow me to get us another round of cocktails. Is vodka good?”, he asked.

“You know what,” she interrupted him, “why don’t I go get us the drinks and you wait right here.”

            She could see the smile on his face.Hope. 

            Cynthia walked to the counter and ordered two vodka martinis, extra dry, extra olives. Just like she enjoys them. After all, she could use a good drink. One of choice. Not by pressure. The drinks came faster than she expected, and stared at her destiny in one glass. Either she poisons Frances and gets out without feeling remorse, or she abandons the mission, letting the Crows down, knowing they’ll kill her. 

            She had only one pill. That’s how good she was. With her hand shaking, she dropped the pill into Frances’s drink and waited for it to dissolve. She then walked, with the two glasses, towards her target. 

            “Thanks. To us, the British”, Frances raised his arm with the glass. 

Cynthia’s pulse began to rise, sweat coming down her forehead and filling her hands as well. This was it. She started shaking. Nervous. And without hesitation, like a ghost took possession of her and controlled her every move, she hit him in the arm, making him drop his drink. 

Everything went silent. Her body was in the moment, yet her mind wasn’t. Everyone froze in her head. Buzzing in her ears made her start panicking. She ran towards the balcony, looked at the sky, at the floor, then at Frances back inside, then back at the city… 

“Oh God, what have I done?”

And a red dot appeared on her dress.