The Story of Blood and Roses

Alarms blared.

The screech pierced through the hollow air of the room. It was a suffocating noise—blasphemous in its origin. It was a product of sin, shame, and the end of an era. I could almost hear the dripping sound of blood or the pool it formed in front of my feet. The knife dropped to the floor with a clatter, louder than the noise of the alarm. The blood running down my hands soaked the sleeve of my shirt.

For the first time, I saw my hands tremble.

I had done it.

I shook my head to clear the sudden rush of excitement and wiped my already drying fingers in my light wash jean. I dropped to my knees. My breath came in gasps as I reached out for the gory blade. I grasped it with shaky hands and pulled it close to me. I held it like a child—the love pouring out of my chest, directed at the blade that had ended the beginning of my revenge.

I produced the handkerchief I had chosen for the occasion—the whitest and most innocent looking one I had found. It had a small heart and the letter B stitched on it. I took the blade between the cloth and wiped it with precision.

The knife had always been my favorite weapon. To feel the euphoria rushing through my veins when I saw the shock and horror in the face of my victim... there was nothing like it. It made my spine straighten with pride and a chill run down it... in ecstasy.

There was no shock in the act, though. There was no guilt in the eyes of my victim, either. There was just a sneer that kept plastered on his face even in death. His eyes were wide open, his chest torn by the numerous times my knife had pierced deep into his body. His throat was a fountain of blood, a sight to behold.

I took care to remove all the spots on my precious child. I planned on cleaning it until I could see my own face smiling back at me.

The alarms ceased.

I didn't look up to see why.

I heard the door crash open.

I heard the cocking of the gun.

I lifted my head up and smirked at the people who had dared to point their guns at me.

Being the fiancé of the heir had worked out in my favor, just as I had planned.

"Welcome to Utopia," I whispered, raising my hands to my side and beckoning them in. I moved away from their way, letting them see for the first time. I heard gasps, I heard the murmurs rise, but no one pulled the trigger.

They moved away from my way as I walked out of the room, their eyes following me.

A few steps out of the door, I saw his figure coming towards me. His eyes were frantic as he looked me over, I could imagine that I was a sight to behold.

"Jacob," I greeted him warmly.

"What have you done?" horrified, he took a step away from me.

"I crushed the head of the snake."

.

"Agent Vincent; we were not informed that you were still alive." One of the traitors said.

"I was not informed that I had to inform the organization about my living status after I had completed my mission," I answered.

"We were told that you had been killed during the siege in the warehouse. Your homing signals were picked up and we sent a rescue team immediately to finish Luke and his followers."

"You must not lie to me, kind board members. I have been informed that you had no hand in the working of the team that was sent to the warehouse. In fact, I have proof that you curbed any advance that was made to get me out of the mission alive."

"We will not condone any of those rancid accusations you are throwing our way, Agent Vincent."

"You seem to forget that I am no longer the beloved Agent Vincent that you old, corrupted goons used to clear out anyone that came in your way." The hard look in my eyes stopped them from arguing with me. They knew well that I had gone through the secret files of the organization. The words I used were particular. I quoted them on instances where they had specifically contacted other agents who were at the time assigned to Luke. The correspondence had been clear—I was wanted dead. The reason was not as clear as I hoped it would be.

Daisy had made it rather easy for me.

I had gone through the amount of influence each person in the organization had. The board were simple playthings in the hands of the Chief. They had simply nodded and gone along with any plan the man had introduced. I could imagine their excitement at hearing that I had taken care of their little problems.

Personal problems aside, being subordinate to the Chief meant that they had little or no say in the affairs of the organization. I, on the other hand, had gained a considerable amount of contacts in my time working for them. With Jacob ready to take over, and his obvious affection for me, it was quite clear that it was going to be a one-woman show. Somewhere down the line, I think even Chief had thought the same. Despite his personal gains, his instincts had led him to try and protect his son from a tyrant.

I was the tyrant.

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