Assassin
Wind whispered through the room, touching the drapes. A shiver passed through the room. Laying on the large sumptuous bed, an elderly woman rose her elbows and peered into the dark room. The room was silent, but she was certain.
“Who are you?” she whispered into the darkness.
No one moved. The darkness remained absolute. A response came back to her through the room, so quiet that she thought she imagined it. “You’re reckoning.”
She sat up, resting against head of the bed. “An assassin?”
“Yes.”
“Who sent you?” she growled. There were plenty of people who wanted her dead. Nobles and foreigners alike.
“It doesn’t matter,” the voice whispered. “They will never be linked to your death.”
She had more questions, but the voice felt near. Her heart constricted with primal fear. She had to know how she would die. The rest could be worried about later. “How will you kill me.”
“I’ve already killed you.”
She shivered beneath her blankets. “How?”
“Anaphylactic shock,” the voice said. “I injected a solution of peanuts into you. And I put some around your bed.”
She stiffened. A hand searched her blankets and found the peanuts. She held one between her fingers. “This isn’t public knowledge, but I’ve been receiving allergy shots. I’ve been responding well to the peanut ones. I only get a mild reaction now. Not life threatening. I can even eat them now.”
Silence stretched across the darkness. She thought she could see a figure by the drapes. Their head hung low.
“Huh,” the voice whispered back at her. “I don’t really have much on me. Just some peanuts. I was going to snack on them on the way home. This needle isn’t much. I could strangle you with the pull cords. Would that work for you?”
She frowned. “I’d rather not have the room pulled apart if you don’t mind. I don’t want to be difficult, but…”
“No, no. This is your death. Can only imagine how much you spent on the room. I’ll just pop into the kitchen and get a knife.”
“Down the hall and to the left,” she said. She could feel a heat on her skin from the peanuts. The coroners would be puzzled.
“Thanks, be right back.” The door opened and soft foot steps padded down the hall.
As they left, she reached a hand under her pillow for the gun she kept there. It should at least be sporting.
Michael Frutig 