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Melissa's Tale

As a bonus, Melissa would like to put her side of the story. Sorry, but no pictures :(

Melissa screwed up her eyes and stifled a sob. Xavier's face, with those beautiful deep-brown eyes, drifted across her vision. A sob escaped her lips. It was as she'd suspected. Through tear-smudged eyes she looked at the stick in her hand - she was definitely pregnant.

Four years earlier ...

Mel grabbed her car keys and fled from her mother's continuously scolding tongue. Nothing she could ever do would be up to the 'Analise Standard'.

She accelerated up the slip-road onto the bypass. The rear of the car kicked. The sky turned tree green. It rolled to asphalt grey, grass green, sky blue, tree green and finally marshmallow white. Sparks flew past her head and blood rushed to her brain. Why was a snake constricting her and biting her shoulder?

Mel awoke between satin sheets on the most luxuriously deep mattress in a canopied bed. She was naked and bruised. She could smell bacon and waffles. Classical music was playing in the background and she could hear whistling above the sound of a shower coming from the door to her right. She eased herself up on the massively plump pillows, drawing the sheet over her breasts. Neatly folder on a sofa at the foot of the bed was a set of man's clothes, underneath was a pair of the largest shoes Mel had ever seen. The shower and whistling had stopped. The door opened and was filled with over six feet of tanned Adonis. The first thing Mel noticed about him was his beautiful deep-brown eyes. The second was that the rumour about men's shoe size wasn't a myth - he was naked.

"Good morning", he casually said, completely unconcerned by the full frontal he was offering.

"Umm, did we ...?", holding the sheet across her breasts with one arm, Mel indicated the bed with the other.

"Oh god, no", he replied, insulted.

Mel was relieved ...

"Can I get you anything?"

... she would have hated to be unable to remember that! She let the sheet fall and pointed.

He laughed, "I meant for breakfast"

Mel raised her gaze slowly to his eyes and smiled; he was pointing back. "So did I", she purred.

He was sat, dressed in a smart suit, on the end of the bed. "Shall we go shopping?"

Mel was still feeling high on endorphins, "I haven't got anything to wear"

"Yes, that's kind of the point of going shopping", he stood and held up a bath robe.

"Where are my clothes anyway?"

"That's a long story, and we really need to be leaving"

"But you undressed me!"

"In my defence, I only removed your blouse and skirt"

Mel had to concede that point. She slid into the robe, belted it and stepped into a pair of towelling slippers.

"Beautiful", he said, offering her his arm, "JBF is so in fashion"

As he escorted her to the lift, Mel grabbed a rasher of bacon from the breakfast that had gone very cold.

They descended to the underground car-park. "Which one would madam desire?", he said, sweeping his free arm around the cars.

"Ummmm", Mel played along, nibbling her finger nail, "that one I think", pointing to a mid-range Mercedes.

"An excellent choice. If madam would care to wait here."

Less than two minutes later, he pulled up, reached over and opened the door.

Giggling, Mel got in. "Where's my car?", she enquired.

"That's part of the long story", he responded, as they sped off.

They lay, naked and sated, on the motel bed, illuminated only by the fizzing neon sign outside, talking quietly. Mel had been bemused when they'd strolled calmly out of the first clothes shop without paying, but was buzzing with excitement as they exited the third. They'd 'swapped' the Mercedes for a less conspicuous saloon in the mall car-park. On the road, Mel had knelt on her seat and reached into the back for something. "Don't you wear knickers?" he'd asked. She'd just wiggled her bottom at him, and then squealed as the car swerved sharply into the motel.

He was called Xavier, was ex-military (she suspected special forces) and had been dishonourably discharged for almost killing his senior officer when he'd discovered him 'taking liberties' with a woman in the village they'd holed-up in for the night. In his own words, 'he and the police were not on speaking terms'. He implied they had a 'shoot to kill' order on him. She thought he was being a little melodramatic with the whole 'disgraced agent' ruse, especially as he'd already got into her knickers (that was if she wore any). It was however, the most fun she'd ever had, and, by god, the man had stamina!

Despite her reputation, only five men had ever made it to fourth base - the fly-half in the school rugby team, her history teacher, her fresher tutor, the boyfriend of her second-year tutor and her mentor. (Third base was a completely different story - one she'd lost count of!) Xavier was without doubt the father. She'd last seen him five weeks ago, for 63 glorious and very passionate hours. She needed to think, and a stall in the women's toilets in the international airport was not the place to do it.

Mel sat in the gloom at the rear of the coffee shop. With trembling hand, she took the stick out and looked at it again. Happily, she was still pregnant. In the short, shaky walk from the toilet, she knew that getting rid of the baby, either by abortion or adoption, was not an option - she hadn't made a conscious decision, she just knew.

'The Company' didn't have a pension plan, no one ever retired (people were retired, but that was a completely different matter) and she had no doubts that a request for maternity leave would be handled any differently. She needed a way out and, for that, she was going to need help from the father; she sent a single code-word text to a number she knew by heart. The only problem being, she was pretty certain she was occupying the number one spot on Xavier's assignment list.

Mel was a natural. In the first four months of their relationship, she'd learnt how to hot-wire cars, pick-pockets, skim credit-cards, pick locks and bypass simple security systems. Deep in the woods, she'd thrown knives, felt the kick of a 9mm and been chopped, punched and jabbed about her body. She would have learnt much more, but they'd spent half their time in bed, very little of that asleep.

Then one sunny Spring morning, she awoke to find Xavier sat on the end of the bed dressed in a smart suit. She had a flash back to the hotel room. "Another JBF shopping trip?", she quipped.

"No", he replied solemnly, "I have to go ..."

Unbidden, tears welled up, and she sobbed. She knew it would end sometime, just not now.

He moved to cuddle her, "I have to go and see a friend", he said, squeezing her tight, "I'll be back in a couple of hours."

She wanted to believe him, but she knew he was leaving. She pleaded to let her go with him. He resisted. She cried, howling with physical pain, and begged. He let go of her and left the room. She collapsed in tears on the bed, Mel had never felt love or heart-break before, and it was ripping her to pieces.

He re-entered. "You have ten minutes", he said, matter-of-factly, dropping her make-up bag on the bed and exiting. He came back and lay her business suit over the chair, "if you don't pass muster, you stay." He looked at his watch. "Nine minutes, thirty-seven seconds."

They sat outside a street cafe in a small square just off the financial district. He was clearly a successful business man; she could have been his young wife, his trusted (very) personal assistant, or his mistress from a competitor's firm, meeting him for lunch. They chatted and laughed, oblivious to the world around them, feeding each other choice morsels, unconsciously touching hands, and, when there was nothing much to say, just gazing into each other's eyes. Even to the most casual bystander, they were clearly deeply in love.

Xavier had his back to the square, Melissa was calmly describing people as they came. They'd been there almost an hour and Xavier was beginning to think he'd been given a false lead.

"He's here", said Mel. She'd been told to describe everyone fully, but she'd quickly picked up when Xavier had heard enough. So, she knew it was a "he" not a "she", he wasn't short or tall or fat or thin or young or blonde. Which was why she knew the aging gentleman taking a seat at the bus-stop on the other side of the square was who they were waiting for.

"Show me", Xavier said. Mel flipped open the compact, from where it had been casually discarded on the table, and touched up her make-up. Xavier looked at the man mirrored in the top of the lid.

"Well done", he commended her. She made to leave and his hand rested lightly on her's. "Wait", he added, "something's not right."

A courier, wheeling his bicycle across the cobbles, passed the bus-stop. With only the merest movement, the gentleman slightly raised an envelope from his lap and the courier, slightly more clumsily, deposited it into his satchel.

"Get that envelope", Xavier said

"In these heels?"

"Go!"

Mel, following the courier, tuned into an alley. To late she realised her mistake, it was a dead-end. The youth, his bike discarded, lunged at her with a blade. Training removed the need for thought and she chopped his arm and spun to kick. Losing her footing on the cobbles, the kick went wildly high and she fell backwards, training causing her to roll, to avoid cracking her head open, but bruising her shoulder. She struggled to her knees. The youth was clutching his face, blood streaming through his fingers. "Help me", he uttered with a gargling croak, as he keeled over, Mel's broken stiletto heel protruding from his left eye. Without looking at him, Mel inched her hand towards the satchel. Long, weak, bony fingers encircled her wrist, "please" whispered the youth, his grasp going loose. Shaking the dead hand off, she grabbed the satchel, retched once, pushed herself to her feet, turned and toppled. Xavier caught her fall. His emotionless, cold face quickly took in the scene. He said nothing as he hooked his arm around her waist and helped her hobble away. She could see the gentleman, still sitting at the bus-stop, leaning slightly, his sightless eyes oblivious to the approaching bus.

The drive back to the motel had been in silence, the look on Xavier's face unchanging. Without speaking, Xavier picked up a few key items and then returned to the car, Mel managed to grab an armful of possessions as Xavier honked the horn. They drove long into the night, Xavier's fixed expression forbidding conversation. Mel dozed fitfully, trying to deal with her own demons.

Mel awoke to the smell of petrol. For one horrific moment, she imagined Xavier burning her alive, but they were only at a service station for fuel. Xavier dropped some snacks into her lap and they drove away.

Mel awoke, it was still dark and they were still driving. "I need to pee", she said. Xavier hit the brakes and the car screeched to a halt on the carriage way. Mel looked over, he was sat, hands on the wheel, staring forwards. She got out, half expecting, half hoping, he'd drive away without her.

Mel awoke to the sound of tyres scrunching gravel and the flicker of faulty neon diffracted through rain drops. The car stopped and Xavier got out, taking his few things with him. He'd left the keys in the ignition.

Mel stood in the door to the cheap motel room. Xavier was in bed, the bedside lamp casting a yellow glow across his dead, cold, emotionless face. "One question", she said, "answer if you want me to stay. Who was he?" "My mentor", Xavier replied blandly, switching the light off and rolling onto his side, back to the middle of the bed. For the first time since her childhood, Mel went to bed dressed.

Mel drifted out of sleep, some basic instinct stopped her from moving. She could hear Xavier crying softly and her hair over her shoulder was damp. Barely audible under the sobs, she could hear a whispered, "I will not fall in love, I am not in love", repeated over and over like a mantra to ward off evil spirits. From his intonation, he was clearly lying to himself. She twitched and rolled to hold him in her arms. He kissed her passionately and their brief period of abstinence ended.

Two years later, Xavier walked over to Mel and handed her his phone. "I'm surplus to requirements", was all he said.

Five weeks ago, Mel had unexpectedly bumped into Xavier. She was in the middle of an assignment, and briefly wondered if she was being assessed. But it was ahead of schedule and going to plan, so she wasn't concerned. In the past eight months, they'd rarely been in the same country, let alone the same bed, so she felt entitled to a weekend of steamy sex.

Mel was never quite sure if she'd missed something during the weekend, or if she'd been distracted and missed it later, but a tiny detail did escape her notice and she'd left a loose end. She was all ready to follow up, and cauterise it on her own time and expense, when her phone had chimed with another assignment.

She'd been really off-form - unable to concentrate, worrying about the previous missed detail, day-dreaming of Xavier - and, if it hadn't been for some timely, initiative taking by her support team, things would have gone badly wrong. As it was, the assignment was more clumsily executed, and with a messier outcome, than the high standards The Company expected.

Xavier's mobile chimed, alerting him to a new assignment. It would have to wait, he was busy [pic of him reading paper on the loo]. He was getting too old for this, he thought to himself. He no longer got the easy jobs, just the difficult, high risk ones, or the ones tying-off the loose ends of other's mistakes. This was a young man's game, and, at 35, he was no longer a young man. What he really wanted to do was sit in the sun all day, drinking coffee and watching boats, and lie at night in the arms of a woman who wasn't trying to kill him. He'd had just the place in mind, and had been making exit plans, when he'd (literally) crashed into Mel and his life jolted sideways again.

His exit strategy needed an accomplice and Mel had fitted perfectly. Falling madly and deeply in love with her had not been part of the plan though, and it had complicated matters. He wondered what Mel was up to. He'd last seen her five weeks ago; unconsciously smiling, he sighed deeply at the memory. His last assignment, two weeks later, had been tying-off a loose end she'd left. His mobile chimed again. He hoped, for her sake, she hadn't left another.

Xavier stared unbelievingly at his laptop. Mel was the loose end.

Xavier quickly defeated the security system, looped the cameras, and entered Mel's apartment. Their first real, full-blown, voices raised, unkind words said, backs turned, argument had been over her buying it. Xavier would never understand why she wanted to tie herself to one place - where she could be easily found. Her counter was that it was much better to only have one location to be afraid of and know where your enemies are going, than to worry about the entire planet. They'd agreed to differ, and then christened the bed ... and the shower ... and the sofa ... and the ...

Wandering aimlessly from room to room, he wasn't entirely sure why he was here. He knew he couldn't retire Mel. But, he also knew that the powers-that-be also knew that. And if he didn't, he'd be top of the assignment list for half-a-dozen wanna-be's all braying for his scalp - and they were good ... he'd trained most of them! Idly, he wondered if he was Mel's current top priority assignment.

He fished in his pocket and swapped the doctored medicine tablets with those in the bathroom cabinet. Resisting the urge to look directly at the newly installed camera, he walked into the kitchen and carefully applied a few drops of liquid to the cutlery. If she'd really become that lax, at least it would be quick, he though, leaving.

Xavier snapped awake in the anonymous motel room, his mobile's alarm buzzing insistently. For the second time in two days he stared at something unbelievingly - Mel had initiated the exit plan. "F***", he swore out loud. He silenced the alarm and swore a lot more. Why couldn't she have done this a day ago? While showering, he convinced himself she hadn't become that careless. Over a hastily grabbed coffee from a service station, he knew she would never be that lax, and, by the time he arrived at the airport, he believed the whole "messing up" was a cover story. He just needed a message from her to confirm it.

Mel came round lying on her back. Her head was trying to turn itself inside out, her stomach had already succeeded, her feet felt like they were being held over hot-coals, and someone was bouncing a medicine ball on her bladder.

She felt like s**t and smelt worse. She rolled onto her side, her cheek squishing into her own vomit. She retched from the proximity of the stench and lost the battle with the medicine ball. Death might have been preferable.

Mel sat on the bottom stair outside her flat, nibbling spicy potato wedges (with a light dusting of chocolate power), checking the security system from her phone. The alarm hadn't been triggered, but, as Xavier had helped her install and upgrade it, she wasn't expecting it to have been. She scanned the camera feeds. They all looked normal, but again she knew how easy they were to fool. Xavier had turned it into a game during her induction - she set new traps for him, he subverted them. She ran the system check she'd adapted; all but one camera reported being time-looped. She ran a motion search on the recorded feed from that camera and saw Xavier clearly walk across it's sight line. She'd recently installed the camera so it was possible he hadn't found it, but that wasn't what made him the best, so it was also possible he'd left it on purpose, playing mind-games ... I know, that you know, that I know ...

She needed ketchup. It was probably safe to enter - Mimi was the explosive arsonist, Xavier was much subtler.

Nothing was out of place. What had he been doing?

She squirted ketchup over the wedges and stopped, with one half way to her mouth. She couldn't remember if the ketchup had been opened. She let the wedge fall - Xavier didn't like poison, but it wasn't beyond him. She took a bite from her gourmet burger - it was lacking a certain something. Rummaging around at the back of a cupboard she found the raspberry jam. The lid made a satisfying "pop" as the seal broke. She discarded the lettuce, tomato and dill pickle and dolloped jam into the three onion rings nestled on the patty, crowned each with a slice of pickle and squished the bun lid down. She took a large bite. WOW! That was good. Perhaps she could write a cook-book specially for pregnancy. Her over-active taste buds picked up a hint of zinc. The burger had been freshly made, the jam was sealed. She looked accusingly at the spoon and held it up to the light. A slight oily sheen was visible. "You b*****d!"

She stuck two fingers down her throat and gagged. She'd been wanting to throw-up all day and now, when she desperately needed to, she couldn't. Taking the can of coke, she went to the bathroom cabinet and pulled out a couple of packets of common remedies. And stopped. Poisoning the first response to being poisoned was definitely Xavier's style.

She grabbed her bag and emergency travel case and walked slowly to the corner store - she could feel the effects of the poison already taking hold of her body.

Mel ripped open two packets, swallowed five tablets, took a large swig of coke straight from the bottle and projectile vomited the length of aisle 3. More tablets and another swig of coke emptied her stomach. She grabbed a bottle of vodka on the way past the astounded night-assistant - she probably wasn't going to be allowed to shop there ever again! She took a drink from the bottle and hailed a taxi.

Cursing wildly, the taxi driver roughly dragged her off the back seat and unceremoniously dumped her on the pavement, kicking her in the shins for good measure. She was half-way down the vodka and had just been violently ill inside the taxi. The bottle smashed into her back, hurled by the swearing, departing driver.

Her brain engaged auto-pilot. She needed water and salt. She found two packets of burger salt in her pocket and there was a water-fountain in the play-park just around the corner. Using her travel-case as a walking aid, she lurched down the street. 'I might just live', she thought.

Mel could hear movement from beyond the door she could just make out through hazy vision. She remembered arriving home, but not the journey. She tentatively raised fingers to her forehead - that would be a stair-shaped dent then - but she couldn't remember getting upstairs. Slowly she focused on the lamp shade hanging over the bed - she was in Analise's room. Natalia was still on tour. Analise should be at work. Who was making the noise?

A car-horn sounded from the kerb. "Analise", Mel called, but it only came out as a whisper from her dry throat and cracked lips. She tried to sit up, dizziness and nausea swept over her and she retched violently.

"Annie", she called, this time louder. She was going to pass out again, but knew that Analise must not leave the house, "annIEEEEEEEEEEE!"

"Coming"

Relief flooded through Mel like a pain-killer.

The front-door slammed, and, from the porch, she heard Analise call "Hang on, I'm coming!"

Mel forced herself to roll off the bed, landing on her side with a loud thud. Excruciating pain cramped her stomach and she involuntarily curled into the foetal position. Mel's over-loaded nervous system was desperately trying to shut her body down, but her brain was over-riding it - she had to get to the phone. Inch by inch she dragged herself into the hall, millimetre by millimetre she hauled herself up the wall, dislodged the handset and collapsed to the floor. Muscle-memory dialled the number. "Babysitting location 17." "You'll know who, take the jet." "Yes, it's that urgent."

Mel dialled another number from memory. "Help", she gasped, then passed out. Blood smeared across the hall floor from the bedroom; she had miscarried.

Mel slumped in the luxurious leather seat of the private jet. It was the most ridiculous thing she'd ever stolen, cost her a small fortune in bribes to keep hidden, but had its uses - she was crossing the ocean higher and faster than any commercial airliner, with the added advantage of no schedules. She was going in blind - Analise had her phone - not that Mimi would contact her anyway.

Mimi was no match for her half-brother, but should have been able to throw enough obstacles in his path to keep him busy for the last three days. Mel would end this, one way or another, when she arrived in a couple of hours - he'd almost poisoned her, he'd murdered their unborn child, there was no way she was going to permit him to assassinate her sister!

On her game, Mel was a match for Xavier, but she was far from at her best just now. She needed an edge, in addition to the several sharpened ones she had brought along. She stared at the small yellow pill on the table. It would heighten her senses and reflexes, but, in her current physical condition, if Xavier didn't kill her, the drug probably would.

The pilot came over the tannoy advising of turbulence ahead, which they would have to go around, and apologised for the rough ride and associated delay. Mel offered up a silent prayer for Analise.

As the plane taxied to the stand, Mel could see Mimi on the apron waiting with a 4x4. Mimi informed her that Xavier had left with Analise by boat about an hour ago, Mel knew where he was heading. Slowing for the airport security gate, she leant over to Mimi, said "Sorry", and pushed her out. Trailed by a string of curses, Mel accelerated for Smuggler's Cove.

From the cliff path, Mel could see the boat pulled up on the beach. At the last bend, she could make out Analise under the shower, but before she could call, she disappeared inside the hut. Popping the pill and drawing her preferred weapon, Mel ran for the front door ...

Three months later ...

Mimi (or possibly Ehlana, or Christy, or Louisa, or Evie, or Meghan - she'd used, and discarded, so many names she could no longer remember her given name, if she'd ever known it in the first place) watched Xavier enter the apartment block. The thing about his unpredictability was that it was predictable. And once you'd removed all the things he'd done, from the list of those possible, you were invariable left with very few options. She watched him ascend to the second floor and stop outside the apartment door. Then he went and sat on the half-landing above and studied his laptop. She couldn't understand why people went to all the effort of installing hidden cameras when you could hack into any one of the myriad of CCTV feeds available across the city - currently she was sitting in a small cafe, three blocks away, watching the security cameras in the block on her phone. A bright flash, a loud bang, the feed showed only static and a dust cloud rolled down the street outside. Melissa had been more like family than her treacherous half-brother and she'd loved her like a sister. Perhaps she'd been a little over-zealous with the C4 she'd packed into the apartment and stair-well, and wired to trigger from the hidden camera feeds, but she needed to be sure Xavier was caught in the blast.

Waiting for the commotion to subside, she checked the balances of Medallion Trading. Annie had been busy and the total was just over $12 million Simoleans, smiling to herself, she left a large tip and hailed a taxi. She had a plane to catch and a massage to give.

Parisa paused on the tarmac at the foot of the boarding steps, waiting for an elderly couple to ascend. A small red dot sparkled on the back of her head. "Bang, you're dead!", with a click, the safety catch engaged, "or perhaps not." Abandoning the rifle, Xavier studied his hands and wondered how they'd look in a few months. He was going to help a tragically orphaned young woman rebuild her mother's cafe. "Better they come after you, than me", he added.