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Tempest awakened to a piercing pain shooting through her right temple. The discomfort was so sharp she cried out, holding on to her forehead and praying for it to go away. Groaning loudly, she opened her eyes, still praying to at least experience light. Squinting, rays of sunlight permeated the retina as dark shapes formed in the room.
“Holy shit,” she said, swinging her legs out of the bed, only to crumple on the floor from the intense pain shooting through her head.
Crawling across the floor, she located her purse in the chair and rummaged through it to locate her sunglasses. Slipping them over her face, she tried opening her eyes again, and this time the sharp pains weren’t as prevalent, but still there.
“My vision might be coming back,” she said with glee. Feeling her way around the edge of the bed to locate the white cane, she gripped it tightly. This morning, she would start the coffee for Ferdinand and try making a simple breakfast for Caliban before he left for school. Tempest dressed quickly in leggings and a tee she hoped matched, brushing her hair to the back and clamping it at her neck with a rubber band. “I have no idea how I look, but it will have to do.”
Working her way down the hall, she made it as far as the kitchen before the air changed in the room. A thickness settled just below her nose, altering the smell, the balance, and weight of the air. Someone was in the house. Slowly, she pulled the glasses down from her face. Light slapped her hard across the eyes, forcing her to place the glasses on once more.
Tempest sniffed the room.
The pungent scent of juniper, laced with citrus and a hint of bergamot was familiar to her in a distant sort of way. Scouring her muscle memory bank, she moved left and right, using the cane, not swinging high or low. The smells were familiar. Bergamot, citrus, juniper.
“I know that smell,” she said softly. “A man. It belongs to a man...we danced. He held me close. He felt wrong.”
Tempest inhaled again, hoping the olfactory memories would kick in. Slowly, it started to come back. Five years ago, just outside of Charleston, a pedophile named Phil had come to a sorrowful end. Two days before the job was contracted, Tempest arrived, ready to plant the clues of how the man came to a tragic end. Then he arrived to take out the target. A personal hit ordered by the woman who employed Phil at an all girl’s school that unfortunately found out the man’s sickness too late. She requested his employment be terminated. That was his ‘thing.’ He ended employment contracts. Mr. Exit was here to hand out her pink slip.
“Mr. Exit?” she said in a low voice, “Raphael, is that you?”
The sound of fabric moving made her jump. “Yes, it’s me,” the deep voice replied.
Tempest felt her way to the table, careful to not ruffle the air which surrounded him in the space which grew tighter with his presence in the farmhouse kitchen. Beauty had sent him to kill her. Her employment with The Company was being terminated.
“Will you at least wait until my husband and son have left for the day?” she asked with a boldness that surprised not only him, but Tempest as well. “Or can you take me away from this house? My son will spend the rest of his life here, I don’t want the memory of discovering my corpse to be attached to this home. My family doesn’t deserve that, please.”
“I was sent to do a threat assessment,” Mr. Exit replied, “only to find out that you have a son and a husband. You as a mother, I would have never guessed that. Maybe that why you always read as unavailable to me.”
“I was also a wife and a mother to nine technicians,” she said softly. “My job was to keep each technician calm when you needed a hand and to clean up after the messes made. At times I was your only back up. At times, I have been your only friend. Every damned hit, bullet hole, and throat slit, I was there to ensure not a speck of trace evidence remained that could be tied back to any one you, so that your lives would stay protected. I did my job without question, always on time, never late, usually ahead of you and estimating what you needed. I may not have been a great wife, or a super mom, but I was super great at my job. Ten years Raphael, not one negative performance review.”
“You have no arguments from me,” he said in a droll calmness which made her skin crawl.
“Raphael, you terrify me, and I don’t scare easily, plus now, I’m blind,” she said, removing the glasses. “Instead of Beauty sending you to assess me, she should have sent you to find the Glitter Man; he did this to me.”
The air moved, and she knew he was waving his hand in front of her face. A brisk fanning of air around her face shifted, and she knew he must have faked a face punch towards her nose for a reaction. She wasn’t lying. She couldn’t see him to react.
“Still shifting blame on others, I see. Is that why you’re called Wrong Way? Consistently doing everything in life bassackward and like a country mouse trying to navigate the sewers of the big city, nearly eaten by a hungry cat?” he asked, moving closer to her.
“No Raphael, I’m not,” she said. “I was sent to do a personal job at the request of my employer. Unfortunately, I forgot to remove an item from the crime scene and went back. The news crew showed up as I was leaving, and I got caught on camera. The Glitter Man saw me, which brings us to here.”
He sighed, bored already with her feeble attempt to sway him. They were all the same. Greedy. Living by the vices which gave them a reason to get out of bed each day and fuck up other people’s lives then blame the end result on someone else. She irritated him for having to drive all the way to Louisville to have such a droll conversation.
“And what about the poor man you left in the bed in Marion, Illinois two weeks prior?” Mr. Exit asked.
“The Glitter Man was hot on my trail. I couldn’t stay because the cops were coming. If they got hold of my van, then all of it would lead back to The Company,” she confessed calmly.
“Yet you rolled on into Nashville, not warning the Assistant District Attorney that you had a monster hot on your heels,” Mr. Exit spoke. “The embarrassment caused to this man just may end his career.”
“Raphael, Markham is an excellent attorney with an amazing legal brain. His vice is that he likes to play rough on his own terms in the privacy of his own home during his off hours,” she said. “I was, like his other playmates, a consenting adult. There were never any animals or small children. He can recover. He can talk his way in or out of any situation.”
“Again, you are doing a piss-poor job of pleading your case, sleeping with these men, and you want me to spare your husband and son the horror of seeing your dead body,” he replied. “The irony is that all of the equipment needed to clean the scene after your demise was delivered here yesterday. This, of course, leads me to believe the van returned because The Glitter Man plans to pick up your professional duties, using you as his entrance ticket into The Company.”
His voice was like butter sliding down the side of a five stack of pancakes hot off the griddle. All he needed was a dollop of maple syrup, and the man could serve as a whole, filling meal. The kind that choked a man who ate a bite without any milk to wash it down.
“That van has more than likely been stripped of all the chemicals and left with booby traps inside of it for the next person who comes and looks. However, I understand what you must do,” she said calmly. “Will you allow me to leave a note for my family?”
Mr. Exit chuckled loudly, amused by the faux act of bravery. The moment he raised the weapon affixed with the silencer; she would start to blubber like a baby. Out of curiosity, he raised it at her face, but footsteps sounded, coming down the stairs. Tempest didn’t move her body physically.
“Caliban, stop where you are!” she yelled. “Do not come around the corner. I don’t have on any clothes. Go back up the stairs now!”
“Why are you naked in the kitchen...you know that’s kind of nasty,” Caliban countered suddenly feeling a wave of fear. “Mom, are you okay?”
“No, and you won’t be either if you look around that corner. Go back up the stairs. Don’t look back, son. Do not look back or you’ll be scarred for life seeing your Mama’s tatas before breakfast. Stop your father as well,” she said in a very calm voice. A tear streamed down her cheek. She swatted it away.
Mr. Exit softened, just a tad.
“If he doesn’t listen to you and comes around that corner, you will all die,” he warned.
“Let’s go, Raphael. I’ll go with you without a fight. I never wanted to bring any of this into the home where my son would grow into a man,” she said. “Nothing scars a child more than hunger or the death of a parent. You will not scar my son. I’ll go without a fuss.”
Tempest laughed softly. “The good thing is, I won’t be able to see it coming. The rumor about you is if anyone can see you coming, it’s already too late. Does that apply to smell as well?”
She received no answer. The scent of juniper grew become louder, then faded on the current of wind. No footsteps were heard but the sound of the backdoor which squeaked just a bit as it opened let her know that he’d left. Fear held her immobile in the chair, waiting for the slice of a bullet through her brain. She took slow, even breaths for seven minutes before finally giving up.
“Fuck this! If I’m going to croak today at least let me enjoy a morning cup of fucking coffee,” she said, moving to the counter and opening the cabinet with the small C, labeled to let her know where the morning brew was stored.
Tempest added water to the carafe, pouring it into the hopper. The measuring spoon inside the coffee can made scooping out grounds easy and exact. Using her fingers, she felt for the opening and added the filter, followed by the coffee, and pressed the start button.
Heavy footsteps came down the stairs, and the scent of the signature soap Ferdinand used filled her nostrils. Tempest refused to cry even when her husband took her into his arms. He held her close, rubbing her back and promising everything would be just fine. In her heart, she knew nothing would ever be the same. His words of consoling touched the portion of her heart she’d shielded for many years. In a light whisper she said what she’d never been able to mouth.
“I’m sorry, Ferdinand. I didn’t know any better, so I could do no better. I’m sorry I hurt you and our family. Please forgive me,” she said, clinging to his shirt.
“I forgave you years ago, right after I forgave myself for not knowing or understanding the woman I married, but I put my energy into our son and the making him a great home life,” Ferdinand replied. A feathery light kiss was planted on her forehead as Caliban enter the kitchen commenting on his parent’s being gross, although it warmed his heart to see them in an embrace, however brief.
“Guys, this morning, the light hurt my eyes,” she said, reaching for her son to provide an morning hug. “I am also able to see shapes. Blurry and distant, but I can see shapes and my head hurts really bad.”
“Your sight is coming back,” Ferdinand said. “What do you want to do?”
“Have some coffee and maybe a stack of pancakes, then learn to go out to the yard and feed the chickens,” she said.
“Sounds like you’re planning to stay,” Ferdinand replied, looking up at their son.
“I’m home. This is where I belong,” she replied.
“Mom,” Caliban said to get her attention. “Was there someone here to kill you? Or us?”
“Someone came to do an assessment,” she replied, “I think he’s gone. I made coffee. I want to try my hand at some pancakes.”
“You cooking? Nope, it’s bad enough you’re blind as a bat, the last thing we need is to have you covered in third-degree burns,” Caliban chided.
“Son, she couldn’t cook worth a damn when she had both eyes, so she needs to stay the hell away from the stove,” Ferdinand responded with a chuckle. “I’m on pancakes. Caliban grab some bacon from the fridge.”
“Oh, you two are just the worse,” Tempest said, feeling the cabinets for the letter C, so she could retrieve a coffee cup. “I’m going to file a complaint with the Americans with Disability Association about how I’m treated by this organization.”
“You don’t work here, lady,” Ferdinand said. “This is our house.”
Tempest paused for a moment, appreciating the levity of the situation, but wanting to address more. “Speaking of that, I do have a home in Athens, Georgia,” she told them. “I also have a little place down in Miami.”
“Oh yeah, a vacation home. This summer I get my chance at sunning on the beach with the honeys,” Caliban offered.
“The property in Athens can be a rental until Caliban is accepted to the University of Georgia where we went to college,” Ferdinand replied.
“I’m not going to school in the South. I’m heading west to blue beaches, white sand, and 24-hour sunshine,” Caliban boasted, adding slices of bacon to the pan and sliding it in the oven.
From the outside, it looked like a normal family beginning a busy Friday morning. Raphael Hoyt assessed a family needing to rebuild. Tempest Fateman Muldrake was no threat to the organization, but it did leave a job opening which needed to be filled. He made the call. The other end of the call was answered after two rings.
“She’s no threat,” Mr. Exit said into the line. “Her vision is returning, but it will take a while, and she may not have full eyesight again. My assessment is to leave her be with the understanding her services are no longer required.”
“What about the van?”
“It’s in the driveway. She mentioned that more than like the chemicals had been removed and the vehicle booby trapped for the next person to go inside of it,” Mr. Exit offered.
“Those chemicals and that vehicle never need to fall in the wrong hands,” the voice on the line said.
“There’s a BOLO out for it, and taking it won’t serve any real purpose,” Mr. Exit replied.
“Stay around for a couple of days to make sure, but blow up the van now,” the voice said and ended the call.
“Shit,” Mr. Exit said, grabbing an incendiary device from the back of the vehicle, pulling the pin on the grenade, and tossing it into the van as he drove away. The explosion could be seen for miles. Luckily for all involved, no one saw him. Even more important, and lucky for those who lived in the area, the animals at Muldrake Farms and the low water table, the chemicals had been removed from the van. The Glitter Man made sure those chemicals would never fall into anyone else’s hands. It was his formula. She had no right to it and neither did Beauty.
“Cleaning up after the cleaner,” Mr. Exit mumbled, driving at a safe speed away from the home. In the rear-view mirror, he watched the family come out on the porch. The handsome husband ran back into the home, returning carrying a fire extinguisher as if he were going to end the fire himself. Cute. They had a chance to be a family with no interference from The Company.
It was better that way. Cleaner. Tempest had a chance to leave the company without any help from him. He’d check on her in a few days, but today, he planned to get back to his fishing, which was three states away. If the Glitter Man was still in the area, he would have to stay. No one had given Raphael any orders to take him out, so he would just leave the man to his own devices.
Bad habits always caught up with bad spirits in the end. Today, it wasn’t his turn to help anyone meet their maker.
****
THE GLITTER MAN WASN’T happy. Things didn’t work out as he had planned. His entire life was replayed in this first attempt to right the wrongs done to him by Tempest, her husband Ferdinand, who stole his friend and those damned Technicians. It chapped his ass that of all the people to show up and make it right, Raphael Hoyt, Mr. Exit himself, arrived and did nothing.
“Even blind, that bitch has skills,” he scoffed.
He remembered being in love once and how wonderful it felt coming home to a family. That too had been taken away from him. Everything he ever loved had been taken away from him by someone in Beauty’s organization.
“Study Rami. Study how it works. Find the center piece, then break it. Break Beauty. Break the Company. Break the technicians,” he said rubbing his hands together.
All he had was time.
All he needed was time.
All he needed...
