Part Two... Creation... def... genesis, conception.
 

The soft misty rain dampened everything except her mood. Her thoughts returned to that day where she had truly been born. An abstract, a conceit, still incomplete but the funeral and the events immediately afterwards had set things in motion to where she stood at this moment. A small wry smile that she should think of that now, the weather she supposed, the rain triggering a memory link. Not much was the same other than that.

She turned and to any observer casually checked the street and the entrance to the bar ahead before crossing the road.

"Just the chrysalis that day Cassandra, a fledgling, but well and truly matured now", she whispered to herself, with a wry smile. It occurred to her she had been wearing this very coat that day six years ago. Quality and style she smiled to herself and fluffed the lapels against her cheeks, entered the doorway scanning the room with a casual glance... game on.

A cursory glance showed little had changed from her recce earlier, the small magnetic collar clipped over the coaxial cable made the black plastic dome on the ceiling useless, there were a few more people and a bit more noise. But that was good for her. Her target was still seated in the centre section with small partitions breaking it from the surround, a bunch of tables but this one on the edge, perfect. Four early to mid thirties women getting slightly tipsy as they gossiped and laughed together. Friends, but one with a secret.

Bad for her. Too late for her.

" A glass of the Pipers Brook Pinot please." She dropped a ten and smiled at the barman, tasted as she surveyed the room and noted movement... or lack of, gestures and body language. Sipped casually for a few minutes and just... felt the surroundings. All good, no wrong vibrations. Judged the timing and space. Smiled softly as her eyes ran back and forth, measuring... counting. Set the glass on the bar and moved as things aligned... counting. Three steps, the small Beretta with a silencer that doubled it's length held in her left hand and angled across her body. Masked by the flowing coat she gripped the silencer through the coat pocket with her right. Four more steps and measured the angles as her target began to rise to buy another bottle it appeared, laughing at some comment. A small cough missed in the background noise and a gentle exclamation from someone at a seeming stumble. The women rose to help their friend as she slipped and fell. Bustle and talk as people circled to help or look and it was eight seconds before the first small scream as she guessed blood had been seen.

Stopping on the footpath outside she heard the level of commotion increase as it became clear to those at the scene something more than a simple fall had... happened and the ripples spread outward. With a quick survey behind using her compact she touched up her lips, noting the guy rather agitatedly gesturing and blathering at a mobile that stumbled out behind her. A few steps to be clear and smiling she slid the compact and then the Beretta into her shoulder bag slung underneath her coat and casually walked away. Her gloved hands gripped the coat lapels against the evening chill and she shivered as the tingle of released tension crawled up her neck and across her scalp.

Ten minutes later she sat sipping the same Pinot in her hotel room and gazed at the lights in the park opposite. Six years, and much to her surprise she had seen no follow up from the Judge or Inspector, or any others of the group or those working for them. She had, if she honestly thought about it, been disappointed. They had not contacted her or as far as she knew tried to hinder her. Though admittedly that would have been very hard. Their own blind conceit made it very unlikely that they even knew her name now, she had to all intents and purposes, disappeared. Cassandra Shade, apt as she was a ghost in a very real sense. One of their victims before her, unwanted and not missed, like most that they took and used. Age almost exact, a forgotten name, except to Mr Wilkie who had kept records of everything. Now it was hers. The only memorial the lost girl would ever likely have.

But earlier, she had another, a boys name. Nine years old and unwanted. Taken from care by a seeming gentle man. Mr Wilkie, though once beyond sight he was not gentle, not in the slightest... and his friends even less so. Terror and pain had been his life for four years... humiliation and shame. But everything changes. Others had come and gone, boys and girls though mostly boys, something he did not understand at the time and she still didn't. Always children, eight, nine, ten years old. By the age of twelve he had been left alone as Mr Wilkie no longer looked at him the way he once had. A thing that saddened the child for some reason and even more strangely shamed him that he was sad and that had made him cranky. Mostly he was just.... quiet. The others of the group largely ignored him except on one occasion to muse idly as to why he was still alive and living comfortably in Roberts house, something no other had managed, there or elsewhere, as he knew from personal observation. Luck or something like it, death was no unseen thing here. He probably should have been chilled at that conversation, but it was really only of passing interest, everybody dies, some earlier than others. Just how it was, it didn't really matter and nobody cared, that he knew.

Mr Wilkie had muttered about the the boy helping him about the house. 'What a maid?' Judge had scoffed and a few days later his clothes disappeared and uniform skirts and blouses with 'the maid' embroidered across the left breast appeared. Stockings and heels and makeup with strict instructions to look the part of a female, just like a girl working in housekeeping at a big hotel. So 'she' had. Over time Mr Wilkie had come to rely on her and she became almost invisible, especially she took care to be so to the others. She learned and grew and by the age of nineteen with his contacts was almost fully female. She did not understand why he had kept her, allowed her to learn, even less made her his heir. Perhaps it was to assuage his guilt at what he had been part of and still was.

For her part she used his indulgence to train herself and learn, everything. Unsurprising perhaps she leant heavily on the art of survival. Martial skills of all sorts and the most talented tutors that money could provide. Languages and finance, she was an apt pupil. He had set her on a path and watched her master it. She wondered not for the first time if he perhaps wished for a slightly different outcome.

Shrugging slightly with a bark of laughter at foolish memories she leant down and slid her laptop from the bag against the chair leg. Opened, switched it on and waited for it to boot. Logged through the encryption program and checked into the secure mail. Contract finalised, payment of account complete. She logged into the secure server of the Cook Islands bank where her Nauru registered Company Chiaroscuro Consulting had it's account. A small smile curved her lips as she noted a fresh twenty thousand deposit. A few minutes later she had transferred Five thousand to a small bank in Hong Kong. Commission paid, sent a brief note and shut down the computer.

"Nice work if you can get it eh Cassie", she smiled to herself and toasted the universe. It was an interesting journey. The old expression , what did not kill you made you stronger, seemed true enough. Money and knowledge had made it possible. Once probate was complete she had liquidated all Mr Wilkie's assets and fourteen months later had disappeared to reappear fifteen months later again as Cassandra and completely female and gorgeous as Singapore surgeons could manage.

Not sure you balanced the books there Robert Wilkie, but it's a start. She raised her glass once more.

A small laugh bubbled up as she sipped the soft red wine. It was curious what Oleander sap could do.

"Cheers Solicitor."

 
... to be continued... if there's interest. I'm winging it as a way to try and write, so...