Dedicated ~ The Full Intention

Books and characters... it's funny what people will believe. I was asked if I smoked today because of the book. It was interesting and very un-zen of me to respond badly and I think I've even offended my smoker friends. Kisses, loves. You are all amazing no matter the choices you make in life. You are perfect being the people you are and you can change if you want but please do not because of my awful words. I do not judge you. 

I think I was further irritated by this societal expectation of importance. Once we become of a certain stature it is our position to inspire. Yet we expect people to inspire and garner attention by using their experience as a tool to gain sympathy from an audience. Look, I feel that we inspire others through our actions and don't tell them who they should be or make them feel bad for not living up to another person's life path. You are who you are and you can be someone else but take it from me it's not all it's cracked up to be. I get to be characters as a writer and it's not as great as you think. 

About being in character...  Why isn't it great? I'm not myself! I'm fucking out of it. You can tell the difference. If you can't then you don't pay attention to details. I know one person who doesn't know me well at all, but he's quite observant and saw the shift when I was in character a couple months back. Since then he is in my thoughts before I sit to write and I haven't gone into character since. I can only imagine what it's like to know someone and observe yin & yang in them. For me it's still a unique experience to meet someone who knows you so little yet they can see your true nature and dissuade you from working against it. I am grateful to know someone that encourages my pursuit of other things besides writing. 

Anyhoo... Thinking of books, I've written a few short novels that I never published. And some people know that I have a background in interior design and music. Now I've included music & songs in my writing... but architecture, art and design? Yep I did. The Full Intention is the name of the first book I wrote and there are design details in it. A furniture or architecture fan will notice them. 

Here's the first and second chapters... and links to the remaining posted pieces. If you like furniture and architecture this one is dedicated to you and I do hope you appreciate the details as much as I did putting them in. ;) Maybe someday I will publish this one in its entirety. 

Enjoy!
Kisses, m. 

The Full Intention (2009)

Chapter 1 

We All Have Our Small Beginnings Though

Full intention. The last resort. I’m in your house. It’s my job to kill you. I’m looking at your photos. Your parents’ golden anniversary pictures are a nice touch. I remember how scared you were that day. How I had to talk you into going. We look so happy. The best of friends. So how did we get here? It had been easily 7 years since any one of us had spoken of personal matters. The three of us. Three musketeers. You changed. Politics. I never would have pegged you for it. Steven Malcolm. Male model, Yes. Superficial liar, No. And here I am, your best friend here to kill you. Hired by the other best friend who you’ve manipulated and he wants you out. I remember us in college. We all wanted to change the world. The three artists bent on making the world a better more beautiful place. What happened to us? It’s only a matter of time before you had Ethan killed. He just caught me first.

Ethan Lambrey. Artistic genius. GLAAD poster self made-man. Fashion Designer of the year. World wide extraordinaire. He was the CEO of a self made brand that just opened a chain of boutiques in Paris, Rome, Milan and New York but never in LA, far too tacky. According to Ethan, those starlets with their insecurities and stylists with a name to make were far too dangerous to his notoriety. One ugly red carpet moment and it would essentially all “go up in flames”. Ethan was never one to exaggerate about things he was passionate about. Ethan had been worried for some time about you. You financed his company and then shut him out. His success came at the cost of a lifelong friendship.

Steven Malcolm. Brilliant man. Charming and attractive. Hollywood came to court and you refused out of true instinct. Not one man could have ever competed with your own brand of glamour. Honestly its that charm of yours that makes you a true natural for politics. Someday you’ll rule the world. I’m sure of it. The maneuver into politics was by chance but successful nonetheless. The man you once called father, introduced you to a manipulative circle of society. The Hand. They were responsible for the placement of the last three presidents into office. You, the new poster child, ran for a senate seat and won. Youngest senator in history.

Which comes to me. At long last the lady with a dark secret. Professional killer by mistake. At least in the beginning it was an accident. I hadn’t planned on this becoming a career. Fell into it you could say. My fiancé was a bad man once. Kept me locked away in a sense; protected me from “the evil of the world”, according to him and hid the most terrible, unimaginable things. Until one day, I came across the girls. The ones he kidnapped, raped, mutilated, and tortured. His home was sprawling and quite extravagant. I never would have known, but by chance, my needlepoint fell that day. Needle rolling under the chair next to the wall, where there should not be a hinge let alone a door, but alas. No locks to stop an intruder. But I didn’t free them. I was shell-shocked and couldn’t breathe. Confronting him would have sealed my doom. So being the resourceful young woman, I saw no other option but to take his life. I poisoned his bourbon and slit his throat before bed that night. The next day “The Hand” contacted me. Of course they knew of his activities, but saw no reason to interfere due to his discretion. They offered and I became an anonymous killer. Beautiful by day, Deadly by night.

We all have our small beginnings though.

Back to me in your house. Surprise, the key still works. It’s a miracle you still use this house. You have 20. This one is the most like home though. It’s the one your parents left you before they died. You always were a sentimental fool. I can still find my way through this place blind folded. Ranch style. Recessed ceiling in the living room. Kitchen/Dining room. Wooden floors. You’ve changed it a bit with your modern flairs, the Mies Van der Rohe Chair with matching table and Japanese wood block prints. I slink through the hall, glancing at pictures of happier times. Occasionally I find myself staring back at a mirrored younger version. I reach the far end of the hall where a light is on in your office. I open the door which is already slightly ajar, to find you asleep at the oversized wooden desk. No security here. You are brave. And all alone. I’m surprised again. I walk over and look at the computer. You were working, but something is wrong with the screen. Shit. You weren’t alone. You’ve been drugged. I take action. Damn. Wasn’t I supposed to be killing you?

Chapter 2

Can I Trust you? 

This can’t be happening… Reacting quickly I immediately kill the light in the room. Looking over your shoulder and out the window I can see the empty street. Whoever drugged you wasn’t planning on my arrival. The neighboring houses are black. This isn’t a good sign. Something is waiting out in the dark. No choice. We need to leave immediately. The tiny office is in disarray. Maneuvering closer until I find a way around the oversized desk to assess the situation that I’m working with. Minimal damage and at least you’re still breathing. Whatever were you working on? Scattered trail of papers on the floor leave no real answers. What little remains of the computer is useless. Desk drawers are completely empty and the bookshelf nearby has been pilfered clean. Where’s your security detail during all this? No matter. I need to move you. Simple enough, I reach under your arm and lift. Deadweight. Quite the muscular build still. Heavy. I can’t carry you for long. Despite the politics you’ve managed to stay in shape and looking good. Vanity. Won’t matter if we can’t get out of here. Sitting ducks if we stay.

Movements are deceptive in the shadows. Although it appears we are making headway I’m slowly dragging your body through house and running out of time. Things aren’t the way they should be. The plan was simple. Slip into the house and silently handle these affairs unseen. But that isn’t the case. Waking you up is the greater issue at stake. The longer you remain unconscious I worry that the odds are stacked towards death. With far too many unanswered questions I need you alive. And we need to get moving now. Time to wake up sleeping beauty. Set your unresponsive body on the le Corbusier Chaise as I reach into my jacket for the kit. Adrenaline junkie down to the core, I carried a small emergency stash of necessary drugs. Examine the patient briefly as I roll up a sleeve to find a vein. There’s a thin line of blood trailing along your forehead. This will be one headache you won’t forget. Injection is swift. One for me, one for you.

Perhaps Ethan doubted my abilities to accomplish the job. Doubting my convictions would have been reckless on his part. Who would stop me from returning the favor? But Ethan was the sort of fellow that saw no real harm in sending in his own form of reinforcements. The genius madman of fashion had more enemies than friends. All petty little bitches, quite literally stabbing each other in the back to get ahead in the so-called fashion game. All because of one fatal indiscretion. Tigneallatio was Italy’s finest house of exclusive couture. A secretive house that was quite selective of its clientele and hidden to the public. Knowledge of the whereabouts was highly restricted and participation gained by invitation only. Designers were handpicked to join the restricted elite. Obviously the old regime was standing in the way of any ‘up and comer’ trying to break into the game. Having the head of the family murdered during Spring Fashion Week last year was toasted as the highlight of the season. The coup was organized among a handful of smaller houses, including the House of Lambrey, that fueled the cause. The strong-arming of Tigneallatio spread waves of distrust. Fear and paranoia ran rampant among these houses leading to cutthroat behavior. The budding House of Lambrey fell under attack. When Ethan begged for Steven’s help, the door slammed shut. Ethan needed your connections to stay afloat, instead all he had left was your money. Ethan swore vengeance and sought out to destroy his only friend. Truth be told Ethan had every right to doubt me as well. Killing Steven was my secondary agenda. "The Hand" had other plans and my instructions were quite simple. Simple enough.

Pacing. Waiting. There’s no time for this. You’re still unconscious, but the breathing is picking up now. If I can get us moving soon, there is a possibility of escape. Slipping out of the house unnoticed wouldn’t be difficult. Right now, I need to find another mode of transport. Whoever set this up would have seen me walk into the place. I’m guessing there are a couple of cars in the garage, but that would be too obvious. Knowing you the most extravagant and conspicuous. The Ferrari or the Bentley. Not the type of attention we need right now. With the next step I’m certain there’s someone out there a couple of steps behind. Laying in wait. Nonetheless we have to find a way out. I can hear movements outside the front of the house. Slowly I stop my pace across the living room. From the corner of my eye, I can see the slight silhouette of a shadow as it bounces off the wall in the entry. The drugs aren’t working fast enough and we’re about to have company. Steady the gun and prepare myself. Before I can let out a breath there’s movement in front of me. Damn. You’re awake. Don’t say a word.

Raising my free hand, I signal your silence. In comes the shadow. Without hesitation shots are fired. Shadow’s dead. I’m hit. Bleeding. Fading. Can I trust you?

#3 - Who Are You?

#4 - Where Am I?

#5 - Sacrifice

#6 - Remember

#7 - How do you sleep?

#8 - Keep Moving

#9 - If

** Extras 1.11.11 & 11.11.11

Full Intention: Extra - 11.11.11

11.11.11. Full Intention – extra. Three conversations. The unknown can only happen once. There can be only one way. One way of facing it. Needless to say the unknown is coming. Tomorrow is another day. Or is it? What do you think of the unknown? Do you embrace it? enjoy. kisses. m.

11.11.11

(Three Conversations)

#1

“It’s done. Ethan’s handled it.”

“Of course it is. That’s exactly what you do when a person no longer serves your purpose.

“Are you still upset because you didn’t have the nerve? Never ask a woman to do a man’s job.”

“I didn’t have the nerve. That’s what you like to tell yourself then?”

“Don’t you ever shut up? You always have something smart to say with that smart mouth.”

“Not always, Steven.”

“Silence, that’ll be a first when I hear it.”

 “At least you made sure one person won’t be talking anymore. Why not make it two?”

“Jamie, should have minded his own business. I got what I needed but he had his own agenda.”

“And what was it that he was doing?”

“Trying to save a double crossing trick like you. And I need something from you. Not from him.”

#2

“Done?”

“That’s it. How’s your head feeling?”

“It’s still attached. Thanks to you. Funny but it’s not my head I’m worried about.”

“James darling, it’s far from funny this round. She can handle herself with Steven.”

“Are you so sure? He wanted me to put a bullet in her head.”

“He was testing you. And how do I put this delicately? You failed.”

“How was I supposed to know? She is in over her head and it’s my fault. She has something…”

“To prove. Always. The position I’m in with Steven is less than predictable but he trusts me.”

“Take care of her Ethan. I have to backtrack and find another way to get there before he does.”

“Honey, if you’re serious about this then you’ll need to contact Sparrow?”

“That’s what I’m thinking. And from what I remember she won’t be happy to see me.”

#3

“After. When is this done?”

“Before. It took you long enough to make contact. And after this you won’t ask me that again.”

“The job went south. Deep. Ethan made contact. I took his offer. And it’s all wrong. Now what?”

“Don’t do anything. That’s all for now. Do what Steven says. Just like taking candy from a baby.”

“If it were that easy. This job hits closer to home than I’d like. Jamison, tell me one thing.”

“Only one thing? I thought you’d be asking so much more by now. Ask away.”

“It was you that you contracted them, didn’t you? To cross me.”

“Of course. I needed the best from the best. And…”

“Flattery will get you no where. That’s a lie. You knew I’d save Steven.”

“MIA, I need both of you. And it has to be this way. Go with it. I’ll handle the clean up.”

“Of course you will. Orchestrating every detail. Damn you. I have to get back or he’ll notice.”

Full Intention: Chapter 9 - If...

If…

“If you loved me you would do it.”

This is what Steven tells me after begging me to shoot him. I want out. I don’t know if that’s the kind of love I have for him. So I tell him…

“I’m leaving.”

“No you’re not.”

 “Don’t go?”

“You would stay if you loved me.” Its emotional blackmail at its finest.

So I tell him, “then maybe I don’t.”

“We both know there’s only one way you’re going out that door and it’s not walking.”

“Was that a threat?”

“Did it need to be?”

“Steven, I can’t. This isn’t…  I don’t want to...”

“I don’t want you to either but it needs to... Step another foot back and then fire.”

“I’m leaving.”

Leaving.

It’s the one thing I haven’t been able to do since the beginning. I walked into this mess with a plan. Now my ex-husband’s standing over me with a shotgun cocked at Ethan telling Steven to leave me. Jamison wants in and that means I’m out. So much for plans. Life keeps happening whether you have a plan or not.

That’s exactly what it does.

It was less than six months earlier that he’d been tracking me down with the full knowledge that he needed me. Another life before the one I almost had. I can remember when I finally confirmed the information he sent me. I wanted to call him a liar. But it wouldn’t be true. I didn’t want to see things from his point of view. But there was no other way.

Jamison kept things as vague as possible. The agenda was different when he came into play. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. I wanted to know more but he said, “Go with it” and I did.

“We need to keep moving” Ethan says as he leads us back into the open living space.

Three feet out of the front hall I’m finding myself smack in the middle of a coup de grace intended for me. Ethan steps in and spins around to take aim. I want to run, but the look in Steven’s eyes tells me to stay. Jamison shoots first with a pistol. My left arm above the shoulder blade stings with a rush of pain that sends me falling backwards. Less than a second and the men in the room have changed positions. Jamie’s hovering over me pressing his boot into my wound. Ethan has a pistol aimed for Jamie’s head and Steven is locked onto me.

“It’s been eight years,” he tells me on the wire.

“And you sound like hell you…”

“No time for pleasantries darling.  I guess it would be snide to say I won’t be home for dinner.”

“Bastard. How is the new little woman?”

“She’s safe and probably looking to kill me.”

“Same ol Jamie. Love em and leave em.”

“Heard you killed your ex? Playing the black widow, are we?”

“Enough! Is this why you went through the effort to get my attention?”

“I didn’t make contact to throw cheap insults at you. The tide has turned. I need you.”

“Need? That’s interesting. Last I heard you were on that side of the tide.”

“Mia. Not everything is what it seems. You’re the best. And I need the best.”

“You’re in Horizon. They’ll kill you for…”

“I need your help. I need you to make contact with an old friend. I can’t tell you how he’s involved.”

“I don’t need the details to do my job. Contact. Is that all?”

“It’s an easy in but you need to go a little deeper than usual. He’ll offer you a job. Take it. No matter what it is.”

“Am I double crossing anyone?”

“I can’t tell you that. No one will get hurt.”

“They’ll kill me for a cross.”

“Mia, you’re already dead. Your name came up. It’s a matter of time before…”

“This is personal, isn’t it?

“Personal? That’s not important.”

“Exactly. How is…?”

 “Stop. You need to make contact with me, without being seen.”

“Use old protocols?”

 “And don’t say no.”

When he walked through the door I just couldn’t say no. No words. Not seen. And I went in with the only knowledge that I’m dead either way.

A three-way power struggle can change hands in a flash. They all want something but it’s not the same thing. Two guns are pointed and one man tosses his to the ground. Ethan and Jamison look like they’re about to end the other man over a woman when it’s not that at all. Steven wants me in and he needs Ethan still.  But from where Jamison’s standing I’m of no consequence to the plan. Shooting me takes me out and leaves him in. I know this is the last thing he wants but it’s the first time he’s making it up as he goes.

Steven walks over and lowers Ethan’s gun. Jamison drops the shotgun and lifts his boot from my shoulder. I watch Steven take Jamison by the neck and shake him with a laugh while they walk over to the hall. Ethan helps me to my feet while tearing at his shirt to patch up another hole in my body. I’m looking at the blood on the ground and thinking how much easier it would be to stay down when Ethan sticks me with a hit of liquid energy that leaves me feeling slower. Awake but half asleep watching as the story unfolds.

It’s been less than two minutes but it seems longer when the laughs cease and Steven hits Jamison square in the head with the butt of Ethan’s pistol. I’m in a daze watching him fall when Steven hands me the gun.

“Shoot him.”

“I don’t…”

“Do it.

“Eye for an eye?”

 “Shoot him.”

“I… want… I… can’t…”

 “If you loved me you would do it.”

If. That in itself is  a funny idea. It’ll make you question what to do next. That sneaking suspicion that puts the fear in someone’s head. What if I do? What if I don’t? What if it is? What if its not? If.  

Full Intention. A story that came from a dream nearly ten years ago and it was about a friend. He laughed, called me crazy and bought me lunch when I told him about it. So... Alright. It’s been a while. Time to pull them out. A little newly furnished work on this particular one. Put in a little more details. I’ve been keeping these back for that very reason. The details.  It’s been my desire to take it apart and rebuild it. Of course there are revisions that haven’t seen the light of day.  Enjoy. kisses. m.

Full Intention: Extra - 1.11.11 & Intercepted

1.11.11.

I wasn’t looking for him when we met. Do you understand?

More than some time has passed between since last we spoke. 

He could’ve looked me up anytime over the last eight years.

And likewise, I could have gone looking for him. But didn’t.

Not that I expected him to… We’re both of an age…

He was an adult and capable of handling his own affairs.

What makes a man walk away from the woman he loves?

You tell me. He’s barely recognizable as the man I knew.

That’s irrelevant now. The past remains. And you can’t change… Look?

You probably have a thousand questions. Sorry. I can’t answer those.

Things couldn’t be any more complicated than before all of this.

You’re probably wondering how. We have hidden things from each other.

When he approached me there wasn’t a need for full disclosure.

All those things left unsaid for nearly a decade didn’t matter.

And in your situation this isn’t what you want to hear.

Continue? Can I? He made all the necessary arrangements for contact.

To me it was another job. Typical. Same as any other.

Until? He walked through the door. And I… Couldn’t say no.

It was personal. Involved his personal interests. Things he wouldn’t disclose.

He said that no one would get hurt… Just play along.

Understand? According to his reports this would be an easy in.

It had taken long to acquire a position within the Horizon.

This wasn’t the HAND. It was an outside organization. Different Agenda.

Intercepted.

Intercepted. I’m sitting less than twenty feet from her in the middle of the busy café. I know exactly who she is. It’s my understanding that she wants to talk to me. The walls are covered with miniature replicas of the last Van Gogh portraits and I’m reminded of another place in the past.  The memory that tells me less about this place and more about her. I’m looking at her broach. A red rose. It’s a sentimental touch of red that has me wondering. She’s managed to meet my standard protocols and I’m ready to make my move. I’m noticing her watch the waitress dropping dishes while talking on the phone. Convenient way to avoid notice, but I need her to listen to me now. Since there’s a swarm of people in the café, no one will think twice if their signal drops. Standing by to disconnect in… 3… 2…1. The call has been interrupted. I can tell by the look on her face that she doesn’t agree with this. There she goes trying to hang up and re-dial. Predictable. Excusing herself to go outside to look for a signal. And I can’t disagree with her logic in that argument. Because I might do the same thing. There’s one chance to catch her eye. Caught.

“This is a nice way to say hello, don’t you think?” She sits down with a smile and a pistol.

 “Interesting, when a smile is already an inviting welcome.” I continue protocol.

“I thought you wouldn’t make contact.” She moves the pistol under the table and cocks it as she speaks.

“I wasn’t but I know he’s alive, and I’m…”

“Wounded.”

 “Wondering who would use his protocol. And I’m not surprised it’s you.”

“He’s coming back soon and I think he is already in contact with...”

“Jamison’s made contact. And he would kill you for much less than contact with me. What do you need?”

“You know he’s got his own agenda.”

“And you don’t. You’re working this from another angle. What is it? Tell me more.”

 “You’re working with him, why? Where’s my husband been? I want to know everything you know. You owe me that.”

“I wasn’t looking for him when we met. Do you understand?”

1.11.11. Intercepted. Full Intention - Extra.  A little different. A little interesting. What do you think?

There’s something in honoring arrangements whether you know what will be or will not. Promises are meant to be kept. The unknown is the one thing people are most afraid of. And you know what… the unknown is the only thing that will ever happen once for you. Once known… it’s no longer unknown. It’s okay to be afraid. Can’t let it stop you. Even if it’s scary. And if you’re worried about someone… please continue to tell them how much you care. They need to hear it. What exactly? Remind them how much they are loved. I can promise this. Their struggle is lonely although they do not realize they aren’t alone in it. Life is full of surprises and wonder. Things full of imperfection that are invaluable. Please remind someone of that.

Anyhow… digressed after only wanting to give a little more. How was the day? Hope it was a great one! Enjoy. kisses for those you love. m.

Full Intention: Chapter 8 - Keep Moving

The Full Intention – Keep Moving.

If you’ve been following these, I have been continuing. It’s been a little while since I’ve dropped the next one. Tonight feels appropriate. Working on some new things. And old. Someone tells me there’s no point in finishing what you’ve started and right now I couldn’t disagree more. Once and again you have to stand for something instead of abandoning what you’re doing for something else. If you’ve missed anything here’s the links to the others...

#1 & #2 - Full Intention/Can I Trust You?

#3 - Who Are You?

#4 - Where Am I?

#5 - Sacrifice

#6 - Remember

#7 - How do you sleep?

Enjoy. kisses. m.

Keep Moving.

Another way. I’m walking through an unfamiliar house. Armed to the teeth with one last chance at coming back to life. It’s my job to kill someone once again. Three men follow me into the den of deceit where I’m leading the pursuit once again. Trailing through the hallway I’m looking at the family pictures that line the passage. A fairytale that is far from true stares back at me. Two small girls and a boy sit in front of a birthday cake arranged next to a woman wearing a white dress. This lie continues to follow me down the hall. Places and people that never happened are a living illusion in this tiny pied-à-terre. Twice I see myself embedded in these lies and dismiss the reaction.

Keep Moving…

Open your eyes. Keep them open. There’s no one to be trusted. The tables turn quickly. And if you aren’t careful you might end up on the wrong side of things.

Steven bends over and puts the gun in his left boot before walking away from the car. We’re parked in the middle of an empty roadway amidst a storage facility. As he walks away from the car down the narrow roadway I’ve got my gun aimed straight at the back of his head. Don’t turn around cause there’s no chance I’ll miss this time.

Shoot to kill. If anything happens, my orders are shoot to kill. Orders that I have no problem following through on. If push comes to shove, I will kill Steven. This cat’s not supposed to be alive and there’s no one left to blame. Yet there’s no one around as I cover the perimeter. No reason for push or shove or orders that can not be followed through. And he moves another fifty feet away before entering an oversized storage unit.

Upon his disappearance into the entry I realize that this may be my only chance to walk.

“Let me out.”

“Seriously.”

“I’m leaving.”

“Give me a reason to shoot you.” That’s what I tell Ethan before grab the spare rifle and get out of the Seville. The truth is I don’t need his permission. And it doesn’t matter what Steven thinks about the situation. While he’s busy running more information into the ground I’m outside holding the gun. And I’ve had enough. Dead. Alive. Or Inbetween.

Backing away slow with the crosshairs of the rifle a mere inch above the brim of Ethan’s Gucci aviators, I tell him the only words I think will save his life. “Don’t follow me.” He shakes his head adjusting his Gucci’s. The slight adjustment gives a glare of midday sun right into my eye line. Blindly I take few steps of confidence into the open stretch of no where before coming face to face with the blunt edge of a steel pipe held by a face that seemed more familiar than the last time I saw it. Jamison Todd.

Jamison Todd. Brilliant Con. The man who needs no plans. The man who will tell you that plans are for people who can’t make their own details. The man you call when you’re best friend is supposed to kill the other and messes up the job. Thirteen different aliases and two dozen alter egos just for spinning wheels on the continent. A man I haven’t seen in eight years and hadn’t planned to ever again…

“Now I can hit you again, or you can get back into that car.”

“Hit me again.”

“Not much has changed. Stubborn as hell.”

“Hell. You haven’t seen anything yet.” I fumble for the rifle.

“Don’t bother. Get in the car.”

“Where’s Steven?”

“Don’t worry about it. Ethan! We need to keep moving.”

Keep moving… is what I’m thinking as I see Ethan pause and look at picture of a white Maltese. Ethan breaks the gaze and nods at me. Jamison lowers his pistol and motions toward the end of the hall before nodding to Ethan. Falling to the rear Steven is pressing digits into a wireless alarm.

Turning the corner I find myself amidst an open room. Along the far side of the room there’s a lighted glass box fashioned into a table surrounded by a set of Mies Van der Rohe Chairs with matching table. Upon the wall facing a bay of windows hangs an illegal Warhol. A fraudulent self-portrait of the artist that was never authenticated and thought to have been destroyed. It’s the only thing that seems foreign in this room. A room that aside from the missing Japanese wood block prints and rug the seating area matches the same room in Steven’s personal home.

Following quick the three fall into the living area. One by one they take action. Each one prepared for the task at hand.

Ethan pulls out a small tool kit and starts to tear into the cushion of the chairs. Jamison reaches into his back pocket and throws down a rolled up satchel. Unfolding it he removes a set of knives, lifts the rug and begins carving a hole into the wooden floor. Steven enters loudly with a hand signal that tells me to remove the fraud from the wall. As the imposter looks down at me I lift and pull quickly. Still fumbling with the alarm, Steven pauses before entering the code key.

Nothing. The code key to this vault has been changed. As he begins to reset the vault to open there’s nothing more to do. Keep moving. Looking at him for confirmation, he nods and I move onward. Three left behind and four on its way.

Another way. Down the hall. Ignoring the visual propaganda that fills the walls. A feeling of déjà vu crawls up under my skin as I slink down the narrow corridor with my gun ready. Except this time there’s death waiting at the end of the hall. Open the door. Look over the two bodies lying in the bed. The lie that dares to live and call itself truth. Carefully I walk over to the side of the bed and take out one lie. I’m not surprised. She’s not the same woman in the pictures. She’s not me. After moving over to the left side of the bed I notice that other liar is dead. The same liar in the pictures already taken care of. Damn. Someone’s been here…

“Ethan?”

“It’s time.”

“But someone…”

“It’s too late.”

“Someone’s been…”

“We need to keep moving.”

Full Intention: Chapter 7 - How Do You Sleep?

How do you sleep?

Dead. There’s a saying that you sleep when you die. Well, I’ve been dead for 72 hours and I haven’t gotten a wink of sleep.

Dead. My death isn’t much what I thought would be like.

Answers require questions. That was the last thing that I said to Steven 2 hours ago. Without the right ones how will you know what you’re asking for? It’s been too long for a simple solution to an already complicated situation.

“There’s nothing to tell you right now.” He says.

“There’s more than that.” I press him a little further in hopes of getting an explanation.

“You were paid. It was me.”

“Ethan?”

“I needed him. He needed me. You needed…”

“I didn’t need this.”

“They were going to kill you.”

“That’s supposed to make this easier.”

“After they… they were going to kill you.”

“That’s not an explanation.”

“These are the answers that I can tell you.”

“Answers. These aren’t answers. Answers require questions.”

“I can’t help what they are or aren’t.”

He’s simply stalling. I didn’t need his side of nothing. Knowing something from another perspective wasn’t important. Ethan wasn’t so shy about a few details. I learned that in the last day while Steven was making things happen with another predicament.

On the road between no where and somewhere Ethan spills a little but more than he should in less than five minutes. It was before 10 am and after Steven decided to stop because “there’s no better time than the present” to fill up the Seville and make a few calls.

After Steven walks away, Ethan gets out of the car and lights a cigarette. While standing next to a sign that says “No Smoking” with a picture of a tiny cigarette with smoke, he has the stage presence of Gloria Swanson and Cary Grant’s swagger beneath a pair of Gucci aviator sunglasses. Once Steven is standing next to the office making calls without using the pay phone, Ethan leans against the open window of the Seville and starts talking.

“Want to know what’s happening, don’t you honey?” he half whispers.

“You might say that. What’s there to know?”

“Ha! You’re still bad at playing games.”

“Tell me a little something.”

“I hired you. That much is the truth. Steven asked me to.”

“Steven?”

“He’s protecting you. They would have killed you after him. If they think you’re dead… it’s safer.”

“He’s running. Why?”

“Sometimes there’s a consequence for doing the right thing.”

“I was never supposed to kill him. You…”

“I didn’t drug him. He called me after to help. Even I can’t explain that to you. I don’t know what happened. It seems he was…”

“Meeting someone… That man? The gentlemen from…”

“Honey, that was no gentlemen. And Steven isn’t sharing everything. I’ve been on hiatus since hiring you. There’s a price on my head as well.”

 “But you’re alive. What’s he doing now?”

“He’s trying to stay one step ahead of them.”

Taking one step after another towards the car Steven edges closer. It’s as he slowly maneuvers nearer when I come to realize that there’s no going back from being dead. I’m not going to get a chance at resurrection this time. This cat only had two lives. The third is no more than a shadow of familiar.

“Consolidation.” This is what Steven tells the man we met two days before Ethan tells me about nothing. A disposable man that has been with us for more than a day, getting things done and moving plans and money for Steven. But there’s this word that means very little to me or Ethan. It’s the one word that Steven repeatedly yells at this man before putting three bullets into his belly and standing over his body with a gun pointed into his mouth. The man shakes his head and whines like a little girl until breaking. Steven finds three things on his body after his gun releases a hole into the man’s skull and blows a chunk of carpet out of the floor in this room at a Motel 6 in a town that no one will remember between no where and somewhere. I’m listening to the words that have no meaning and Ethan is smoking a cigarette. Steven takes these three things, the broken words and makes a call after dragging the body into the tiny bathroom.

I excuse myself to go to the bathroom and watch the man not stop dying. Watching this dead man sleeping in a red coated white porcelain bed and there I wonder what it means to be dead. Does it mean something different for him? All the things he thought would be everything in life… are they much like he thought they would be in death? I pull a pair of scissors out of the open drawer and start to cut away my loose ends of dry hair matted with blood. The door isn’t locked and I decide to keep working anyway. I continue watching the sleeping dead man and trim back the longer pieces of the old life. How simple it would be to cut away all the pieces in this fashion.

Two hours ago I thought I knew all the things I wanted to do before I died and I wonder if this man bleeding out in the bathtub ever contemplated those things before he ended up here. I keep wondering what will come next as I stand up and flush the toilet. While I wash my hands and rub the dried blood off my face, I think of all the things that Steven keeps hiding from me and how much more Ethan will share when the door slams open. Steven looks at me and I know it’s time to leave again. The fellow in the bathtub won’t be joining us. Good night stranger. Sleep well.

Full Intention. #7. Another piece of something larger. Letting it stand alone. Not much to say. Closing up several still and working on... Enough shop. Would share more, but sometimes it's just enough to say Good night. Please Enjoy. Kisses. m. 

Full Intention #1 &#2

Full Intention #3

Full Intention #4

Full Intention #5

Full Intention #6

Full Intention: Chapter 6 - Remember

Remember.

#6.

They say things don’t happen the way we remember them. Vantage point, your eyes are the device that lets you sneak up and spy on the world. Then your mind takes that information and it becomes your perspective. It may not be what the man next to you saw, but it is what your mind perceives. It’s the human mind’s trick to believe that everything happens the way each person thinks. You are always right. Even when you are completely wrong and lying to yourself it is right. You can not do anything, unless on some level you believe in it. Even hurting yourself is right when the mind is convinced.

Daybreak cascades across the horizon and grows with intensity. We’re sitting in a diner across from an old burned out gas station ninety minutes from the warehouse. The seats are a shiny red vinyl that matches the 1950s replicated Formica. Three steps from the table stands Madge. She wants to know if we need more coffee or a slice of pie. I shake my head and she moves on.

My coffee is cold and Steven is sitting across from me avoiding eye contact. There are unanswered questions racing through my mind. The stitching on my chest feels heavy when I breathe. From the corner of my eye I can see that the bandage on my arm is soaked red and needing to be redressed.

I can remember cutting out the piece of my arm. Steven wanted to take part of it for them. That’s how I remember it. To hear him explain it sounded more convincing before.

Before I manage a word, he starts… “How do you feel?” The knife feels sharp against my inner arm. Steven continues to hold tight to my hand waiting for a response. Slowly the knife traces against the painful reminder of a clumsy misstep, a five inch scar that runs up the inside of my arm that Steven recalls just as vividly I do.

“I can not give you answers. Now is not the time. Right now Ethan needs to leave us and he needs something from you.” Madness crawls back into his eyes before he cuts into the familiar wound and plunges toward my hand. “I can do this… or you can do this. Either way it has to be done. Before you ask it… Ethan won’t do this.”.

Nodding I take the knife and think of the memory of the wound. That summer night nearly ten years ago when I slipped on the wet cement outside Steven’s house and landed onto the rod-iron fence. Through and through. Three minutes of bleeding profusely and struggling to remove my arm from the fence before anyone found me. And here I am about to re-open the old wound.

Carefully, Steven leans in with his stare. Ethan gets up and lights a cigarette. I can hear my heart beating as I slice in deeper and deeper. Carving out a small slit of flesh from my arm. The blood drips quick and brightly. My hands are shaking and I can’t seem to accurately carve. It’s me watching a butcher cut up meat. Only I’m the butcher.

Ethan takes about five more drags off the cigarette before setting back down next to me. He’s getting ready to collect the result of my efforts. The blade shakes in my grip. Digging in further, almost to completion. Steven takes a deep breath and gets up to his feet. His serious face hasn’t broken since I’ve started in.

“It’s done!” The thick chunk of flesh falls onto the white chair. Stains of red slide along the upholstery. Drip. Drip. Quick hands gather the fallen tissue and place into plastic then a cloth satchel.

“Honey, that was fucking savage. I honestly didn’t think you could do it. Let me clean you up again.” Ethan pulls out a small cloth bandage and another syringe.

Steven has already walked away. In the darkness, I can see him dragging the body of the Cajun over to a lounge. He begins breaking furniture. Tossing chairs. Shoving layers of plastic and materials to the corner of the room. Then lifts up containers to pour liquid over the body and across the plastic covered furniture. Gasoline from the aroma. The chaos goes up in flames as he drops a match to it.

“Forget that. Wrap her up. Let’s MOVE!” Steven walks back over as the far wall of the room goes up into flames. Ethan tightens the cloth and hands me a box of syringes. Steven grabs my body and lifts me up as he kicks over the tray of tools. 

Ethan parts from us as we leave the warehouse. Steven walks over to a black Cadillac Seville and tosses me in. Ethan heads in the opposite direction from the flaming building.

Hot. Bright. Daylight. Madge wants to pour more coffee. Ethan should be returning soon. Steven hasn’t said more than three words since we left. Now he’s decided to give conversation a bit of a go.

“Now that you’ve lost a little blood we shouldn’t have to worry…” Steven perks up between a drink of coffee. Still avoiding eye contact.

“Excuse me. I don’t call that a little.”

“Excuse me, but you are alive and I could have taken your whole hand.”

“Of course that’s the important thing.”

A red El Camino rolls up and Ethan gets out before the driver takes off.

Steven breaks eye contact to watch Ethan walk up to the diner. “It’s important that you’re not a factor anymore.” Reconnecting with my stare, his voice quiets and reaches a near whisper.  “This way… they might think you’re dead.”

#6.  This should have been up sooner. Sometimes things are out of our control. But rather later than never. Still not sure about this whole thing, but persisting in its completion. There is more I want to give, but I'm gonna hold it back. I'm excited about quite a few things. I've reworked something that came two months ago... and there's more. enjoy! m.

#5 - Sacrifices.