The room was nice, the lights were controlled by a clap, and everything was made from the finest wood to the smoothest china. But what was better than the room, was the company he had. She was a beautiful brunette girl, tanned to a golden perfection, in a black silk dress that stopped at her calves, a golden bracelet, and a small diamond engagement ring on her left ring finger… his fiancée. He smiled, “You look beautiful as ever Emma.”

She blushed, “Thank you, you look very dashing in your suit as well.” He glanced down meekly; he was wearing a black pinstripe suit, a white dress shirt, a golden tie, and an identical diamond ring rested snug on his left ring finger.

He spun around, “I got the best I could afford,” he sauntered up to her, kissing her on the cheek, “I thought the occasion required it.”

She smiled back, and kissed him on the lips, “I would think so,” She teased him, “This is our engagement party, a little etiquette is required.” He took a deep breath, still marveling at the woman he would soon marry.
“Well,” He coughed, presenting his arm, “Shall we?”

She took it elegantly, “We shall.”

They entered the reception hall and were greeted by rose petals and rice, “To the bride and groom!” Their guests roared. “HUZZAH!”

Emma and Drake laughed, Drake brushed petals out of Emma’s hair, and she brushed some off his shoulder, “Should we give them a little show?”

She smiled, Drake smiled and leaned in, “But of course, they are our guests.”

He gave her a long kiss on her lips to a course of cheers, awwhs, and sarcastic boos. They stopped kissing and she breathed, “You’re still as good a kisser as ever.”

“Isn’t that why you married me?” He smiled, and with another kiss he went to greet his friends and she went to do the same.

“Show-off,” He received immediately when he reached his friends’ table and his best friend/EX-partner punched him in the shoulder, “Must you flaunt such a woman and your happy lives in front us, the sad, poor, little single people?

“Oh shut up Haris,” Another one his old friend/EX-partner interjected, “You’re single out of your own right.”

Haris smiled wolfishly at the friend, “Well of course, there’re many fish in the sea, and I’m planning on catching all of them.”

“Gross bro,” Drake said, “But I’m glad for this, Emma’s great and the organization isn’t bugging me anymore for quitting.”

Haris spoke up, “Oh speaking of quitting, here.” He handed him a small package, “Just an engagement gift.”

Drake opened the gift and exposed the old scarred Desert Eagle he used, “Com’ on Haris, I gave this to you because you’ve always wanted it.”

“And I’m giving it back because I don’t need it and you never wanted to give it to me in the first place.” Haris retorted, “Keep it, just in case, you never know.” Drake sighed, and he picked up the weapon; the cold, heartless lump of steel felt familiar in his hands, as if he never let it go.

“… Thanks,” Drake said, he slipped the gun into the back of his pants, and he pulled the suit over it. “Now, with all the morbidness finished with, let’s get some drinks and get this party started!” His old partners cheered.
Drake felt like his head was going to explode, in front of his was a pyramid of empty beer bottles, surrounded by lime rinds, empty salt shakers, and shot glasses, all drank personally by him. He looked over to Haris to see him still sipping on a glass of brandy, “Man you’ve been on that cup for like… Forever.”

Haris shook his head, “No it’s a new glass, see,” He showed a bunch of other empty glasses, “You’re just so drunk you didn’t notice.”

“Oh shut up,” Drake gasped, trying to stand up, but his arms sprayed all across the table, knocking down the bottles and creating a great mess of glass and alcohol. Haris looked disdainly at his glass, now a shard of a beer bottle in it, “Man you owe me another glass.” He slid the glass into the others, but he put too much force and all the glasses ended up falling off the table as well.

Drake smiled, “How about we now just call it even?” Haris smiled back, alcohol reddening his cheeks and eyes, “I think I should hit the sack, hey where’s everyone else?”

“Over there I think,” Drake placed his head down and waved towards the window which exposed a sight of the starry night sky and reflective sea, waves breaking over rocks.

“Dude,” Haris laughed drunkenly, “That’s the ocean, if they were all there, they would’ve drowned.”

Drake looked up, and began laughing too, “Whoops, I meant the other direction, they’re out dancing or hooking up, drunken bridesmaids and bachelors are a bad combination you know.” Haris laughed along until reality hit him, “Oh damn all the cute ones are gonna be taken, I gotta get me a girl, be right back.” He stood up shakily and began walking away from the bar and towards all the partiers.

“Run Forrest! Run!” Drake yelled after him laughing and then he keeled over and rested on the bar table, tired from all the yelling and doing nothing. He felt a hand on his shoulder and he began turning around, “Struck out already have you, Har…”

He looked up to see Emma, who smiled, “Now that I looked at you, I may have struck out.”

“Oh mean,” He smiled, and he kissed her, “Real mean.”

“Eewww,” She giggled, “You have alcohol breath, don’t kiss me.”

Her laughing encouraged him to kiss her more, and soon they were making out, lips locked. They finally separated and she looked at him, “I think I should get you to bed.”

Drake looked over at the party, “But the party is still…”

Emma placed her finger on his lips, “No buts, come on honey, we need to get you to lie down before you vomit.”

“Oh don’t say that,” Drake gagged, “It’s bad luck, and just the word makes me… urgh.”

He gagged again. Emma quickly let go of his arm and stepped back, “You’re not getting vomit on this dress, it’s a rental.”

“A rental?” Drake fell to his hand and knees, “I actually bought thi…. Blaaaaaahhhhhhh!!!”

Green ooze splashed around all over his hands and laps, he stood up shakily just to slip on his barf and fall back in the puddle of vomit. “Oh god,” He moaned, “The cleaners are going to have some great business tomorrow.” Emma gingerly tried to help her fiancée back up, but it was hard to avoid the vomit on the floor and on his suit.

“Well the sooner you change out of this… “Suit”,” She put air quotes around the word, “The sooner you can shower and go to bed.” She got a tablecloth from a nearby table and wrapped it around Drake, with her help he got back up, and slowly he began stumbling back to his hotel room.

“Aahhh,” Drake breathed, the hot shower water raining on him, wiping away any vomit or alcohol that could be on him. He stepped out of the shower and got a towel, drying himself on the organic fiber towel, and after throwing the towel into a laundry bin over his vomit stained suit. He put on sweat pants and a white t-shirt. As he picked up his t-shirt, something rolled out and thumped onto the bathroom counter; the desert eagle Haris has given him back. He had wrapped it up to hide it from Emma, who he knew would detest having a gun near her, after all it was for her he gave up the job of a hit man. He picked it up and stared at it, the stainless steel body gleamed silver as he turned it in his hands. He rubbed the Latin engraving he had on the side of the barrel, “Adepto officium perfectus”, “Get the job done”. He slipped the gun into the back of his pants and he exited the bathroom. Emma’s dress was in a bunch, scrunched up on the ground, and there she was, in a pink complimentary silk pajama, curled up and sleeping on the king sized bed. Drake walked over and kissed her on the head, before he walked around and slipped under the down comforter. He was about to fall into the deep realms of sleep when a jab reminded him of the gun tucked away in his pants. He pulled it out, and after staring at it glint in the light again, he placed it under his pillow, and with a clap, he fell asleep to a dark room.

It was about two hours later when Drake woke up, he sat up and looked around in confusion, wondering what could’ve woke him when he felt Emma tug on his t-shirt, he looked down and saw her, fast asleep and beautiful. He chuckled to himself and at his paranoia, he kissed Emma again, and fell back to sleep. The night grew colder as he slept, he could feel the room getting colder and so he snuggled up against Emma, who’s soft skin radiated a warmness that reminded him of summer, he smiled as he thought of how lucky he was, and he fell back to sleep.

Something was wrong; Drake felt it in his bones as he woke up an hour later. He sat up and looked around again, nothing looked out of place though, he thought, and he went back to sleep, but when he touched Emma, he felt instead of warm company, he felt a sort of stone coldness of which he was familiar to thanks to his previous occupation. “No,” He choked, he clapped the lights on and turned to look at his fiancée, she looked fine, but Drake knew the truth. He tried to turn her on her back, but something seemed to be impeding his attempts, he turned her onto her stomach and choked back another vomit. A kitchen knife stuck up like a mast in the small of her back, and it was tilted slightly to the side thanks to Drake’s attempt to turn her. Blood covered all of her back, and he noticed that it had also stained her whole half of her bed and had overflowed, dribbling down the side of the bed, the lights made the dripping blood look like liquid rubies, the blood glinted off the knife and body too. Drake slowly pulled the knife out before he cradled Emma’s cold dead body in his arms. He could feel the blood slicking his arms and fingers but he didn’t care. He lost the woman of his life, his angel, and now all he cared about was killing the person who stole his light. He stood up and wiped his arms and hands on the down comforter, he didn’t plan on sleeping there again anyway. He then picked up his Desert Eagle and then began prowling for some clues. But before he could begin any real investigation, cold air blew into the room, and Drake looked up and stared at the billowing balcony curtains. He knew they weren’t like that when he finished his shower, and as he continued staring at the white drapes move with the wind, he saw a faint glow, the lighting of a cigarette. He slowly cocked his gun and began silently padding towards the balcony, but before he could get past the bed, he heard a voice he was hoping wasn’t real.

“Come on out Drake, I know you’re up.” Drake shakily walked towards the curtains, please no, please dear god please say it’s not true, Drake prayed, but when he pulled the curtains back he could feel his blood turn cold, his heart skipped a beat. For standing in front of him, with blood covered hands, stood Haris, leaning against the balcony puffing away at his cigarette.

“Why?” Was all Drake could get out as he continued staring at Haris, who responded with a simple shrug and he tapped the ash out of his cigarette. The relaxed action brought the anger, spite, and hate out of Drake who rushed up, he grabbed Haris’s shirt and hoisted him up, lifting him inches off the ground, “Why I asked goddamnit! Why did you kill her? Answer me!” Drake had the gun pointing at Haris’ left cheek.

“Because she was a distraction,” Haris growled, “She was stopping you from doing what you did best, she had to go.” Drake stared dumbfounded at Haris, who irritated smacked Drake’s limp hands and straightened his shirt. “You’re a hit man, you know it, I know it, you were never a peaceful person, the gift of that gun was a test, and you passed with flying colors.” Haris smiled, “You still want to be a killer, you still want to control when people’s lives end, you don’t want to start a family.”

“But I do…” Drake mumbled, still reeling from Haris’ response.

“No,” Haris replied, “You don’t, if you did why’d you take the gun?”

“For self-pro…”

“Bull and you know it.” Haris interrupted, “Come on Drake, forget her, let’s just pretend this never happened, and lets go on with our old lives, with us doing jobs, sleeping with anyone we want, and living life to the fullest.”
Drake took a deep breath, settling his nerves, and he pointed his gun at Haris again. “You. Killed. Emma.”

“Oh put the gun down,” Haris pulled the cigarette out of his mouth, throwing it into the sea. “Drake you wanted this to happen, I know you did, you know you did. So come on, forget her, let go. Come on Drake, put the gun down.” Drake stared at his oldest and best friend and partner, and he let his arm and head drop. His fingers ran across the engraving again, “Adepto officium perfectus” it pounded in his head. Emma was dead, “Adepto officium perfectus”. Harris killed her, “Adepto officium perfectus”. Kill him “Adepto officium perfectus”. Finish the job, “Adepto officium perfectus”. Kill him, “Adepto officium perfectus”, KILL HIM!

“There we go Drake,” Haris walked up and clapped him on the shoulder, “Come on, the boss got us a job already all lined up.”

Drake lifted his head up again, now a deranged look on his face. “Oh I have a job alright, and it’s gonna be my last job ever.” He grabbed Haris’ shirt again and pointed the gun back at his face.

“Drake what’re you…”

“I’m doing what you told me to do, what this gun is telling me to do. Remember?” Drake smiled and tapped the engraving, “Get the job done.” He pulled the trigger, and the man known as Haris had his head blown into the sea. Drake let go of the headless carcass and walked back in the room. He walked to the bed and kissed Emma again. “Yep, my last job ever.” Drake whispered, “Don’t worry honey, I’ll be with you soon.” He whispered again to the corpse. He pulled up a chair, and he slowly sat himself down. He cocked the gun again and placed it under his chin. “I’ll be with you soon.” He mumbled to himself again, his finger poised over the trigger.