"And you are?"
Zenoni narrowed his eyes.
The woman before him bore little resemblance to the Marilyn he might have known. Her face and neck were stitched together with thick, dark sutures, her pupils a cold, soulless crimson. The only remaining trace of her former self was the cascade of golden curls that tumbled over her shoulders.
But even if she had still looked exactly as she did before—Zenoni would not have recognized her.
"Oh well," Marilyn murmured. "It doesn't really matter to me."
She made no effort to jog his memory. Instead, she flicked her fingers—and the two grotesque corpses at her command lurched forward, their stiff limbs moving in eerie, unnatural jerks.
Zenoni stepped back slightly, but his expression remained composed.
"Who sent you?" he asked smoothly. "I can't imagine I've wronged anyone lately. But if someone's paid you to kill me, the least you can do is tell me who they are. I'd like to die knowing who I should curse in Hell."
Jack Arnold said nothing. He remained standing by the doorway, his towering figure cutting off any possible escape.
"Your memory truly is terrible," Marilyn sighed.
She reached into her coat and tossed something onto the floor—a silver chain, adorned with an emerald-green gemstone.
"Do you recall Maryanna?" she asked softly. "That foolish woman who was never quite rational?"
Zenoni's breath hitched.
His mind raced, piecing together details—a vague memory, an old affair, and the job he'd hired someone for just days ago.
His gaze snapped toward the necklace on the floor, its gemstone gleaming ominously under the dim lighting.
"You're... Marilyn?"
"The daughter of Maryanna."
"And the woman you sent an assassin to kill."
Zenoni exhaled slowly.
"You must understand—I regret what happened."
His voice softened, his tone suddenly dripping with remorse.
"Believe it or not, I only wanted someone to check in on you. It seems my words were twisted by those eager to see me fall."
He shook his head dramatically, stepping closer to her.
"You see, Marilyn, men like me… we are surrounded by enemies. At all times. There are countless people who would love to see me ruined, to drag me down into the filth where they dwell. You—
You were merely a convenient scapegoat."
A tragic misunderstanding.
An unfortunate consequence of his high status.
Surely, she could see that.
Surely, she would understand.
He glanced at Jack, still standing impassively at the door.
"And besides," he added lightly. "You seem to be doing much better now, aren't you? And you've even made some new... 'friends.'"
"You are as much of a liar as ever," Marilyn murmured.
"I wonder how my mother ever fell for you."
"Even at the very end, she still believed you might come back for her."
The undead thralls she controlled shambled forward, their snarling, slack-jawed faces mere inches from Zenoni.
A high-pitched scream erupted from the woman on the bed—she fainted on the spot.
But Zenoni?
Zenoni did not flinch.
Even as he recognized his own guards among the reanimated corpses, he remained eerily calm.
"I won't ask for forgiveness," he said, watching them advance.
"But at least let me explain myself before you kill me."
"Oh, of course," Marilyn replied sweetly.
"Take your time.
I just won't be listening.
If you have any last words, you can say them to Maryanna when you see her in Hell."
She snapped her fingers.
The thralls lunged forward—
BANG!
A deafening gunshot rang out.
One of the undead corpses jerked violently backward, a fist-sized hole gaping through its chest.
BANG! BANG!
The other collapsed, its mangled flesh twitching uselessly on the floor.
CH-CHK!
The gunman casually reloaded his double-barrel shotgun as he stepped through the shattered window.
"Tsk, tsk."
The newcomer clicked his tongue, shaking his head.
"You really do have a lot of enemies, don't you?
Let's see… how many times has someone tried to kill you this month?
Four? Five?"
He glanced at Zenoni with something akin to amused pity.
"Honestly, you might be the most detestable man I've ever met. People hate you more than rats in the gutter."
He chuckled, adjusting his crimson mask.
"If I hadn't already been paid, I'd let them kill you myself."
"1500 pounds isn't enough," he added lazily. "For the amount of work I've put into keeping you alive? I'm charging you 2000 now."
"Fine! 2500!" Zenoni snapped. "Just kill them! Now!"
"Much obliged," the masked man said, flashing a grin beneath his disguise.
He turned to Marilyn.
"You, my dear, must be the vengeful daughter. And your silent friend?"
He gestured toward Jack.
"The muscle, I presume?"
Jack did not respond.
Instead, he stepped forward.
"Either fight, or leave," he growled.
"Relax, relax," the masked man said, raising his hands in mock surrender.
"I'm just here for the money. No personal grudges."
"Then step aside," Marilyn ordered.
"Not quite yet," he murmured, tapping his fingers against the shotgun barrel. "You see, I signed a contract to keep this bastard alive until midnight."
He grinned.
"If you're willing to wait a few minutes, I'll let you kill him after that. How about it?"
"..."
Zenoni turned, staring at him in horror.
"You're joking."
The masked man beamed.
"Of course! What kind of professional would I be if I actually did that?"
"Enough," Jack growled, pulling off his hat.
Black tendrils of shadow coiled around his form.
The air thickened.
Zenoni took the opportunity to flee—
Ducking toward the open window.
"This just got interesting," the masked man muttered.
Jack surged forward—
A red blade of darkness materialized in his hands.
"Time to fight, then?" the masked man mused.
"Fine."
"But don't say I didn't warn you—"
A chime rang in the night.
The church bells struck twelve.
A distant shadow approached.
A slow, deliberate applause echoed through the silence.
"Brilliant," a voice chuckled.
"Simply brilliant."
��� TO BE CONTINUED...