Free Death Wish by Lindsey Menges Page B

with a smile.
“Hello, Eliza.”
She remembered to wear an all-black outfit like I requested. She has on a black t-shirt, black pants, and black ballet flats. I almost match her perfectly, except I’m wearing a black tunic instead of a t-shirt. While my hair is pulled up into a half ponytail, her hair is down, the A-line cut of her black and green hair framing her face. While she sits down, I pull out a manila folder from the middle drawer in my desk and lean forward to hand it to her. She opens it while I speak.
“Every time we are assigned a Death Wish, we receive one of these envelopes from the Clerical Department. Inside is a picture of the client, the manner of death they have requested, and any details pertinent to helping us complete the assignment.”
I walk around to take the empty seat next to Robin, and point to a section in the middle of the client’s profile.
“As you can see, this client has wished for Death while sleeping. So,” I move my finger to another part of the page, “under the ‘Pertinent Information’ section, we have been given her home address and usual times when she goes to bed. It says that she usually goes around nine o’clock, so we’ll go in between eleven and midnight to ensure that she’s soundly asleep.”
I stand up and Robin stands with me, holding the file to her chest. I lean down and look at her. I hadn’t noticed before, but she’s even shorter than Harrison. And with the nervous way she’s clutching the folder to herself, she looks even smaller.
“Hey.” She looks up at me. “Are you okay?”
She nods, but she still looks scared and possibly nauseous. I put my hand on her shoulder and give it a gentle squeeze.
“Robin, everything’s going to be okay. The first assignment is always the most challenging, but I know you’re going to be great.”
She gives me a timid smile.
“Thanks, Eliza.” Her voice is barely a whisper. “I’ll do my best.”
    *
    Getting into Marlene Rogers’ apartment is easy. The only resistance we encounter is a locked door, but I make short work of it while also teaching Robin the basics of lock picking. I straighten up and the door swings open into an unlit living room. Marlene’s Wish submission included a blueprint of the apartment, so I motion Robin forward to the bedroom in the back. There is a large bay window in the living room, and the moonlight provides enough illumination for us to make our way through without running into any furniture. I glance around at our surroundings.
There is a beautiful, plush sofa nearby, and decorating the walls and every available surface are a large assortment of knick knacks. I think back to the file and remember that our client is two-hundred-and-seven years old—that’s a lot of time to accumulate personal belongings. Robin comes up close and whispers in my ear, an undertone of anxiety in her voice.
“It looks like she’s lived such an exciting life… Why do you think she submitted a Death Wish?”
I’m about to say that I don’t know, as I have no way of knowing the inner workings of our client’s mind. But then a picture on a nearby desk catches my eye. The frame is worn, small hairline cracks line the wood, and the moving image inside was clearly taken a few decades ago. But that’s not what grabs my attention. The picture is of two people. One is Marlene, smiling happily as her yellow-blonde hair is blown backward by a breeze. The other is a man with pale grey eyes and dark brown hair, a laugh dancing on his lips as he holds and twirls the woman he loves in a dance.
I let out a sad sigh when I recognize those gray eyes.
“Eliza?”
I stop at the desk and pick up the portrait, holding the frame gently in my hands. I turn to look at Robin and point to it.
“I think I know why she submitted a Wish.”
I hand the aged frame to my protégé. She looks at it, and then quirks an eyebrow at me questioningly. I take back the picture and gently place it on the desk.
“I think that man was