The Black Rose
Entry 18

I halted, taking one last look at myself in the reflective mirror wall of the coffee shop before I entered. I wore a V-neck black jumpsuit that hugged my breasts perfectly, black velvet Gucci pumps, and a long, silken blue trench coat. My hair was in a tight bun, two wisps framed my powdered cheeks, with black-rimmed secretary glasses shimmering in the morning light.

“Wow, you look lovely, Ms. Rivers,” Dr. Malenski beamed, his eyes widening as he rose to greet me. His intentions and angst written on the fine lines of his face.

“Thank you, you can just call me Angela,” I smiled meeting his enthusiasm, allowing the good doctor to help remove my coat.

“And you can call me Boris,” he smiled warmly. “Can I buy you something to drink?” he hastily inquired as we sat, waving for the waiter to drop whatever it was he was doing to rush over.

“Oh sure, I will take an espresso, and a lavender scone”, I grinned, just as the waiter hustled over. Truth be told I had come to this coffee shop twice before this and had practically memorized the menu.

“This beautiful lady will take an espresso, and a lavender scone, actually, make that two scones,” he echoed to the young man.

“I will get that going for you two,” he smiled eagerly and strode away, his face wishing he was anywhere else but here.

“Now, before we get to business, I must know more about you,” the doctor swooned. I swallowed slightly, my teeth clenching. This man didn’t care to know anything about me. He only wanted to pretend to care, so I would give him what he really wanted, access to my pants.

“Well, I currently live in New York as a writer, and I have little to no family, little to no friends, and little to no interests besides journalism,” I shrugged nonchalantly, cool, and confident. I did my homework.

“Wow,” he grinned, “You sound like me. Someone solely invested in their work.”

“You nailed it,” I smiled brightly. Little did he know.

“I must confess, I have never read one of your articles, and when I googled you, not much surfaced,” he gestured with a strong furrowed brow.

The waiter brought our scones and my espresso, sitting them on the table, causing only a momentary reprieve in our conversation. I knew this would arise.

“Yes,” I smiled warmly. “I am fairly new, and truth be told, this is my first assignment. I was mostly on research duty before.”

The doctor lit up, “Wow, well I’m honored to be your first. We all have to start somewhere, but I have a feeling you will be great.”

I wanted to take my dull butter knife and stab him in the eyes. I could feel my hands trembling beneath the table. I had taken my usual dosage of happy pills this morning but still felt on edge.

“I sure hope so,” I grinned sheepishly, quelling the dark thoughts.

“So, why choose an old decrepit scientist like me as your first assignment?” He winked.

I sipped my espresso daintily, exuding excitement, and a bashful nature as if what I was about to admit was the next tidbit of juicy gossip.

“Well, truth be told, I had a close...friend die of cancer.” My breath hitched ever so slightly as I thought of Annie.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Boris sighed, the sorrow written in his furrowed brows. “If you don’t mind me asking what type of cancer?”

I wasn’t expecting this conversation. “She had stage four breast cancer.”

“That’s tough. Was she older or younger?” he pressed.

“She was, in her late thirties, in excellent health.” I needed to change the subject. Annie was the last person I ever wanted to discuss. I preferred to keep her buried deep in my secured vault where Dr. Marlo presumed she lived, but the memory took hold. My head dizzied and I could feel the cold sweet pushing through my pores. The anxiety building.

“My sincerest apology, Angela. Losing a loved one is never pleasant.” He placed his hand on mine. “I know that all too well. It’s the same reason I invested my life in this research. My late wife, she was diagnosed with cancer at a very early age, leukemia. After watching her health and zest for life disappear and her inevitable death, I made a promise to her and myself that I would beat it,” he muttered defiantly, his eyes spaced as if he was reliving that moment.

“Well, it seems we have more in common than previously thought,” I soothed placing my hand on his. His eyes darted to mine, waking him from his trance.

“You’re so kind,” he mumbled. I smiled warmly in his direction, but underneath I writhed as my skin touched his. Moving away, several moments of chilled silence passed as we both wrestled with our inner demons, mine in desperate need of a time out.

“Mind if I ask a few more questions?” I cut through the silence.

“Oh, yes, of course, I’m sorry. Bringing Stella up makes me a little spacey,” he shook his head as if trying to remove her from his memory.

“What would you say was or will be your next breakthrough?” I continued.

“I have, I mean, I hope to either turn off cancer before it even begins, or reverse the malicious growths before they kill the host. While much of our lifestyle choices can alter our epigenetics, I want to go a step further. If we can identify the target cells prone to multiplying out of control before it becomes serious, then we can prevent anyone from dying of it ever again, and that’s any type of cancer. If we could prevent it or reverse it at the genetic level, it could be the biggest medical achievement in decades,” he boasted, his dead wife long forgotten.

“Are there any harmful side effects of your research?” I probed.

“Well, I would say almost anything could have a deleterious effect, especially something new and untested, but to our knowledge thus far, no.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. I could sense he thought about this often. “I guess if one could manipulate our genes at such a level, they could use the same technology for harm.”

Bingo.

“Hypothetically speaking,” I added, searching his face.

“Yes, hypothetically, like a gun. A gun in the right hand could save lives, but in the wrong hands, it could end lives,” he added.

“And in your hands?” my brows rose, still trying to figure this man out.

He looked at me with surprise, “In my hands, I hope to save as many lives as I can.”

I nodded smiling, “Of course, and from everything I know, you have and you will.”

Now that I had the order to kill, I didn’t care about extracting as much extraneous information as I could. Besides, I knew why Shadow wanted him dead, he was a threat. He was a “sensible, smart” doctor. To Shadow, those proved to be the worst sort, the kind that needed to be neutralized.

“Well, I think that concludes my interview,” I clicked the stop button on the recorder and placed it in my bag.

“So soon?” he asked a little downtrodden.

“I’m afraid so,” I frowned, “But I know what my article will be. I want to shed light on the reasons behind your work, and the reasons that many people, including me, would want you to succeed.”

He nodded, “I like that. Stella would’ve liked that.”

I smiled warmly in his direction, pushing my designer frames higher up my nose. “Then I can’t wait for you to read it.”

“I look forward to it,” he added as we both rose from the table. “Can I walk you to your next destination?” he asked pleadingly.

I returned the candid desperation, “Of course, I was going to return to my hotel.”

“And what hotel might that be?” he hastened, the idea that he might get to spend more time with me rancid.

“The Hilton,” I replied dotingly. “And where are you headed?”

“The same hotel, imagine that,” he grinned widely as he waved the same young, pimply waiter over for the check.

After quickly paying, I allowed the good doctor to place the trench coat over my arms, and walk side by side out into the bustling street.

“So, off the record,” I poked, “How close are you to making that breakthrough?”

The doctor looked at me sheepishly, shaking his head, “Even off the record I can’t disclose that, but let’s just say I am closer than I let on at the conference.”

“I knew it,” I grinned sheepishly, his confidence in me surreal.

“Your secret is safe with me,” I added playfully.

“Thank you, Angela,” he smiled, “And what of you? Will I ever get to see you again?”

I chuckled, “I will have to return to New York, write this glowing article, and hopefully make plans to see you again.” Men were so simple. They were like a cat and a woman was the laser pointer. They would follow that little red light just about anywhere, even over a cliff or into a sharp blade.

“I would like that very much,” he swooned, opening the hotel door for me to step through.

While I hadn’t planned on killing the doctor so soon, if it was one thing I was best at, it was improvising.

“Would you like to continue our conversation in my room?” I asked innocently. “Well, maybe in your room, my room is a disaster,” I added, hastily pointing that little red laser in a different direction.

“Of course, I would like that,” he smiled brightly. “I can’t say my room is the picture of perfection, but compared to a young, beautiful journalist, it might be better suited.”

The doctor hit floor nine and we started to rise. Little did he know my floor was the penthouse, my room immaculate. Walking in awkward silence, we made our way to room 908. As he keyed us into his standard room, I glanced the hallway to make sure no one could see us. I would hack into the camera footage upon leaving here and erase us entering the elevator.

“Shall I make us more coffee?” he asked tentatively as we entered the less than grandiose room.

“That would be lovely, one can never have enough caffeine,” I trilled, scanning his room with my eyes. His bed was neatly made, the computer placed on the desk in the closed position, his bag in the corner, his room looked spotless.

“How long will you be in Washington, D.C.?” he asked while fiddling with the hotel’s coffee maker.

“I leave tonight, a brief trip, I’m afraid,” I frowned slightly.

“Oh, that’s a shame. I was going to ask if you would accompany me to the conference dinner this evening,” he trailed, downtrodden.

“I would’ve been delighted,” I smiled, moving closer to him. Soon I would need to make my move. In my bag, I fingered a small vial that held a tablet form of my fabled black rose. I twisted off the cap with one hand, my eyes and attention, never leaving his.

“And how do you like your coffee? I’m afraid there aren’t a plethora of choices,” he chuckled.

“Black is fine,” I answered, moving close to his left. Our coffee cups side by side, he moved to grab the packet of sugar and creamer, and within those few seconds it took him to select what he wanted, I had dropped the tablet into his cup. Thanks to the steaming coffee, the tablet would dissolve in seconds.

Pouring the contents of the sugar and creamer in his coffee, he stirred it gently with the red plastic stirrer. “Cheers,” he smiled to me, and we raised our Styrofoam cups.

“To breakthroughs,” I muttered.

“To unexpected fortunes,” he added. Surely, he was implying me, but I wasn’t about to chomp that bait. All I had to do now was wait for the poison to take effect, which was only a few sips long.

I sipped the black liquid, hopefully encouraging him to do the same. He took his first sip and I watched curiously.

“So, do you have a significant other in New York?” he asked boldly. So boldly, I wasn’t expecting it.

“I don’t,” I shook my head bashfully. “I’ve sort of been married to my work over the past few years, trying to make it in New York.”

“I know the feeling,” he chuckled.

“Surely a man like you has women pining over him?” I batted his arm playfully again like a kitten would a ball of yarn.

“I don’t know about pining,” he joked, “But women do love a man with a brain.”

“And what about you?” I uttered. “Do you love a woman with a brain?”

“I wouldn’t—” He paused mid-sentence. Grabbing his throat, he began to wheeze and choke. I didn’t move. The coffee cup began to slide from his hand but I swiped it in midair before it could fall. I couldn’t leave any evidence.

Dr. Malenski fell to his knees choking and gasping for air. His eyes were wide with horror, pleading for me to help, to save him. My eyes wide with glee, I bent low to meet his frightened gaze, I grinned sinisterly.

He croaked, “Why?”

My hand fumbled in my oversized bag and found the familiar dark green stem of a black rose. I twirled it in my fingers but left it inside. This had to be a heart attack. No clues or signature necessary.

His expression morphed from one of pleading to one of shock and horror as he realized no one would be coming to his rescue.

Men seemed more shocked that a woman like myself would be their demise. They fought harder, unwilling to relent their solemn masculinity to that of a dainty woman. Women on the other hand, seemed to take their sentence, their death with dignity, almost as if they expected it.

“Because I can,” I muttered, bending down to meet his gaze.

Thunk.

The doctor’s body finally hit the floor with a sickening thud. I frowned his death too quick.

I reached down and felt for a pulse, none. Clinically, I moved to the bathroom and poured the coffee down the sink. I placed the cup in my bag and quickly moved to his computer and opened it. Like a practiced hacker, I retraced my steps to the doctor’s dead body and swiped his phone from his front pocket.

“Ugh,” I sighed. I needed his face to open it. I hated that phones were getting more secure.

I moved the phone to his sideways face, and it took three tries before the phone would finally unlock. I guess it doesn’t easily recognize dead horizontal faces.

Inside his phone, I plugged in my handy device that can filter and pull any necessary passwords on the phone or that was used in any of the apps or emails. As the device searched, I plugged my thumb drive into the computer port.

After five minutes, the device pulled up several passwords for which I feverishly attempted on his computer. On the fifth attempt, it opened. Once in, I swiftly copied his contents to my thumb drive, closed the computer, removed the device from his phone, and placed the phone back in his pocket after carefully wiping it down. Mission accomplished.

Heading for the door, I slipped the “do not disturb” sign over the handle and made my way to the stairwell, walking the five million steps to the penthouse floor. By the time I entered my room, I was sweating far more than I cared too, but I was satisfied. The adrenaline from the kill still coursed through my veins. I peeled off my contaminated clothing and stuffed it in a laundry bag. Still naked, I sat on the hotel desk chair and clicked on the back-door file I had set up for the hotel’s security system. With a few more clicks I had pulled up the security room’s camera feed. Finding the elevator camera and the footage of Dr. Malenski and I entering the elevator together and exiting on his floor, I erased it. I then found the footage of us entering the hotel together and erased that too.

That step completed, I hopped in the shower and washed my hair and body with practiced precision, the steaming water igniting the rush and feeling. His eyes growing wide, the sinking feeling that his life was about to end, the sparkle slowly fading as blood rushed to the heart. Death provided an exhilarating fascination for my overpowered brain.

Once Dr. Boris Malenski’s body was found, which would probably be when the maid entered to clean his room the following morning, I would be long gone. The autopsy or coroner’s report would show that Dr. Malenski died of a heart attack.

Stepping out of the shower, I put on fresh, stylish L.A. worthy attire, popped three more pills, zipped my carryon, and made my way down to the lobby. Lingering in the hotel any longer than necessary was foolish. Besides, I had a flight to catch.

“How was your stay with us, Ms. Rivers?“, the polite, and attractive young woman asked as I checked out.

“The service was impeccable, as usual,” I grinned.

“How would you like to pay for your extra services?” she asked looking at my expensive room service charges.

“You can use the card on file, and add an extra tip for yourself,” I winked, “However much you want.”

She looked at me as if I was Mother Teresa herself. “Oh, that is too kind.”

“I’m serious,” I added. “Add another two hundred.”

She gazed at me for a moment, but when I didn’t budge, she recalculated the bill and I signed on the dotted line. If I wasn’t leaving on a plane to move across the country, I would’ve asked her for her phone number, but I guess a sizeable tip would suffice.

Checking out finished, I hailed a cab and waved goodbye to the good doctor Boris. I was now on my way to the airport, to a new city, a new experience, with only a carryon suitcase and oversized expensive purse. To the outside, I was probably a spoiled rich heiress, or an uber-successful designer, or in real estate sales. Nadine trained me to look appealing, mysterious, and above all, incapable of criminal activity.

I would say, for the most part, I adhered to those stringent guidelines. The powers that be weren’t thrilled with my black rose-themed deaths, but with the media attention conjuring up ridiculous leads, and the authorities scratching their heads, they conceded (and by convincing, I mean, they probably found another way to scheme their plans and decided not to kill me).

Now, the Black Rose was headed to Hollywood. I pictured myself driving some fancy sports car on Rodeo drive and shopping in the luxurious boutiques that only celebrities frequented or could afford. I pictured the upscale bars, the mile-high palm trees, and the sun. I grin spread across my face as I envisioned my new life.

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