Trigger

By: Emily Lints

I could still feel the recoil of the gun in my hands. Each kill was like a
knife to the heart, but I still continued to reap. I had no recollection of my life
before the Sanctuary. All I knew was that they saved me. They saved me
from myself.
My sweet Brielle, a soft voice beckoned me from the never ending
shadows, Im going to need you to come with me.
My parents bodies were laying on the floor in a pool of dark blood.
Wood creaked under my soft footsteps as I crept through the darkened
bedroom towards the scene. Blinking back salty tears, I saw family pictures
in broken frames strewn across the floor by my feet. Careful not to step on
any glass, I tiptoed closer to one of the pictures. My mother had always told
me that the photos were just memories, preserved by the frame. Now
though, the memories were as shattered as the glass.
That horrid day was burned into my mind. I went with the clean cut
man who whispered my name, hoping desperately that he could make
everything better. When I arrived at the gray brick building, I assumed that I
was being put in some kind of jail. It was big enough to be a prison, and I was
told that it housed over a hundred kids that were just like me. None of us had
a clue to why we were there, but none of us had anywhere else to go. It was
an orphanage of sorts, but it was also a sanctuary for those that were simply
lost.
Day after day I was called outside to train in the biting wind. Training
consisted of three parts: endurance, strength, and skills. Each part was
accompanied by assorted drills and exercises that were meant to better your

abilities. After every week there was an examination that tested your
improvements, and each week I was given the nod of approval. When the
heat outside in the summer became too unbearable, all of the girls took
turns getting their hair chopped into neat little bobs. That was only one of
the many transformations that we were faced with. After a while, everyone
started growing accustomed to the new way of life and settled into a simple
routine. Rigorous training followed every sunrise until the colors of the
sunset bled into darkness. Everyone had their skillset, but I seemed to be
good at all of the hand-to-hand combat fighting, gun training, and even the
archery lessons that the strict instructors made us take.
No one questioned authority. No one wondered what they were doing.
Everyone knew their place in the system. Everyone but me. Not one person
knew everything about their life before the Sanctuary, they could only form
new memories and a new lifestyle. All I knew was death and destruction. All I
knew was the life of a killer.
Im not a monster.
Brielle Donar please report to Mr. Hagards office immediately, the
mans booming voice filled the entire building, calling me to receive my new
assignment.
I jumped up from my place on a bench in the pristine lobby and
practically sprinted down the long hall. With my boots slapping the linoleum
and my heart beat steadily speeding up, I found myself at the large wooden
door that separated the headmasters office from the rest of the building. It
took a minute to pull open the heavy mahogany planks, but it had gotten
significantly easier since I started my weight training. Prancing towards Mr.

Hagards desk, my excitement of getting a new assignment seemed to take

over.
My dear Brielle, nice to see that you are ready for your next mission,
Mr. Hagard began, his soft voice at total odds with his tall stature and sharp
features.
Ive been ready for a long time sir, but I was recommended some rest
by the nurse. My voice was as bubbly as I felt, but still cracked when I
mentioned my short leave of absence after an especially hard kill.
Good, good. Now that youre back, he passed a thick file across the
desk to me, this is your new assignment. Study it hard and, as always,
remember all the details.
Will do sir! Thank you.
Taking his curt nod as my cue to leave, I stepped back out of the rustic
room and shut the door behind me. The bench right across the wide hall was
vacant, so I took a seat daintily. This was always the best time of the month,
when we received the new files. Digging into the research, I read over each
piece of paper and committed everything to memory.
Beverly Anderson.
That name sounded slightly familiar. A wrinkled picture slid out and fell
to the shiny floor. I picked it up and studied it carefully. It was the same sort
of photo that was in every file, with a red circle around the target. This time
though, I had seen it before. The last assignment that I had was in the
picture, along with the one before that. Was Mr. Hargard tasking me to kill a
family? Why not just do it all at once? It was not my place to question
authority however, so I left it alone. Nothing was worse than having a
confused mind full of questions that would never be answered.

Ms. Donar, there is a plane outside to take you to New York. Please
prepare a bag and meet the pilot outside in fifteen minutes, the petite
secretary instructed as she passed.
As soon as she was around the corner and out of sight, I gathered my
things and went to my dull room to pack. Clothes were not the only things
that we had to pack when going into the field. I collected various weapons
from the armoury such as a crossbow, hunting knife, and plenty of ammo for
my sidearm. Each item that went into the bag reminded me that this was not
how everyone spent their life. There was a world out there that I would be
better suited for, but I could not afford to think like that. I was trained for
these very situations, but it still didnt feel right. Grabbing my bags and
rushing out the door I headed towards the concrete patch that served as a
small airport.
Well hello there Craig. Im going to be spending the entire flight
studying my file so please, save yourself my bitter words and just dont talk
to me.
Rolling his eyes, the short blonde pilot of about thirty took my large
bags and somehow shoved them into a tiny compartment. While Craig
climbed into the cockpit, I took my time up the creaky stairs to the lounge
area. I parked myself on the plush couch and opened the file once again. The
entire flight consisted of complete silence and the odd patch of turbulence,
which made it the perfect time to memorize someones life story. For the
next few weeks, I would be watching, but not acting. Surveillance is an
important part of the job, so that you can know when and where to make the

final kill. Each minute is important and there is one rule, do not be
recognized.
*************************
Three weeks later, I squatted outside Beverly Andersons house in a
small neighborhood. The entire block consisted of soccer moms and baby
strollers, which did not make any sense of why Beverly would be living there.
She had no family, everything about them was wiped clean. When she finally
exited the two story house, she opened the white picket fence and closed it
behind her. Each night, she would come out at exactly eight oclock and go
for a jog around the block four times. I watched her take the same run every
single night, and nothing was ever different about it.
Its almost time, I thought, hoping that everything would go according
to plan.
As the middle aged woman started up her jog, I followed on the other
side of the street.Dressed as if I too was taking a nice evening run, my palms
started to sweat. No one would know what my actual intentions were. When
we got to the stretch of land around the corner that was under construction, I
started across the street towards her. Birds chirped happily in the
background, not knowing what was about to go on. The woman didnt
suspect a thing when I shoved my Nike clad foot behind her knee and took
out her long legs. Hitting the ground hard, she grunted in pain. Quickly, I
pulled her onto her back and swung a punch to her ribs, hoping to subdue
her with enough pain for me to get the job done.
Looking into her deep blue eyes, I finally got a good visual of her. I
recognized those eyes, that hair, the sharp cut of the cheekbones. They were

the same features that I saw every time I looked in the mirror. A sharp inhale
of breath signaled that she identified me as well.
Brielle?
One simple word. One simple word was all it took for my head to start
racing and my heart to start pounding to its own hectic rhythm. How could
she know me? I would not be assigned to someone that would recognize me.
That was protocol. I took in everything about her and wondered how she
could know me. I spotted a picture on the ground a few feet away. Taking out
my gun, I pointed it towards her as I carefully made my way over to it. She
seemed relieved that my weight was off of her, but just as scared about the
deadly weapon in my hand.
I had seen it before, in her file. Each face was clearly marked into my
memory. In the photo, there was a woman with a baby in her arms,
surrounded by what was presumed as close family. I had seen each one of
the faces before. I had killed every single one of them. I checked to see that
Beverly wasnt going anywhere before I let myself remember my previous
kills. I had a list in my cluttered brain that kept subconsciously adding
names: Devon OConnell, Mike Stuart, Stacey Leats, and Rebecca Harlow
were the first names that popped out at me. Each one of them was standing
in the photo, right next to Bethany Anderson.
They wanted me to kill the whole family, one by one.
But how did the woman know who I was? How did she know my name?
Turning to her, I placed the gun to her head.
How do you know who I am? I practically shouted, cursing when I
remembered that there were people just around the corner.
The woman just shook her head silently, tears filling her eyes. I asked
the question again, sliding my cold gun to her forehead. If she knew what

was good for her, she would answer. All of a sudden, each piece of the puzzle
fell into place. I had seen that picture before, and not just in the files that I
had received, but in my own house.
Photos are just memories, preserved by the frame.
In my parents bedroom, back before I was taken in and trained, we
had pictures lining the walls. Each one told its own story. This was the one
from my baby shower. I was six when my parents were murdered, but I still
remember that day. I also still remember that the man that came for never
let me see their faces. Those poor murdered people were not my real family.
All they wanted was me. This woman with the pistol pointed to her head, was
my mother. They had me killing off my own family.
Tears welled up in my eyes and my frail hand shook. Everything about
my life had been a lie. Those people in the picture however, werent my real
family. My real family was back at the Sanctuary where everything made
sense. Where I had been trained to do my job, and do it effectively. My real
parents probably didnt even try to look for me when I was taken. They just
stood idly by and waited for their daughter to come home. Did they care for
me? Probably. But are they my family? No.
Im not a monster, I said solemnly, relaxing my finger on the trigger,
But the deed must be done.
I fired.