Blood rushed through Eve’s head as the world around her halted. The bustling train station now seemed completely silent. Tonight was the night. Her hand was stealthily placed behind the man’s back, her eyes determinedly feral.
Villanelle, a vision in all black, stood hidden amongst the crowd.
Do it.
She stared at Eve with wonder. Eve stared at the oncoming train.
Do it.
Villanelle smirked. Eve Polastri would not do it. Not yet, she thought. Eve needed encouragement. A helping hand. A dire situation. Something that would make Eve feel vindicated in the moment. Villanelle could’ve provided her that. Except, Villanelle had a job to do tonight. A stinking, rotten job, but a job, nonetheless. She was only here to say goodbye to her beautiful, sweet, and…
SPLAT!
… startlingly vicious girlfriend.
The man’s body connected with the train. It would’ve been less of a mess if the push were more forceful. But Eve was gentle, and upon contact, the body flew sideways into the gap between the train and the platform, squishing him. Blood splattered against the side of the train car. It dripped down the platform edge. Droplets landed on people’s shoes. Eve stepped back as screams began to reach her ears. What had she done?
“Oh my gosh. That man just jumped!” Villanelle’s English accent was resolute. Her voice, shrill. With one sentence, she convinced the crowd that the man who so rudely shoved Eve minutes before, actually committed suicide. And Eve found herself face to face with the woman she stabbed weeks ago.
“Villanelle.”
“Shh, don’t talk.” Her heavy Russian accent cut through the chaos unfolding on the platform. “We have to go. Now.”
Eve nodded and allowed herself to be half-dragged away from the busy bodies gathered round her first victim.
Outside, Villanelle hailed a cab. As they sat, she focused on Eve whose facial expression was stoic, not shocked. Her shoulders were up to her ears.
“Where to?” the driver asked.
Eve gazed out the window, unresponsive.
Villanelle grimaced. “39 Piscally Street. Ealing.”
The driver nodded and pulled off. They rode in silence, Eve watching cars pass by and Villanelle playing with her window. The tinted glass slid down and up, down, and up, down, and—
“Please,” Eve muttered, emotionless. “Stop.”
Villanelle lifted her finger from the button, leaving the window half open. She bemusedly raised an eyebrow and shifted her body towards Eve. “Did you get the roses I sent you?”
“I did.”
“And? What did you think?”
Eve sighed. The leather seat squinched as she turned and made eye contact with her assassin. “I loved them.”
How could she not? The funeral flowers that spelt her name had done something to Eve. Excited her. They let her know that Villanelle was there, was thinking of her, was plotting to kill her. More importantly, they made Eve feel in control. When she called, Villanelle came running.
“I thought you would like them. I picked them special for tonight.” A warm hand gently caressed Eve’s cheek. “But you make things so much harder, Eve, do you know that?”
The agent’s breath hitched. Her hands yielded a slight tremor. “I do?”
Villanelle nodded slowly. Even in the backseat of a cab, she exuded an air of power. It was strong and pungent, but simultaneously sweet. Like pine, and roses.
Eve tilted her head closer. She could taste the astringent fragrance wafting from the woman’s wrists.
“Tell me,” Villanelle whispered, tucking a dark curl behind Eve’s ear. “Why did you push him?”
“I…” Eve lost her voice. She wanted to say, “He pushed me first. I didn’t think he’d fall into the train; I didn’t even push him that hard.”
But…why lie?
“I just…” Eve was just curious. What did killing someone feel like? Could she do it and still live with herself? Would people see her differently afterwards? Would Villanelle? Her questions would be unanswered if she hadn’t pushed him, and unanswered questions were boring.
The cab was beneath a particularly bright lamp post when Eve replied.
“Curiosity killed the cat?”
Villanelle’s eyes narrowed. “Satisfaction won't bring him back.”
She searched Eve’s face for even the slightest tinge of fear before scooching back to her window seat. Her upper lip twitched. Eve cringed as the window rolled up into the doorframe, but for the first time since leaving the station, she visibly relaxed.
“You look nice,” she declared.
Villanelle raised a bottle of champagne. “I thought I’d dress for the occasion.”
“What’s the occasion?”
“I’m–"
“We’re here,” the driver interrupted. He stopped at an unlit house on a quaint, quiet street and reached his hand around for the fare. Villanelle glared at him before continuing.
“I’m about to be in mourning.”
Eve stood up. After rummaging through her bag, she pulled out her keys.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
The car door slammed shut.
“How rude.” Villanelle looked at the driver and cocked her head to the right. “It's unfortunate, really. For you.”