The house was rather old, the paint chipped in places and the lawn patchy. There was a for-sale sign out front, which made sense with what she'd dug up on the inhabitant. An woman in her eighties... Her husband had died last year, according to the obits. Their only son had died three years prior. The papers at the library had a small feature on his strange disappearance, the investigation and later, the body that had washed up down river from the Fairweather Bridge. They'd called it a suicide and that had been that. How they pegged whomever that was to the man who was very obviously alive after seeing him on the street yesterday, Cinnabar had no idea.
Between the cost of the recent deaths, poor payouts from insurance and retirement and god knew what else, the house had gone into foreclosure and attempted short sale. Anna Thompson was losing her house, at eight-three, with no living relatives to fall back on. It had been just the right set of circumstances, and a small handful of years that made it feel safe, that had drawn the purified knight out of hiding to deliver what Cinnabar believed was enough money to pay off the house. Centarite had done well for himself in his new life, to be able to afford a lump sum like that. She suspected he'd stolen it... anyone who had worked up that money legitimately would have known you can't just throw around cash without the government taking notice. Idiot.
The whole thing stank of desperation... and Cinnabar loved it. This was just the situation she needed, the break that was going to give her an opportunity to recapture one of their 'lost sheep'. Prove to the General-Queen that she was worth the power she'd given her and that she didn't need Schorl to stand on her own two feet.
Slinking around the back past rose bushes over grown and wild, the captain peeked inside to get a look around the dark house. The lights had gone out hours ago... Anna was probably asleep by now. Getting inside, after that first look, was ridiculously easy. It only cost her a teleport. No one would even know she'd been there, if she was careful... Locks undisturbed, no finger prints if she didn't touch anything, which she didn't intend to.
Up the stairs and down the hall. Her boots were heavy, but the carpet was thick, worn shag that muffled it. The open door didn't even creak as she pushed it open and found the figure in bed, her sides rising and falling with the rythmn of sleep.
I'm sorry about this. You should have taught your son how to be loyal. Maybe you'll pay for his mistakes... maybe not. It'll be up to the General-Queen, in the end.
The deed was swiftly accomplished and in moments the house stood empty, the only sign of what had happened the rumpled bed, bare of its top sheet and blanket... and the note taped to the little window of the front door, giving an address and a warning to come alone.
Word count: 521
