The Caldwell Files

Witch Hunt - Prologue

Snow was falling outside the window overlooking the still bustling Chicago street as Ellen McClain pulled the small vial of liquid with a veiled lilac hue from her bag. Two glasses of inky-looking wine sat on the bar in front of her. In the light, the liquid showed a deep violet hue. Ellen carefully held the vial in front of her, admiring the liquid within as a twisted smile carved into her face. 

Belladonna.

"Beautiful Woman" as it was translated to English. How appropriate that the man in the other room would meet his demise by his greatest vice. Ellen uncapped the vial carefully with a gloved hand. Her hand was steady and sure as she tipped the contents into the left-hand glass. She placed the vial in her handbag again, careful to position it so it would not tip as it was transported.

Ellen carefully removed the gloves and slid them back into her bag as well. She took a glass in each hand and retreated into the bedroom of the large hotel room. She was conscious about the way she walked as she padded barefoot into the room. She barely made a sound on the hardwood floor. Her hips swung, her eyes straight ahead and slightly narrowed.

The man waiting for her was middle-aged, grey laced through his once auburn hair. Laugh lines and crow's feet showed the age of the man on his otherwise handsome face. His tie was loosely hanging around his neck and the top couple buttons of his shirt were undone. His blazer was tossed haphazardly on a nearby chair. He had other things on his mind than wrinkles in his jacket.

Ellen held out the glass in her left hand, which her partner took without question. He swirled the wine within the glass, effectively mixing in the Nightshade extract, before taking a large swig of the wine. He winced away from the taste but tried to hide it. Ellen took a sip from her own glass, a smile on her face. He only had minutes before the toxin kicked in.

Small talk was something that she had always been good at. She could talk about nothing for hours to kill time. It was helpful for someone in the political field. Her target, being a candidate for congress, was swept easily into the small talk. His hand ran up and down her exposed leg. She felt goosebumps crawl down her arms but resisted her temptation. She was buying time, that's all she was doing here.

It wasn't long before her target's speech was slurring, his pupils dilated. He shook his head, blinked several times as she knew the hallucinations were starting to set in. He was trying to clear his vision. He backed away from her, backing up to the elaborate headboard. Fear was setting in, he was beginning to panic.

Ellen stood, walking around the side of the bed. She wondered what he was seeing. What was she? Was she his worst fear as she should be? She walked back out of the room to grab her handbag and returned. She replaced the gloves and set to work. Her target struggled as fantasy and reality started to blur. His mind was declining fast. He would be dead soon. She shoved a balled-up sock in his mouth to muffle the sound of his panicked screaming. She pulled a couple of lengths from her bag and started to tie the struggling politician to the bed. It would have been easier to do this before he was struggling, but far less satisfying.

She pulled off the gloves in quick motions and shoved them back in her bag. The Politician was still struggling against the ropes and yelling through the sock in his mouth. She grasped her glass and drained its contents, feeling the alcohol burn her throat as it went. She turned and sauntered away from her target, knowing he would be dead in minutes. Now she had other matters to attend to.

She grasped her bag and collected her shoes. She took a look in the vanity mirror on her way to the door. She tousled her hair a bit as she gave the woman in the mirror a disdainful look before leaving the hotel room. She noted the camera down the hall and leaned against the door. Her hand ran through her hair, she forced herself to look like she was breathing heavily. She looked up and down the hall before retreating toward a sign pointing out the stairwell.

In the stairwell, Ellen chuckled. Her job was nearly done. Target one was surely dead by now, now to take care of the other one. She headed up the stairs rather than down, heading for the roof access at the top. She ducked through the door marked "Employees Only". Inside was a small room used for maintenance and storage. The layers of dust on the machinery said that people rarely came up here.

However, this evening there were two people in this room.

In the corner, was the unconscious body of Ellen McClain. In a similar dress to the one the assassin wore. She slept soundly, resting against the cold stone wall of the maintenance room. She was exactly where the assassin had left her.

The assassin concentrated for a moment and felt her body morph. The cocktail dress she was wearing which had been form-fitting was now a bit loose and a couple of inches shorter than she was comfortable with. Her hair thinned and receded back into her skull, forming a neat pixie cut. She had clothes stashed in the room she would change into in a moment, but now she admired the woman she had just framed. She knelt next to the harlot, a twisted smile forming again.

"Oh, my dear Ellen," She said, slowly caressing the cheek of the unconscious woman. Her fingers ran down to just below her jaw where she checked for the barely-there pulse. "What have you done?"