Read Online A Rush to Violence by Christopher Smith - Free Book Online
Authors: Christopher Smith
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Your grandfather had an apartment in the Marais, which is where I stayed. It wasn’t far from where we live now and it was magical. I loved the cafés, the galleries, the arts community. I fell hard for the Bohemian culture. But with that culture came a kind of seduction through the shared ideas.”
She paused.
“Do you remember when you were having a difficult time in school?”
“Yes.”
“I told you it was normal for a reason. I was never popular in school. They hated me because my parents were rich. But over there? There I had the chance to rewrite my life. No one had to know where I came from. They didn’t need to know that I was Kenneth Miller’s daughter. Because of that, I was able to recreate myself. In doing so, I made friends easily, some of whom had radical ideas about the world and how we, as individuals, had the power to change it for the better. I was young and naive, but I believed what I heard. It made sense to me what they said. Over time, their mantra became my mantra. We needed change, even if change came at a cost.”
She closed her eyes and drifted back to that time. “The leader of the group was a young man slightly older than me. He was handsome and kind, thrilling, dangerous and intoxicating. I fell hard for him. Before long, we were lovers. After a few weeks of exploring and talking and just being with him, your grandfather started to call and ask why I wasn’t moving forward into other countries. He was so focused on making sure I used every bit of that year to travel extensively that he eventually said I had a week to leave the apartment and to move on from Paris. What he didn’t know is that I already had plans to leave.”
“You were going to leave with that man?” Emma said.
“That’s right.”
“Where were you going?”
“We went to Russia.”
“What was his name?”
She only would reveal his first name because it was so benign. “His name was Sam and he already had convinced me that I should join him in his line of work.”
“Which was what?”
“Just let me talk, Emma.”
She took a breath and turned once more to the window, which was welcoming because just beyond the glass was none of this. Sun glanced off the buildings shouldering high above Manhattan and the water leading up to it. A pigeon flew past the window and Camille wished she could hop on its wing, soar out of this room and away from this conversation.
But she had to continue it.
“Sam was an assassin,” she said. “He was hired to kill people. I found this out late in our relationship, but for whatever reason I didn’t end it because I believed him when he told me he didn’t take just any job that came his way. The job had to meet a certain criteria. The person in question needed to deserve to die, which sounds ridiculous until you understand the quality of people he was asked to target. They were beasts. Radical political leaders in third world countries who retained hold of their power by creating cultures of fear. Corporate leaders who maligned their workforce while making every effort to make themselves richer than you could imagine. People who organized violent hate groups so they could rob people of their dignity. Men who made millions by either enslaving children to work in sweat shops or by selling them for sex to the perverts who paid plenty for them.”
She shrugged. “But the jobs weren’t always so intense. Sometimes, they were smaller in scope, such as when we dealt with men who physically abused their wives and children. Child molesters were common and they were taken out. So were proven serial rapists. Those were the sorts of people he agreed to target when he was approached and those were the people I was trained to target through him. Turns out I was good at my job. Soon people started to contact me. And then I was in it so deep, his ideology became my ideology.” Her eyes flashed up to meet her daughter’s. “Back then, I liked what I did. I liked stopping someone
She paused.
“Do you remember when you were having a difficult time in school?”
“Yes.”
“I told you it was normal for a reason. I was never popular in school. They hated me because my parents were rich. But over there? There I had the chance to rewrite my life. No one had to know where I came from. They didn’t need to know that I was Kenneth Miller’s daughter. Because of that, I was able to recreate myself. In doing so, I made friends easily, some of whom had radical ideas about the world and how we, as individuals, had the power to change it for the better. I was young and naive, but I believed what I heard. It made sense to me what they said. Over time, their mantra became my mantra. We needed change, even if change came at a cost.”
She closed her eyes and drifted back to that time. “The leader of the group was a young man slightly older than me. He was handsome and kind, thrilling, dangerous and intoxicating. I fell hard for him. Before long, we were lovers. After a few weeks of exploring and talking and just being with him, your grandfather started to call and ask why I wasn’t moving forward into other countries. He was so focused on making sure I used every bit of that year to travel extensively that he eventually said I had a week to leave the apartment and to move on from Paris. What he didn’t know is that I already had plans to leave.”
“You were going to leave with that man?” Emma said.
“That’s right.”
“Where were you going?”
“We went to Russia.”
“What was his name?”
She only would reveal his first name because it was so benign. “His name was Sam and he already had convinced me that I should join him in his line of work.”
“Which was what?”
“Just let me talk, Emma.”
She took a breath and turned once more to the window, which was welcoming because just beyond the glass was none of this. Sun glanced off the buildings shouldering high above Manhattan and the water leading up to it. A pigeon flew past the window and Camille wished she could hop on its wing, soar out of this room and away from this conversation.
But she had to continue it.
“Sam was an assassin,” she said. “He was hired to kill people. I found this out late in our relationship, but for whatever reason I didn’t end it because I believed him when he told me he didn’t take just any job that came his way. The job had to meet a certain criteria. The person in question needed to deserve to die, which sounds ridiculous until you understand the quality of people he was asked to target. They were beasts. Radical political leaders in third world countries who retained hold of their power by creating cultures of fear. Corporate leaders who maligned their workforce while making every effort to make themselves richer than you could imagine. People who organized violent hate groups so they could rob people of their dignity. Men who made millions by either enslaving children to work in sweat shops or by selling them for sex to the perverts who paid plenty for them.”
She shrugged. “But the jobs weren’t always so intense. Sometimes, they were smaller in scope, such as when we dealt with men who physically abused their wives and children. Child molesters were common and they were taken out. So were proven serial rapists. Those were the sorts of people he agreed to target when he was approached and those were the people I was trained to target through him. Turns out I was good at my job. Soon people started to contact me. And then I was in it so deep, his ideology became my ideology.” Her eyes flashed up to meet her daughter’s. “Back then, I liked what I did. I liked stopping someone
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