A LITTLE TOUCH OF ROSE - EPISODE 1

Finally, Japan, we meet again. It had been six years since I stepped my feet in any states or cities of Japan. The last time I came was to see her, the evil witch that abandoned me. She was so happy, living and giving her children all the love she never gave me. I should have killed her then, but a sick part of me just didn’t want to. Finally, I was here to do what I should have.

I didn’t just come to Japan for her, I also came because I had business to take care of. In all my years of work, I’d never killed a soul in Japanese soil, never. There are some countries which I just don’t wish to kill at, Japan being one of them. Anytime I had issues with anyone in the country, I lure them off to my ground and kill them. Father thinks it sweet and amazing how I can lure my prey out of it den right into mine.

Too bad Japan, you are about to get what’s coming.

I waited for my Uber, it was easier living low than high. I came here for a mission, and that mission was important. Father didn’t really know why I finally decided to step my feet in Japan to do my work. He thought I was over my liking for it and wants to plant my flag there. I really wish I don’t have to, but it was the best cover to keep him away from finding out the real reason. He had no idea I knew the witch lives in Ota, Japan. If he knew, he would never allow me come. For some reason, he doesn’t wish her any harm.

“Where to, miss?” The cabman asked politely.

“You speak English?”

“Obviously. I’m one airport’s Uber. It is a must to know how to speak English, even if not fluently. You know, we meet different kind of people but English is the most easy way to communicate. I can speak six types of languages and understand ten extra. Isn’t that amazing?”

“Yes, remarkable,” I said with false astonishment.

“So, how many languages can you speak? Beside English? Your accent is British, are you from the United Kingdom?” He queried as he drove me to my hotel. He already knew where I was going to stay.

“Is it necessary to answer that?”

“Oh no, I don’t mean to offend you, just curious. Most of you outsiders know how to speak more than one language.”

“You know one can’t speak all languages fluently,”

“Yes, but at least you know how to use it. How many?” I chuckled at his curiosity. If I told him I could speak 65 languages fluently, 800 not fluently, read and write 815 and can only understand a thousand. He would definitely know I’m a criminal. Why else would I need to know so much? It was the rule set. I even broke the record of fluent in my family. If the world knew I could speak 65 languages fluently, I’ll be added to world record.

But just like many people who have greater talents but aren’t known to the internet, I chose not to let anyone know. I was still learning more. Trust me, your brain stops hurting after you learn the first thousand. If you love languages like I do, that’s the case.

“Ten, I am fluent with ten languages, can read and write twelve even if I find it difficult to pronounce four out of them and can understand fifteen.” The lie smoothly left my mouth.

“Now, that is remarkable. You know, I personally like British and Australia English English because of the accent. It’s pleasant to the ears. Do you?”

“I technically have the accent, so yes.” I rolled my eyes. I could use any accent I wanted, any at all. I just choose British and Australia since they are my original origin. Knowing a lot of languages tend to make you mix it up unconsciously.

“Have you heard Danish? Someone ones wrote that it sounds like German and Swedish had a messed up child,” he joked. I nodded and turned my face to the window. He still kept talking. “Cantonese sounds like people cursing at each other. This one is the funniest. Welsh sounds like people choking on potatoes,” he laughed. I sighed heavily.

“Don’t you just hate it when you are trying to get someone to stop talking but that person doesn’t seem to get the memo?” I asked.

“Oh yes, I hate those people, they can talk a lot. You know, one time I picked this Czechoslovakian woman,”

“Czechian or Slovakian,” I corrected.”

“Czechoslovakian woman who wouldn’t stop talking about her husbands. I was trying to get her to stop talking but…” I tuned him out for the sake of his life. The man was doing a good job in annoying me. He was lucky I was in a good mood. My good mood is not having the urge or strength to kill or beat up anyone.

“We are here,” he announced. I heaved a sigh of relief. Before he could talk again, I was out of the Uber and breathing in fresh air. Then the talker had to come out and get my bags and started talking about the history of the hotel. The moment I got my bags, I threw some dollar notes at his face and hurried off.

“Thank you, miss, you’re too kind!” He shouted after me. I wonder how his other passengers survive him. I almost survived by ending his.

“Welcome to…”

“Save the greeting,” I cut her off brusquely. “Reservation for Rosita Fiero.”

“Hold on, miss,” the receptionist said politely. I drummed my fingers on the counter as I waited for her to get it over and done with. “I’m sorry, miss, your hotel room have been given to someone else.”

“Huh?”

“You see, you didn’t show up yesterday so the management thought you no longer want to stay here. We gave the room to a better paying client.” I saw what she did there. She exaggerated the better paying to mock me. I rolled my eyes. I didn’t want to live in my penthouse because father had access to the security cameras and codes. I didn’t need him fathering me secretly while I work. He can be very protective and insistent on my staying away from boys.

“Assassin or not, Rosita, it doesn’t change the fact that you are a beautiful woman and any man would want you for this beauty.” He would always nag. I rolled my eyes again at the thought of even falling in love. Who needs it? Definitely not me.

I brought out my phone from my ripped fishnet boot cut jeans and turned it on. I waited patiently for the phone to turn on and the system to set before dialing the penthouse keeper’s number.

“Yamaguchi, good evening.”

“Hello, who’s this?” He asked confusedly. I forgot he didn’t have my Japan line.

“It’s me, Yamaguchi, Miss Rose…”

“Oh my… Miss Donahue, long time… I didn’t know… Sorry…”

“Stop spluttering. Is my penthouse in good shape?” I intentionally said that out loud and smirked at the lady. I put the phone on loudspeaker so she would hear.

“Of…of course, ma’am, I’ve been taking extra good care of it since you gave me the job. You should see it ma’am, always clean and sometimes I turn on the electronics to warm it up so it won’t get bad like you instructed. I even did that yesterday…”

“Drop the keys, I’m coming over.”

“Wait, what? Now? You are in Japan? In Shibuya?”

“Ota actually,”

“Why? You don’t have any penthouse or apartment there,” she pointed out. I nodded.

“I’m aware, but I have business to attend to here. Nevertheless, I’m coming over to the apartment in Shinagawa, be there before me.”

“But if your business is in Ota, won’t it stress you?” I removed the phone from loudspeaker. “Why not stay at a hotel?”

“I did book an hotel room, but it was given away because they think I can’t afford it. Know any other hotel I can go to?”

“A friend of mine owns a cab in Ota, I’ll call him to pick you up and take you to the best.”

“Thank you, Yamaguchi.”

“Always here to help, miss.” I hung up and pushed myself off the counter. Note that our conversation was spoken in Japanese.

“Miss, please, why don’t you stay for a minute, I’ll get you a room.”

“No, thank you.” I carried my bags again and walked out. Knew I should have gotten an apartment in Ota too. But what is the use of having different apartments and penthouses spread across the globe and not live in them? The only reason we had them was for our missions and the fact that whatever building our apartment or penthouse is, we owned it or it was a family friend’s. I had never been to Ota. We didn’t have any reason to.

The witch will definitely pay for the stress.

_______________

The doors chimed as I pushed it open. The cold coffee air greeted me first before the tuned down music. The café was just like the ones in the pictures, exactly. This was where my suppose half-sister worked; my mother’s favorite daughter.

I ran my eyes around until it met it target. She was busy singing softly as she mopped the floor. Lucky bitch was my mother’s lookalike. Short black hair that needed serious care, big blue eyes like mother’s, slightly puffy cheeks and baby pink lips. She was beautiful, just needed wealth to spoil her. Her appearance suited her name. When you see her, the first thing that comes to mind is cherry blossom. I hate her.

“Sakura, we have a customer,” the other girl shouted like it was absolutely necessary to shout to someone six steps from her. I shut the doors and walked in with heavy footsteps. Sakura, my sister, raised her head to find me.

I temporarily halted as those piercing innocent blue eyes fell on me. My heart skipped a beat at the pure innocence in her eyes, the warmth and yet again, pain her eyes carry. Sakura was in a lot of pain. She offered me a force smile before rolling it away. I continued walking to a booth as I thought about why she would be sad and in pain.

I adjusted my face cap and bowed my head. My plan was to take away the life of mother’s precious the same day she bore me. It was my unfortunate birthday. I never celebrated my birthdays because it gave me nothing but pain. The plan was simple. Kill the first one on the way I was born, the second on the day she left me, and the last the she married her second husband. I would let her cry herself to death, the perfect punishment for leaving me to a life of crime.

“Ohayōgozaimasu, pīchizuburossamu e yōkoso,” I rolled my eyes.

“In English.”

“Erm… Uhm… Can’t speak English very well,”

“Oh, but you can understand it, no?” She nodded. “Good enough for me. One lemon tea if you have it.”

“Okay, thank you.” Her Japanese accent painted her English. It was cute. I shook my head to get off the feeling. Even though I acted like I hated them, deep down something had always told me to reconsider.

Not sooner than three minutes, she brought my tea and went back to work. I observe her with both curiosity and hate. Curiosity for why she was sad, hate from everything else.

“Sakura-chan, are you still sulking?”

“I am not sulking,” she said in Japanese. “Today is the first worse day of the year, why should I be happy? My mother is probably at the tree again, crying her eyes out as she sings a pathetic birthday song for the person she lost. I just wish she could tell me who that person she lost is, the person that always makes her sad. Every year on this day, she just go to the tree and do the birthday ritual for the dead person. Three months from now, she will repeat the same it only with no cake and cry for three straight days. I wonder what the other one means…”

“You are always wondering,” Sakura threw the mop away with a annoyed puff.

“I want her to open up to me, I want her to tell me what it is that makes her so sad and unhappy, but she would never tell. She keeps saying it’s best we don’t know what we lost than know and wallow with her. Can you imagine? I’m seventeen now, I can handle anything.”

Mother cries on my birthday? Why would she cry?

I was in shock, she wasn’t saying the truth. Why would mother cry every year on my birthday and… Wait, three months from now is when she abandoned me. I stood up immediately, dropped some notes on the table and walked out. I had a tracker on her, I could find her anytime. I needed to make sure I wasn’t hearing things. Did she regret what she did?

My personal Uber took me to the location. It was in a very lonely park. I had to trek deep into the park before I found her. The woman who bore me knelt under a tree, a baby blanket in her hands. There was a big cake in front of her and white candles surrounding the ground, surrounding the cake. She was crying and singing a birthday song, one I have never heard before.

I walked closer to her as I tied on a bandana. I folded my hands behind my back and stood a ten feet behind her.

“Ma’am, why are you crying?” She flinched and turned around.

“Oh dear, you scared me. What are you doing here child?”

“I was wandering around when I heard you singing, are you alright?” I asked sweetly, pretending to care. She smiled and wiped her tears.

“I’m sorry, today is my daughter’s birthday, I was singing for her.” My heart skipped. A little fear spread across my forehead.

“Is she dead?”

“No, she is not, just very far away.” She sobbed. I walked closer to her and sat on the grass in a crisscross position.

“Why don’t you go see her?”

“Because I can’t, I can’t see her.”

“I had someone I loved once,” I lied, “why can’t you see her?”

She smiled bitterly. Tears rolled down her pressed lips as she smiled. “Because her father won’t let me…”

“What?” I gasped.

“You won’t understand dead, you won’t.” She murmured. I shifted close to her with curiosity.

“Tell me, I promise not to tell since I basically don’t know you.” I urged on. The new side of her story was making my heart beat fast.

“I was a poor homeless girl living in the streets, struggling for my daily bread. Then I got abducted for sex trafficking and was taken to Australia. An enemy happened to launch a attack on the group that caught me and the other girls. It was a bloody slaughter, they killed everyone, including the girls. I was lucky to have hidden under one of the dead girl until they set the place on fire and left. So, I escaped into the streets of the unknown country.

After wandering for two weeks, I somehow met her father and saved his life. I found him half dead under a bridge and helped return him to his house. In return for my kindness, I was taken prisoner and kept in shackles for weeks…” She chuckled bitterly. “It was luxury to me because I get to have a roof over my head and get two square meals a day, better than going two to three days without food. Unfortunately, he woke up and met me and that was when everything changed.”

“You became his sex slave?” I asked with wide eyes. Father told me they were married and in love before she ran off with his best friend.

“Yes, but I didn’t mind, I get to love like a princess. I fell in love with him, I really did. And when I found out I was carrying his child, it was a miracle. I loved the child, I care. Then he came one day and told me that after I bear the child, I would leave, he already got the heir he wanted from me. He was going to pay me handsomely so I agreed. At first, I didn’t care much. But after I held my baby in my arms for the first time, I couldn’t. My beautiful Altansarnai was too precious to let go…”

“Altansarnai?” I asked with a small voice.

“Yeah, her original name was Rosetta but after I saw that she was born with rosegold hair and eyes, rosy cheeks and lips, I did a research and found the name. It means golden rose. I spent three months breastfeeding my baby. And when it was time to leave, I refused. I begged him to let me stay or let her stay with me then he’ll visit. But the next thing I knew, I woke up under this tree with her blanket, stuck here in Japan for the rest of my life.”

“Wait, hold on a sec,” I removed my now wet bandana and wiped my sweat. “He had you dropped all the way in Japan? No money, nothing at all?” I asked incredulously. She nodded.

“I later found my husband who gave me a place to stay before we later got married a year later. I tried to leave Japan, but I am forbidden to leave this country. As time grew pass, I grew more frustrated and when my husband tried to help me get her back, he killed him. I don’t know why I’m telling you this, child, but I guess I just need someone to pour out my heart to.” She continued to cry.

I remained where I was with jaw hanging down. The truth was staring at me right in the face. Father lied to me, he looked me in the eyes and lied to me all my life. He lied about my mother. My guts was telling me rhe truth the whole time. But why didn’t he just kill her? Why did he let her live?

“Did he love you?” I blunted out.

“Yes, and it scared him to the point he wanted badly to get rid of me.” That would explain it all. Father is in love with mother but love is in the ultimate ‘X’ code.

What the hell is this?!