Prologue
My name is Felicity Welles, I was born on September 15th in the year of 2002, and, since the age of seven, I was trained to be — a professional assassin.
It all started back on December 25th, 2009. My family and I were at a party on the night of Christmas. The house was virtually crowded with almost every individual we knew, with maybe one exception or two. While every other person was clearly from the neighborhood, others, I’m guessing, came from out of town.
While every person in the building was meeting up and getting to know one-another, my father was right by my left side, holding my little hand. I don’t quite remember where my mother was at the time, but I do recall her going with us to the party itself. I digress though as after time had passed, my father and I immediately ran into (as I should describe it) an unfamiliar face. It was a tall, pudgy-looking man who looked to be in his late 30s-early 40s; this I could tell, as he appeared to be losing the majority of his hair. I did not remember him, which is more than I can say for my father, whom the man loudly greeted — by name. “Devon, Mary Christmas, man!”
“Yeah,” my father greeted back; by the sound of his voice, he was clearly not as enthusiastic as the other man. He then added, “I don’t believe I got your name.”
To which, the other man chuckled hysterically, “You’re kidding me, right?”
My father then shrugged.
The other man did so as well. “Jim.”
“Jim,” my father repeated, nodding as if a bell had been rung.
The other man shrugged yet again. “Jim friggen Stevens ... from goddamn college!”
“Oh, yeah, hey, don’t — say that in front of my daughter please!”
By that moment, the other man looked down and laid his eyes right onto me. “Oh yeah, hi sweetheart.”
After responding to him in a whisper, “Hi,” I immediately walked back behind my father’s left hip.
To which, he murmured, “It’s okay, Sweety.” I then heard him adding, “She’s not used to meeting new faces.”
The other man then responded by belching out the following, “Can’t say I blame her.”
My father then said to him, “Gimme a minute or two.”
“No problem,” the other man spoke out. As off as something did seem about him, I have to admit (to myself) that he did not seem that bad.
“Come on,” my father quickly announced, “let’s go find mom, shall we?”
Without a moment to think, he and I did just that. We did manage to find my mother, whom had apparently been chatting with a friend or two of her own.
“Darling?” my father spoke out.
To which, my mother and the people she had been talking to quickly turned to face us.
My father then added with the following sentence, “Felicity wants to know if there are any other kids around that she can hang with.”
My mother then murmured, “Oh, yeah, well ... I’m not, I mean ... I don’t know if I see any other children around.” She then asked the woman whom she’d been talking with, “Are there any other children around?”
The woman appeared as though she was about to answer, up until the man standing next to her (presumably her husband) quickly did so for her. “The kids are upstairs ... At least, they should be, from what I believe.”
Without hesitating, my mother then walked up to me and took my hand. “Come on, honey, let’s go upstairs and see what the other kids are up to.”
Being at the age I was, I did exactly as told. But as I followed right beside my mother, I cocked my head and glimpsed at my father for a bit. From what I could tell, he continued on having a chat with that one man. Despite this, it did not take long for my mother and me to walk up to and reach the second floor. Upon doing just that, she knocked on the door; there was no answer. She then opened it — and within the room appeared 3-4 kids who looked to be around my age.
“Hi,” my mother gently greeted, right before introducing me, “This is Felicity ... is it okay if she ... hangs out ... in here ... with all of you?”
The children then looked at each other and not one of them gave my mom (nor me) a verbal answer.
“I’ll take that as a ... sure,” my mother quickly presumed, before slowly closing the door and leaving the picture.
After taking my eyes off of the door, I then looked around the room slowly. I could tell five seconds in that it was a boy’s room, as there appeared to be 6-8 G.I. Joe action-figures standing on the dresser; granted two of the other children within the room were (in fact) girls like myself.
“Do you wanna play with one of them?” one of the boys asked.
To which, I asked him a one-word question, “What?”
“The G.I. Joes,” the boy clarified, seconds before standing up, “which one do you wanna play with?” He appeared to be quite tall for his age, assuming he was the same as mine; now that I think about it though, he may have been 2-3 years older than.
I spoke hesitantly, “I ... don’t know ... I mean, I wasn’t really planning on it really.”
“What were you planning on then?”
“I don’t know,” I murmured, “just to ... look at them, I guess.”
“Well, maybe ...” the boy added, just as he started to reach for one of the action figures.” What he brought down was not one but two of them, one was Snake-Eyes and the other (who’s name I recall being) was Scarlett.
“Out of these two,” the boy spoke out, “which one do you prefer?”
After a second-and-a-half of hesitating, I instantly pointed to the latter.
“This one?” the boy asked while (still) holding the action-figure in his right hand, acting completely surprised. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” I answered.
Finally, the boy handed the action-figure to me and I immediately grabbed a hold of it.
“You didn’t choose that one because she’s a girl?”
I looked back up at him with a hint of modesty. “No.”
“’key,” the boy added, “whatever.”
Instead of staying, I walked slowly back over to the bedroom door.
“Where’re you going?” the boy asked.
I didn’t answer him, however. Instead, I held the Scarlett action-figure in my right hand while opening the door with my left. Right then and there, I exited the room. Upon closing the door behind me, I looked down onto the first floor. By the sound of it, it was as noisy down there as it was just before I had entered the bedroom. Hesitantly, I walked slowly back down the stairs. I was worried at the moment that someone would walk right up at any second. But thankfully enough, that didn’t happen. After finally making it down, I eventually did run into a large crowd of grown-ups. Most of them, however, did not seem to notice me. I did instantly catch the attention of one familiar individual, and that individual was none other than that one man — who claimed to be a good friend of my father. I didn’t realize it was him right away, but I do know a familiar voice and attitude when I hear them.
“Hey, Sweety!” he spoke out to me, trying to save up space for the both of us. “What’re you doin walking out here all by yourself?”
I could hardly answer him. And even if I tried to, it was just too loud for me to speak.
“Come on,” he insisted, “Let’s go to someplace quieter!”
Without thinking, I then quickly followed him. I had no idea where exactly he was taking me, right up until we exited the building and went right outside. This of course left me curious, as I had no clue what else to expect.
“I have a surprise for you,” the man announced to me while standing in front of the door. What happened next was — quite horrifying the more I think about it. Right then and there, the man slowly unzipped his pants … I couldn’t tell what exactly he was showing me down there, but I’m now aware that was both immoral and heinous. “This is what men have,” he informed me. “Neat, huh?”
I couldn’t get a word out, as I didn’t know how exactly to react.
Thankfully, my father came and walked right up behind the other man. “What’re you two doing out here?” he asked, unaware of what was going on.
The other man immediately zipped his pants back up. “Uh, nothing, we were just getting some air.” Unfortunately for him, he didn’t zip up quick enough; not to mention, he kept on looking down in the process.
This resulted in my father quickly realizing what the other man was up to. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Not only was that the first I ever heard my father curse, it was the first time I had ever heard the F-word.
“Nothing!” the other man loudly repeated. “I swear to God!”
“Felicity,” my father called out to me, “honey, get back in the house right now!”
Without hesitating, I then rushed in, sliding myself between the door and the other man like a cat, and re-entered the house.
My father, meanwhile, grabbed a hold of the other man before pinning him back outside. I didn’t know what exactly my father was about to do to him, but I didn’t stick around to find out; I didn’t even bother to look back.
It did not take long for me to run back into my mother, the latter of which seemed obvious to the situation. “Hi honey,” she greeted before asking me, “Where’s your dad?”
“He’s outside with that other man,” I told her, looking like I had seen a ghost.
“What’s wrong?” she asked with a look of concern.
“What’s that thing men have?”
“What thing?” my mother asked with a confused look on her face. She then knelt down, leading me to whisper in her right ear.
I then clarified and told her everything. Upon moving my mouth away from her ear, I could tell that my mother was flabbergasted.
“Oh my God!” she exclaimed while looking around. “Come one,” she said, while grabbing my hand, “let’s go sit in the living room.” She and I sat down on the couch together.
It didn’t take long for my father to arrive back into the picture, but it did take long for either of us to notice him. “You two doing okay?” he asked.
“I am now,” my mother answered.
“What about you, Sweethea, are you alright?”
“Yeah,” I said to him, feeling unsure.
“What happened?” my mother asked, “What did you do?”
To which, my father leaned in and informed her, “Let’s just say I taught that … bastard … a painful lesson.”
