Csh-ch! Csh-ch!

The sound of Stephanie’s camera shutter going off was heard alongside the sound of Stephanie’s laughter. Malia was using one of her cameras and going through a roll of film, and the mother could not care less. She was a firm believer in allowing Malia to choose her own path in life, and it was too early to believe her interests were going to be life-long. Still, it was heartwarming to watch her daughter take photographs, mimicking Stephanie.

”No, mommy, you have to look at the camera more!” Malia was going to be a demanding presence if she ever did host her first photo shoot.

Stephanie was holding a stuffed bunny plushy in her arms, with a floppy hat on her head, picked out by the photographer. It was important for the afternoon and evening to be free for Malia, so she made sure to cancel any appointments for the day. The apartment was littered with evidence of their time together; coloring books on the ground, bowls stained with ice cream in the sink, toys strewn about the living room, and the menu screen of a movie they had watched looping in the background, (muted so Stephanie did not lose her mind.)

Naturally, Stephanie was hamming it up for the camera, and the shutter continued to click away, capturing the moments. When the sound stopped, the first assumption was that the camera was out of film, but it was actually Malia who put a pause on the festivities. ”Mommy, can you read me a story before bed time?”

Stephanie’s smile faltered, and she looked to the clock mounted over the entryway to the kitchen. Time was running out for the enjoyable portion of her evening. She was reaching the point where she had to get ready for her night, whether she wanted to or not. ”I’m sorry, sweetie, but Mommy has to get ready for work tonight.”

Malia pouted, unaware of what her mother did for work at night, but always disappointed when it took her away. ”I wish you didn’t have to work tonight.” She was too young to intentionally guilt her mother, but too honest not to express how she felt when her mother left before bedtime.

”Believe me, darling, I wish that, too,” Stephanie replied forlornly. She forced herself to smile, mostly for her daughter’s sake, but in a small way for her. Her mission was taking away enough Malia time from her, so the last thing she wanted to do was cede more of it by being sad. ”But until then…” She grabbed her daughter, pulling the girl into her arms in the place of the bunny, and took the camera so she could take some improvised selfies. Laughter returned to their night, if just for another few minutes.

---

Stephanie thanked her babysitter for agreeing to another late night. It was honestly easy money, with Malia spending most of the night asleep under Haley’s watch, but it was a Saturday night the young woman was giving up, regardless of the perks. Stephanie made sure to wear a long coat to conceal her dress for the evening. Given her destination, she was going to swallow her pride and use the dress Poseidon gave her for the last meeting of the Syndicate. The babysitter already thought Stephanie was some woman of the night, but there was no need to advertise.

After all, she was going to spend her night doing something far worse…

It was no exaggeration to say Stephanie merited some looks sitting at a table near the stage. The majority of the patrons at any strip club were going to be men, and those men were not expecting to find attractive woman wearing clothes and sitting rather than dancing. Obviously, their glances were short lived, since they arrived to see naked women, and as skimpy as her dress was, she did not fit the bill.

There were also men who were too curious not to approach the smoke show watching dancers, failing to piece together that a woman at a strip club might not be interested in their kind. Stephanie liked men just fine, but she was not there to be bothered, so she coldly dismissed them and returned to her cherry coke. As tempting as it was to numb herself with alcohol, she had a job to do, and it would have been rude to avoid the emotional repercussions.

The dancer she had been watching closely finished her routine and descended from the stage, passing by her table. ”Excuse me,” she called, getting the girl’s attention, feigning excitement and nervousness in her own voice. ”I was wondering if… well…”

Madison Potts, only known as Honey within those walls, looked to Steph with a beaming smile. ”Oh sweetie, if you’d like a dance, there’s no reason to be shy!” Honey offered a hand and pulled Steph from her seat, leading her to a back room.

The dance began, and Honey started syncing up with the music of the club, working her way closer to Steph, but as expected, the young woman was a talker. It was smart; charm and a sweet disposition would earn more than sheer sex appeal. ”So is it your first time, I’m guessing?”

It was not. ”That easy to tell?” she asked with a chuckle.

Her giggle was surprisingly pure. Her moniker was well chosen, because everything about her was sweet as honey. ”Just a little, but I’ll take care of you.” Bare skin brushed against Steph’s cheek. ”So what brings a cutie like you to a place like this?”

A shiver ran up Steph’s spine as a tongue-tip grazed her earlobe. ”Bad work week.” It was a common reason to escape into one’s vices, and on that night, it was painfully true.

”Aww… let me help you forget about that…”

---

One dance passed, then another dance, both paid for in cash. Honey was ready to lead Steph back out into the club proper, but the customer was the one to hesitate. ”Everything okay?”

Everything was not okay. Even if it was an act for money, Madison was sweet, and had so much life to live. There were so many things Jorge forced Stephanie to do that she wanted to refuse, but this topped them all. Being around Madison was only making her feel more guilty, but that was the point. She deserved to feel terrible about what she was going to do.

”This might be a weird request, but… could we sit and talk? I’ll still pay per song.”

Honey smiled warmly, which only caused the pit in Stephanie’s chest to sink. ”Whatever you want, sugar.”

The estate of Senator Lee was lavish, but the security was lax in the Silhouette’s humble opinion. Security always felt lax to her, because it was difficult to keep a shadow from slipping into a room undetected. She had already been in the man’s bedroom on three different evenings, casing the scene like she might any jewel heist or painting theft. It was important to know what she was working with.

The bedroom was large; larger than it needed to be. Leave it to an unfaithful politician to overcompensate. There was a master bath attached to the room by a small connecting hallway with a lovely marble sink and a glass placed next to it. The room was well-furnished with mahogany pieces, and the highlight of the room was, of course, the king bed with its plush comforter and high-quality sheets.

The man was predictable. When he was in town, he had almost daily business dinners with his advisors and constituents when Madison was working. He went to bed promptly at eleven, with the exception of Friday and Saturday nights when Madison would leave the club at 2am and discretely meet the Senator for the night.

The act they engaged in was of no interest to Stephanie. She had spent enough time engaging in voyeuristic tendencies at the strip club, and while she had no love for the Senator, she wanted to allow Madison a moment of privacy. Until… sounds stopped, Stephanie was hiding silently in a closet, waiting. With her diminished hearing in shadowform, she wanted to stay close and listen for cues.

The quiet was a welcome reprieve, and would lead to another predictable quality of the Senator. With pre-existing kidney problems, he was left dehydrated after any strenuous activities. Madison was evidently “strenuous,” because Steph could hear the distant sound of water pouring from a sink. The glass was left there for the Senator to enjoy a glass of water before bed when necessary. With that in mind, it was easy to leave trace amounts of a powdered substance at the bottom of the glass.

The snoring followed soon after, signaling that the first phase of the Silhouette’s plan was successful. The Senator was going to be in an unshakable sleep until morning. It was finally time for her to make her entrance.

The darkness in the room meant the Silhouette had to slip out of the closet the old-fashioned way, turning the knob and doing her best to prevent creaking. The leotard worn by the thief was black, and helped her be less apparent in situations where she could not just shift. Her hair was pulled back for convenience, and she wore a mask over her eyes solely to hide some of her face; she was no hero.

The girl was trying to sleep. With the Senator out cold, she was forcing her eyes closed and doing her best to slip into her dreams amidst loud snoring. She was unaware of the form of a woman approaching her side of the bed until a light on the nightstand was flipped on. By the time Madison opened her eyes, there was already a gloved hand covering her mouth to muffle her screams. With the addition of light to the room, the Silhouette could take her preferred form. ”I’m sorry, Honey…”

The eyes of her victim were the only way she could communicate, and they told Stephanie that she recognized her. Before she became darkness, her eyes and her voice must have been telltale signs. It did not matter. The easiest way to take care of her would have been to suffocate her in a bubble of shadow, but Madison had to die in a way for the Senator to be at fault.

The feeling when the struggle stopped, and the life was choked out of Madison Potts would be impossible to forget. Even as the Silhouette was positioning the Senator’s hands to leave prints on a freshly bruised neck, and taking pictures of the incriminating scene, she could have sworn she still felt the ghost of pressure against her hands, like she never let go.

The scene was behind her, and Steph was sitting in a random alley somewhere in New York weeping. When she did things she had to do to appease Poseidon, Stephanie almost always ran back home to see her daughter and remind her why she was sinking so low. This time was different. How was she supposed to look at her daughter again? Would Malia see what she did when she looked into her guilty, slate grey eyes?

The eyes of a woman who murdered an innocent girl in cold blood. She would never put this behind her, and she did not deserve to ask for that kind of peace.