The Assassin in the Wastebasket

Chapter 04

Despite the fact that the trashcan weighed close to a half pound, the thing motivating my shorts' escape effort wasn't perturbed in the slightest. In fact, it seemed to only want to get out more: the metal can shook and tossed as if something—or a very small someone—was beating a very tiny body against its smooth metal walls. In fact, on several occasions the can came very close to tipping over.

In response, I sat on it.

Bad idea. Firstly, I wasn't in reach of any weapons. Secondly, the bottom of the can was textured and hurt my ass after about thirty seconds. Ouch.

"What do I do?" I said frantically, spinning around on the trashcan in agitation. "Oh God, what do I do?" I glanced at Vlad's cage. The ferret was watching me with interest, but his fur was still spiked up along his spinal column, indicating fright. "What the hell is going on?"

Vlad the silent one, naturally, had no idea.

I sat on the trashcan, gibbering like an idiot, for almost five minutes. Eventually, the shakes and pounds stopped, and I realized that a limited amount of air had been trapped inside the can. Was the creature beneath the container suffocating?

Though I didn't really want to look—the whole incident was driving my analytically unimaginative brain nuts—I decided not to take any chances. Mustering my courage, I ripped the poster affixed to the inside of my bedroom door—which was both in reach and, ironically, an Assassin's Creed poster—off of its sticky-tack mount. Rolling it up into a firm tube, I rose and planted one of my knees decisively on the overturned trashcan.

"You got my back, Vlad?" I muttered, and slowly picked up the canister.

There was nothing under it but my shorts—or that's what my first glance revealed to me, anyway. Slowly, with all the painstaking care of a government-funded archaeologist, I slipped my tubular poster into one of the shorts' leg holes and lifted the cloth off the ground.

There's no real way to fully explain to you what I went through right then. If it were a mathematical equation, I guess my mood would have been compromised of equal parts shock, horror, and numbness.

I mean, a tiny version of my favorite video game character was laying face-down on my carpet, after all.

In that moment, I couldn't deny what was happening. Until then, I had attributed the weird goings-on to hallucinations, fatigue, or dreams, but the moment I saw him lying motionless on the floor, his legs and arms and body curving and conforming to the bumps in my shag carpet, I knew he was real. Alive. Solid. Something about him bent and flowed the way no mere object could; he was purely organic, not an inch synthetic. Without touching him or taking the time to notice the slight rise and fall of his tiny, breathing chest, I knew—intuitively, perhaps, but I still knew the moment I saw him lying there—that he was real.

Altaïr was real.

But tiny.

Very, very, disappointingly tiny.

It should be noted that I can't really say that I was surprised, because I knew that on some deep level I had already known what I would find beneath the wastebasket.

"Holy—" I murmured in awe and dazed amazement. I did not get to finish my sentence at that moment, however, for Altaïr decided that right then was the proper time to make another break for freedom. With preternatural quickness for someone so small, he jumped to his feet and began to run headlong towards the stairs.

I, however, had size on my side, as well as an augmented reach thanks to the poster. Using the poster as a makeshift croquet mallet, I batted Altaïr back into the trashcan (I swore I heard a tiny gasp of pain), covered the opening with the shorts, and plopped the trash can onto my desk.

"This is not happening!" I moaned, backing away from the wastebasket. The poster fell from my limp fingers and hit the floor with a hollow 'whuff'. "This is not happening! There is not an assassin in my wastebasket! No way, no way, just—no!"

Unfortunately for me, I forgot that Altaïr was about as nimble as a monkey and as good a climber as one, too. The shorts stretched across the mouth of the can were pulled into the metal canister abruptly, and a set of miniature fingers pulled the rest of the minuscule assassin's body over the metal rim. He then made to leap off of the desk—a four-and-a-half-foot drop I knew would taken a huge chunk out of his health bar had he been in-game. Without thinking about it, I lunged forward, and—in an annoyingly ironic parody of the movie that Altaïr seemed to be mimicking—caught the tumbling assassin in my cupped hands.

Microscopic man saved, I knelt on the floor and stared at him. Altaïr lay sprawled across my palms like a drunken sailor; my catch had obviously knocked the wind out of him, if his labored breaths were any indication. His infinitesimal eyes burned black and glittered like onyx; his size did little to lessen his quiet ferocity, and when I saw that he was glaring up at me I nearly dropped him. He scared me, size notwithstanding, and for a moment I felt as spooked as if I had discovered that I was holding a viper in my cupped palms.

Luckily, however, he had not thought to grab any of the weapons off the desk when he made a break for the door, a fact I discovered after making sure all of his puny scabbards were empty.

"Are you okay?" I asked tentatively.

Altaïr immediately sat up. "Unhand me, giant!" he wheezed, clutching his left rack of ribs. He made to get up, so I grabbed him by the back of his hooded cloak and held him aloft in front of my face (though out of kicking distance).

"I'm not a giant," I said, oddly calm (I think I was in shock or something). "You're just tiny."

"You lie! Unhand me! Who are you? Where am I? Where is Malik?" I was fascinated to note that a tiny tongue coated with real saliva moved behind his teeth as he repeated: "Unhand me!"

"You'll just run away again!"

He quieted, for both he and I knew that I was right. "Then at least explain to me how I got here, and what manner of man you are to be so large."

I scowled. "Firstly, I'm a woman."

He blinked. "No! But your hair—it is too short!"

"Girls can have short hair."

"No they can't."

"I'm not going to argue about this. But I bought you from a guy who makes dolls, then you came to life. I'm just as clueless as you."

His tiny nose wrinkled in confusion. "Dolls? Bought? What is this nonsense? I was with Malik, planning our next coup over a carafe of wine, and fell asleep. When I awoke, I was in a dark casket whose lid I was hard-pressed to open, and when I managed to escape—" He trailed off, then resumed with: "When I opened it, I found myself atop a table fit for a giant. Then I found my way to the floor and what appeared to be a monolithic door, which you forcibly forbade me use. Now put me down!"

I realized that I was staring, open-mouthed. Swallowing, I said "No" and prepared for the worst.

"The worst" was both short-lived and unimpressive. Altaïr's mouth dropped open, snapped shut, and stayed closed. Black eyes glared, but he said nothing other than a curt "I see."

"I'm sorry," I blurted, "but it's not safe for you—outside of this room, that is."

"And why is that?"

"Because people like you don't come along every day. People would try to either kill you or use you as a lab rat."

Altaïr's nose wrinkled. "'Lab rat'? What is this 'lab rat' of which you speak?'"

I found myself floundering in confusion. How the heck was I supposed to explain the concept of a 'lab rat' to him and his ancient brain, anyway? "Um… well, it's kind of like a—"

I was spared from explaining more fully by the screaming of my cell phone. In my hand, Altaïr twisted around with sudden viciousness. "Where is that coming from?" he demanded. His eyes narrowed. "I knew it. Those are the screams of your victims."

I paused with the phone halfway to my ear. "Victims?" I repeated, stunned. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He began to beat at my fingers with tiny fists. "Giants eat humans for sustenance! Even though I always thought giants were little more than naughty children's bedtime stories, I see now that they do reflect some sort of truth." He tried to pry my fingers from his clothing with little success. "Now let me go!"

"Gladly!" I snapped, standing up. Marching over to Vlad's cage, I opened the door with my free hand, scooped up Vlad (who was hissing bloody murder) and all but threw Altaïr into the back of the cage. "Now be quiet, dammit!"

"I will not!" Altaïr bellowed (for such a little guy he had excellent lung capacity). "Let me out of here or I'll—"

I didn't wait for him to finish; instead, I slung Vlad onto my shoulder and marched out the door into the hallway, where I answered my still-screaming cell. "Hello?" I said tiredly.

"It's me. Sterling."

My heart nearly stopped. "Hi!" I said. "Omigosh, hi! What's up?"

"Um, you told me to call you. You gave me about three hundred bucks, so you should come back for your change."

I suddenly remembered throwing a wad of cash at Sterling before leaving the shop. "Oh yeah. Thanks for calling." My heart began to pound faster. Was now a good time to drop the news about little Altaïr's existence? "Um, listen Sterling, I…"

"Yeah?"

Thoughts of Sterling telling me I was either crazy or pulling a really lame joke flashed through my head. I couldn't tell him over the phone; who in their right mind would believe me without seeing the little assassin for them self? It would have to be in person. "Never mind. Can I come by tomorrow to pick it up?"

"Nope. I'm going out of town tomorrow."

My heart sank, dreams of having a "Comrade in Freak-Out-Ville" shattering like a pane of glass. "When do you get back?"

"Why? Will you miss me?"

It took me a second to realize he was teasing me… or was he? "Oh, totally," I said. "Who else will put up with my videogame obsession with a straight face? Dinah? I don't think so."

Sterling chuckled. "True. But anyway, I get back next Friday."

Today was Friday. Which meant he'd be gone for six days. Dammit. "I'll see you when you get back, then."

"I'm working Saturday, so come on by anytime."

"Will do," I said. "Have a good trip."

"And you have a good weekend. See you."

"Yeah. sure. Bye." I hung up, and walked back into my room.

Altaïr was staring sullenly out from between the bars of his cage. "It smells in here," he proclaimed. "Release me."

I squeezed my eyes shut. On my shoulder, Vlad hissed. "You're not real," I said. "Not real. Not real. Not real. When I open my eyes, you'll be gone."

"What are you raving about?" Altaïr snapped, grabbing the bars of the cage and shaking them. "I am real! Release me!"

I sighed, turned around, shut my door, and locked it. "If I do," I said, looking at the tiny man, "will you promise not to run away?"

Altaïr hesitated. "Only if you promise not to do away with me. I have… many questions," he said.

"So do I." I sighed, smiled, and felt like crying. "So do I."

"And will you promise not to devour me?" he asked.

"Yeah. Just so long as you don't try to run away."

Altaïr stared at me, but the glare was gone from his eyes. "I can see in your face that you do not wish upon me ill."

I nodded.

He seemed convinced. "Very well, then. Let me out, and we will discuss our… circumstances." He stepped back from the cage door, which I unlatched and let fall open. "Do you know how I may return home?" Altaïr asked, using the bars of the wire cage as a ladder to get down to the floor.

"No, I don't," I said. "In fact, I don't really know how you got here in the first place." I dropped to my knees and placed my hand—palm up—on the floor. "It's hard to look at you down there," I said. "Get on, and let me put you on the desk."

Altaïr looked first at my hand, then at my face. "And you will not crush me in your fist at first opportunity?"

"I won't."

"Very well." He reached out a hand and placed it on the tip of my index finger, then frowned.

"What is it?" I asked.

"He reached out a hand and placed it on the tip of my index finger, then frowned.

"What is it?" I asked.

"You're warm," he said.

"So?"

"Giants are made of stone. You are wrought of flesh." He shot me a puzzled glance. "Earlier you said you were not a giant, and this is true, for you are of human body. Then you said I was a doll, purchased by yourself and brought to life by unknown means. Is that true, also?"

"Yeah."

"But I have memories, a past. I'm not a doll. How could this be?"

"I don't know," I said, watching as Altaïr climbed and knelt on my palm in contemplative silence. As I rose to my feet and he leapt from my hand to the desk, I said: "Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. Nothing so… magical."

"Magic," said Altaïr, and I saw the wheels begin to turn in his head. "Maybe that's not so far from the truth."

And so began our uneasy alliance, a binding of the unknown, as well as the fear thereof.

It would last for ten days.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

So sorry for the wait—I've been sick as a dog. Then school started. Then I got abducted by aliens, and went to a family reunion with Big Foot and the Tooth Fairy. Two of those things are true. The rest are fabricated. OH, THE MYSTERY! Will you EVER figure it out??

Anyway, now it's time for Little!Altaïr antics! Oh, the fun! See you next time!