Rough of Jasper’s back story told from his point of view.
I’ve always been along, for as long as I can remember. My parents died when I was very young and I was sent to live with my aunt in Paris. I never really made any friends while I lived with her. My cousins would always tease and pick on me as well as the kids at school. They said it was because I was different, because I talked funny. I never lost my Scottish accent, so you can imagine how funny I sounded when I spoke French. My Aunt was good to me, as long as I minded my own business and only spoke when spoken to. The only time I ever truly had fun is when I would go to the part down the road from her flat. I would spend hours climbing the trees, and eventually got to the point that I could climb walls and building with the same agility.
When I turned 16 there was a fire in the flat, I managed to get out with only a few burns, my Aunt and cousins were not so lucky. The place collapsed before they were able to get out. At this point I made my way to London. I lived day to day on the streets, relying on my climbing skills to be able to steal food and survive. I went along for two years this way, until I was caught trying to steal from the wrong guy.
His name was Jonathan Skinning, one of the top crime lords in the city. He saw my skills in scaling walls and building and took me in under his wing. John trained me, making me who I am today. He taught me how to wield a gun, and blend in with the shadows, he trained me for years. By the age of 25 I had become one of his best assassins. I worked for him for years, I even took on his last name, Skinning. John had been like a father to me, so when I got news one day that he had been shot down during a job, I was devastated. I fought to defend John, finding and taking down the men who were responsible for his death. It was the only time I was ever happy to kill, drawing out every moment of pain as I ended them.
I worked freelance for the next year or so, and was able to buy myself a flat on Windsor road. I even met someone. Alice was like no one I had ever met. She was feisty and animated, and I loved her. We dated for four years before we finally became engaged. She moved into my flat shortly after. I remember she loved dogs, so one day I came home with a germen-shepherd puppy who we named Lex. She was so excited that she practically mowed me over with a hug. I will always cherish the time I had with them. It was a stormy night, that much I can remember, and I was going out to do a job. Alice never liked it that I took on these jobs. She wanted me to get out of the profession, but I was stubborn and continued taking on jobs anyway. My job that night was to take down a member from a gang that had hired me. Everything was going fine until I realized that Alice had followed me. I remember telling her to go home, to stay out of this, but it was too late, we were spotted. Two shots were fired. The first shot lodged itself in the upper part of my left leg. I remember her screams before another shot lodged in her chest. I remember holding her as I screamed for someone to help us, but by the time the medics came it was too late, she was gone. From then on I made myself a promise, I would never fall in love with someone else again.
I am now 36 years old. It’s been six years since Alice was killed, but I still find myself crying at night. I still wake up with her name on my lips, I will never hear her say my name again, I will never be able to look into her warm green eyes an say “I love you.” I am alone, and I will always be alone.
