Disclaimer: I do not own any characters pertaining to Mr. and Mrs. Smith except the ones I created.

The Voice

Warning: This story contains some harsh language, and violence.


She heard the constant pitter patter of small feet upstairs above her head, and John was still looking aimlessly for his keys so he wouldn't be too late to work. The kitchen was cleaner than usual, the sun's rays bouncing from the sink and into her eye's which caused her to squint. Jane's black work clothes were dotted with the small pieces of golden hair from Mark's golden retriever.

"Mom, where are my shoes," Mark's hair was sticking up all over and his green eyes were absolutely adorable, she never thought there could be a love as strong as there was for her child. His stress was obvious and seemed to be getting the best of him, but most kids got nervous before the first day of school, and second grade was a big deal for him.

"Uh, I think you left in the living room," she passed him a small smile and hoped it would help calm him down, but he noticed it little, and moved quickly toward the living room. John walked into the kitchen and placed a small kiss on her lips.

"I'm out of here. I'll be home around five thirty."

"Okay, sweetie, see you then," Jane sipped the last bit of her coffee which was now cold, as John hugged Mark and promised him he wouldn't be home late. Mark grabbed his backpack off the seat of the kitchen chair and ushered him mom to hurry up, she dropped the empty mug in the sink and grabbed her car keys.

She pulled up the sidewalk of the school and her handsome son hurried out of the car. He opened the door and got one foot on the pavement before she stopped him.

"Hey," his head turned back towards her, "aren't you gonna give me a kiss goodbye?"

He leaned back over the seat and pleased her with a simple kiss on the cheek. He slammed the door shut and ran off to the playground in the back of the school. As Jane leaned back in her seat the gun on her hip nudged into her side, almost reminding her it was there. She thought of the time Mark had almost caught her with the nine millimeter pistol. He walked into her and John's bedroom without knocking just as she was sliding it under the mattress. Jane Smith was a trained liar, but not to her son. The traffic around school seemed endless; she waited for an opening and pulled out into the street.

The ride to the "office" didn't seem as long as it used to, and when she used the automatic lock from her keychain, she felt a strange feeling. Something was wrong. What was it? She swallowed hard and spun around, nothing. The only person in the parking lot was herself; it was now so strong she didn't know how to handle it. What was it? Jane unwillingly disregarded it, walked to the main door, slid her keycard through the slot, the irritating buzzer indicating the door was unlocked rang only long enough to open the door. She stepped into the pitch black room; the dark seemed to run its chilly finger down her spine, and it brought back horrors of her past. The feeling was slowly passing when a dim blue light came on, and a deep voice came over an intercom system told her to identify herself. She said Jane Smith in a monotone voice and the wall in front of her opened slowly. Jane stepped down the four stairs into the "office".

"Good morning, ladies," she looked at her colleagues standing around a small table, the returned the greeting and continued assembling the rifles on the table. She gave out a few more good mornings and hellos until she reached the conference room. Jane sat in one of the several chairs along the side of the table, and pulled a folder out of her briefcase. The heading on the folder read Walter Hyman, her three month assignment had finally come down to this day. Jane smirked at the mug shot picture, paper-clipped to the upper right corner of the folder. He was her target, and today was his last day.

Her eyes were unforgettable, he almost felt bad for what he had to do, but her crimes ran through his mind and the guilt left. Her blood red dress followed the curves of her body beautifully, and John wondered if she was armed. Catrina Belt, her plans to assassinate the president were brilliant, though they would never be carried out. She was only a "small fish" in the operation, taking her out would slow down the process, and give them more time to bring the whole plot to an end.

"Gary, I slipped the piece of paper with the date and time on it in to your left jacket pocket," being called Gary sounded strange to John, and he almost forgot to reply, which is a good way to get caught when you're undercover. Ms. Belt believed John to be a hit man with and incredible reputation; her and her compatriots thought they were hiring him to take the shot that would kill the president.

"I won't be late," John said, and took a sip of his champagne. Their waiter came back to the table and asked if they'd like anything else to drink. Catrina had arranged to meet at a restaurant called Rosaline's Garden, the drinks were good but incredibly overpriced, and John was reluctant to pay for them. They wished away the waiter, and got back to their conversation.

"There's an address on the slip of paper in your pocket, you will set up your rifle on the roof of that building, as soon as you fire the shot, take the west exit, there will be a white van with keys in it parked out back. Once you get out of the state, your money will be wired to you, any questions," her brow was dipped down, she looked angry but was actually just very serious.

"How long will it take for me to get my money?" Hit men were a greedy type, this was a question they always asked, to avoid her from be suspicious, he asked it.

"It will be wired to you within two days."

"I guess we're understood then," he let a small smile cross his face and took another sip of his champagne.

"If you will excuse me, I must visit the rest room," this was his chance, he felt his silenced pistol holstered under his coat. It was a Monday afternoon, so there were few customers in the restaurant, and this was the perfect opportunity to make the hit. She walked very delicately to the ladies room, like a model on a runway, wanting everyone to look at her, she was a beautiful woman and she knew it. Catrina pulled open the door of the restroom, and went inside. Just as the door closed, John stood up and walked toward the facilities. Glancing at the bartender, luckily, he wasn't paying any attention to John as he walked across the room; no one seemed to be paying any attention to him. He reached the bathroom, the picture of a stick-figure woman was on the outside of the door, John Smith took one last glance over his shoulder, if anyone saw him enter the ladies room, he'd be caught for sure. No one was watching. He quickly opened the door, he walked over the white tile floor, he could now see Catrina, and she was washing her hands in the sink, her back to him. He pulled the weapon out of his holster, he had a good feeling, he felt lucky. John was now only four feet from her back, Catrina still unaware of his presence. He stopped, raised the gun (which was a good six inches longer because of the silencer) until it was pointed at the back of her head. She finally glanced up, and saw his reflection in the mirror, John squeezed the trigger, a silent phew sound came from the gun.

The bullet made a small hole in the back of her head, and a large one in the front. His forty-five caliber bullet made a large hole in the mirror that was painted in blood and brain matter. Catrina's lifeless body fell to the floor; the blood rushing from her open skull circled her body, and really stood out on the white tile. John placed the gun back in the holster under his coat and made his way for the exit. He pulled the sleeve of his jacket back so his watch was visible, the promise he had made to his son would be kept, he would be home early.


Jane kept thinking about the hit she had made today, her pride was obvious in her smile; she couldn't wait to impress John with her story. She took out Walter Hayden with a sniper rifle from over five hundred feet. She couldn't stop thinking about it. Jane slowed down at the stop sign and pushed her blinker on to turn right. The flashing green arrow made her think that maybe she should stop at home before she went and picked up Mark, his dog was still just a puppy, and she had a very expensive rug. Jane switched the blinker to left and drove the short distance to her house.

The door of her house squeaked open, and Buddy rushed over to her, tail wagging, to greet her. She patted him gently on the head and called him toward the back door. The lock on the slider pushed up easily, and just as she was about to open the door the lights on the phone brightened and it started begging to be answered. The feeling, it was back. She felt her eyes widen, and felt short for air. Answer it, before it stops ringing, she thought to herself. Her hand trembled over the receiver and the feeling almost made her fall over. Jane brought the phone to her ear.


"Hello, Mrs. Smith," his voice, so light and threatening. This made her happy; it made her forget mostly about the feeling and more about this man.

"Yes, this is she; may I ask whose calling?"

"I'm the most important person in the world to you for the next few hours."

"What the hell are you talking about, who is this?"

"You don't know me, but I know you, very well, I admire your work. It's so ruthless, your husband's too." Jane couldn't believe this; no one in her eleven years of assassinations had anyone known who she was. She decided to pretend like she didn't know what was going on.

"I don't what you're talking about, I have to go pick up my son."

"Oh, that won't be necessary; I've got that all taken care of," her anger raged inside her.

"Who the fuck is this," her mother's intuition kicked in, and she became petrified for her son.

"I told you already, who I am, it is not important, what is important is if you ever want to see your son again, you will do me a tremendous favor."

"How do I know you actually have him, and you're not just bullshiting with me," she heard a rustling on the other end of the phone and her son's voice cried for her on the receiver. Jane breathed in heavy and choked on the air. A small tear ran down her face, and for the first time in her life, she didn't know what to do.

"Now do you believe me?"

"If you hurt him, I swear to god, your family will cry when they see what I've done to you!"

"Ha-ha, Jane, threatening me isn't in your best interest."

"Don't hurt my baby," her voice was unrecognizable, it was covered in cries.

"Mark's future depends on you; now let's get straight to the point. I need you and your husband to kill somebody for me, you do that, and you get your son back. For you, it's just like a couple hours of overtime. Simple is it not?"


"Yes, it is simple, one man I need you to kill, it's nothing. So, what'd say?"

"Give me the name."

"Excuse me?"

"You want me to kill someone? I need their name."

"Ahhhh, that's the spirit, his name is Jeremy Priestly."

"Jeremy Priestly," she knew him, he ran a wealthy uptown gang called The Bloods.

"You have five hours to take him out, not a minute later."

"And after I take him out?"

"I will call you with the information you need to get your son back."

"How do I know you're not just going to kill him, and get a free favor out of me and my husband?"

"I am a man of my word, Jane, your husband should be home in a few minutes, you might want to start thinking of how you will explain this to him," she heard a distant click on the phone, just as he had said, John walked in not more than two minutes later. Jane sat him down, and explained the whole thing.


There was no doubt in his mind, that from a distance, Jane was a better shot than him. John liked close up weapons, he was much better with shotguns and pistols. Jane's brown hair tied back in a pony tail, and her rifle pulled tight in her shoulder.

"How much time do I have," her eye stayed in the scope and her head didn't move an inch as she asked the question. All John was thinking about was his son, thought about sitting on the couch, and Jane telling him that someone had taken him. The thought of killing this man kept entering his mind.

"Jeremy will be coming out in about three minutes," the roof across the street from the target's house was wet, and cold. They had been set up there for several hours, though neither one of them were tired. Jane had the gun over the edge of the building and was ready to fire, her breathing was steady as she waited for Jeremy Priestly to come out of his house, the strange voice on the phone said he'd be leaving his house at exactly seven p.m. And it was six fifty seven. The darkness of night was there best disguise; in daylight someone surely would have seen two people on a roof top with a high powered rifle. He noticed her hands. He found it fascinating, every ten seconds or so, she would re-grip her hand on the rifle, almost like making sure it was really there. Jane did it once more, opened and tightly around the rifle.

"Here he comes, he just exited the front door," he felt his heart racing and Jane's hand was now still and not moving.

"Take him when he's getting in the car, less guards," Priestly moved closer and closer toward the car, why isn't she taking the shot, he thought, come on. Jeremy's walk, steady and constant, the shot was perfect, take it.

"Jane, shoot him," his voice was calm but when he said it she opened her mouth and started breathing heavily. One eye closed and the other was still looking through the scope of the gun, why wasn't she shooting him?

"Jane, shoot him."

"Not yet."

Not yet? What the hell does she mean, not yet, why is she hesitating? First thing they teach you in the army is Do Not Hesitate.

"Jane, shoot him!"

"Not yet," John's nerves and anger were kicking in. Why did I let her take do this, he thought, I should be taking this shot, Mark's in trouble. John could feel the sweat racing down his cheeks.

"Take the shot!'

"Shut up!" John watched Jeremy over the roof; he was opening his car door. Please god, don't let my son die. Jane shoot the bastard, he thought.


"Shut the fuck up!"


She finally fired. John stared down at Priestly, standing there completely still, did she hit him? The clear white of Jeremy's shirt was interrupted when lines of dark red blood started running through it; his body fell to the ground. Dead. John felt a hard smile rush across his face, both of Jane's beautiful eyes were now looking at John, with a smile on her face they just stared at each other for only a moment. John remembered the time he was assigned to kill her, and as he thought about it, he felt so guilty.

"We've got to get out of here," they both snapped out of the trance they were momentarily in, just as Jane finished her sentence, the cell phone in her pocket rang loudly. Their eyes met again, and the smile on John's face went away just as fast as it came. Jane reached down in her pocket and pulled the phone into her hand. The caller ID was useless at this point, the word Restricted told her nothing. Restricted, John could see this made her angry; she knew this man had really thought this through, to call from a phone that was restricted, so they couldn't find him. Jane flipped it open, and pressed it to her ear.

"Hello," John watched her and knew that this was killing her inside, but she remained fearless and threatening on the phone. Jane heard the sound of clapping. He was applauding her. How could he have found out so fast, his clapping continued for a minute. John motioned her to put the phone on speaker, and when she did he was surprised by the voice, it actually was terrifying.

"Well done, well done Mrs. Smith, your reputation precedes you."

"Where's my son"

"Oh yes, your reward for doing such a job well done, of course I just left after I witnessed your masterpiece, but he is two floors below you, tied to a chair in room 9J. I hope you've enjoyed our business as much as I did, hopefully we'll meet again, no?"

John sprinted down the stairs they had previously entered through; Jane followed no more than two feet behind him. The hallways of the room were so narrow, and he almost passed 9J as he rushed. This was the room, this was the door his son was behind, he almost didn't believe it when he was telling himself but it was true.

John looked at Jane, he felt a sexual sensation, her hair plastered to her face with sweat, breathing heavy, so tough he started to hope she would be in the mood later. John backed up, lunged forward and kicked the door, it flew open and just as the voice had told him, his son was tied to a chair, alone in the center of the dingy room. 9J was disgusting, the rug had spots of stains scattered all over it, like spots on a Dalmatian. Jane let out a sigh of relief and rushed over to Mark and began untying him. She kept saying I love you, and as she pulled the duck tape of his mouth, Mark began crying. John just stood in the doorway, to relieved to move. His relief left so quickly when he noticed a moving shadow behind Jane, a man silently walked out of the bathroom, holding a pistol loosely at his side. He had a bear belly, and his head didn't seem to have one hair on it. He slowly raised the handgun to the back of Jane's head. Her ignorance of this man's existence was so clear because the smile on her face as she hugged Mark, he had never seen her so happy. John reached down to the pistol on his hip as fast he could, pulled it out of the holster, and began firing. The gun jumped back in his hand as he continued to shoot the man. Jane heard the gunshots and pushed mark too the ground, out of harm. The man fell, lifeless, blood drooling out of the three bullet holes in his body. The Smiths caught each others eyes, they soon realized that they needed to leave, before someone came to find them in this blood bath, Jane took Mark's hand and quickly walked out of the room, and down the hall. John stared at the body as his wife and son became smaller in the distance. One down, he thought, when I find the second one, he's going to scream, so loudly. John remembered the voice on the phone; he snapped out of it and began to follow his traumatized family. But it was true; they would find the voice on the phone. Mr. and Mrs. Smith would find that voice, and when they did, it will never speak again.

Readers Note: This is basically a sequel for Mr. and Mrs. Smith I hope you like the storyline, and I'm a first time fanfiction writer, so give me your honest opinion.