upstairs for a shower.
Images of his sister lying gutted on the kitchen floor with
three fingers cut off makes his stomach roil, and he’s glad he had yogurt as he
wretches into the toilet. There isn’t much to come up. He clings to the sink as
he sips on some water, and then looks up at the face of a monster. If he had
just stayed away from them, they would still be alive, and he would be numb as
he used to be.
Now that he’s been forced to feel something, it’s starting
to pile up on him like boulders. Narrowing his eyes, he looks away from the man
in the mirror and hops into the shower where he tries to think about anything
else but his dead family. Thinking about the blonde agent from the hotel two
nights ago doesn’t help him much either. It just makes him feel like a prick.
----
“You have the address of the mark, why do you need the
reason?” His voice is deep on the other end of the phone, too deep to be his
real voice. The man must be using an app to make it sound different if it’s even
a man at all.
“The reason is important. I don’t just kill anyone for
anything.” The man known as Troy answers calmly as he stares down at the
address on the piece of paper.
“You’re a killer for hire! You’re paid to ask no
questions and kill whomever you’re instructed to. I paid good money for this!”
Troy rolls his eyes to the ceiling of his apartment as he leans the stool he’s
sitting on back.
“I’ll refund it. Just tell me why you need this
particular guy dead.” There’s a silence on the other end as the person seems to
reconsider their position on the subject. Then they finally answer.
“He killed my husband and left my children without a
father. I want him to pay for what he’s done.” He feels his mouth go dry when
he realizes it’s a woman he’s speaking with. Troy switches the disposable
cellphone to his other ear and stares down at his name on the piece of paper
along with his address. It’s not the first time he’s heard of a client hiring a
hit man to kill himself. He just never thought it would happen to him.
“How long ago did this happen, ma’am?” He sips on some
water from a glass and turns his head when his door begins to creak open. Troy
slams the stool down and hangs up the phone abruptly as his little niece comes
waddling through the doorway. His sister slips through behind her daughter and
smiles at him warmly with a bag in her hands. None of his family knows what he
does for a living, and if they did, they wouldn’t speak to him.
Troy pockets the piece of paper, and like any good man,
he puts work aside for his family. But the piece of paper is burning a hole in
his pocket while he devours Chinese food and listens to his niece’s trivial
complaints. They’re not inconsequential to her, so Troy pays the utmost attention
and answers her accordingly.
----
He wakes up with the sheets tangled around him and a cold
sweat soaking him. Troy stares up at the dark ceiling for what seems like a
long time, but is only a few minutes. Each breath is like a burning poker down
his throat as he clamps his eyes tight against the tears. They were too innocent
to die the way they did, and he did it to them.
When the heavy weight on his chest finally lifts enough that
he can draw in a normal breath, Troy glances at the clock on the nightstand
beside his bed. The red, glowing digits tell him that he’s fifteen minutes
early, but he turns off the alarm and slides out of bed anyway. This morning he
does sixty pushups before he makes his bed military style.
Grant isn’t downstairs this morning; thus Troy has to make
his own cup of coffee. He roots around the refrigerator for the ingredients to start
the eggs and fumbles around with making hash browns. He has a hard time with
it, and ends up making French fries in the pan with an extra helping of butter.
Grant shouldn’t mind.
The old man’s shuffling footsteps alert Troy to his presence
coming down the stairs, and Troy
Images of his sister lying gutted on the kitchen floor with
three fingers cut off makes his stomach roil, and he’s glad he had yogurt as he
wretches into the toilet. There isn’t much to come up. He clings to the sink as
he sips on some water, and then looks up at the face of a monster. If he had
just stayed away from them, they would still be alive, and he would be numb as
he used to be.
Now that he’s been forced to feel something, it’s starting
to pile up on him like boulders. Narrowing his eyes, he looks away from the man
in the mirror and hops into the shower where he tries to think about anything
else but his dead family. Thinking about the blonde agent from the hotel two
nights ago doesn’t help him much either. It just makes him feel like a prick.
----
“You have the address of the mark, why do you need the
reason?” His voice is deep on the other end of the phone, too deep to be his
real voice. The man must be using an app to make it sound different if it’s even
a man at all.
“The reason is important. I don’t just kill anyone for
anything.” The man known as Troy answers calmly as he stares down at the
address on the piece of paper.
“You’re a killer for hire! You’re paid to ask no
questions and kill whomever you’re instructed to. I paid good money for this!”
Troy rolls his eyes to the ceiling of his apartment as he leans the stool he’s
sitting on back.
“I’ll refund it. Just tell me why you need this
particular guy dead.” There’s a silence on the other end as the person seems to
reconsider their position on the subject. Then they finally answer.
“He killed my husband and left my children without a
father. I want him to pay for what he’s done.” He feels his mouth go dry when
he realizes it’s a woman he’s speaking with. Troy switches the disposable
cellphone to his other ear and stares down at his name on the piece of paper
along with his address. It’s not the first time he’s heard of a client hiring a
hit man to kill himself. He just never thought it would happen to him.
“How long ago did this happen, ma’am?” He sips on some
water from a glass and turns his head when his door begins to creak open. Troy
slams the stool down and hangs up the phone abruptly as his little niece comes
waddling through the doorway. His sister slips through behind her daughter and
smiles at him warmly with a bag in her hands. None of his family knows what he
does for a living, and if they did, they wouldn’t speak to him.
Troy pockets the piece of paper, and like any good man,
he puts work aside for his family. But the piece of paper is burning a hole in
his pocket while he devours Chinese food and listens to his niece’s trivial
complaints. They’re not inconsequential to her, so Troy pays the utmost attention
and answers her accordingly.
----
He wakes up with the sheets tangled around him and a cold
sweat soaking him. Troy stares up at the dark ceiling for what seems like a
long time, but is only a few minutes. Each breath is like a burning poker down
his throat as he clamps his eyes tight against the tears. They were too innocent
to die the way they did, and he did it to them.
When the heavy weight on his chest finally lifts enough that
he can draw in a normal breath, Troy glances at the clock on the nightstand
beside his bed. The red, glowing digits tell him that he’s fifteen minutes
early, but he turns off the alarm and slides out of bed anyway. This morning he
does sixty pushups before he makes his bed military style.
Grant isn’t downstairs this morning; thus Troy has to make
his own cup of coffee. He roots around the refrigerator for the ingredients to start
the eggs and fumbles around with making hash browns. He has a hard time with
it, and ends up making French fries in the pan with an extra helping of butter.
Grant shouldn’t mind.
The old man’s shuffling footsteps alert Troy to his presence
coming down the stairs, and Troy
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