We Dream About Surviving

Chapter 4 - Hanging

May, 2342

Meeting with a regular client, is usually a pleasant experience. Not that I like them or anything, but they now how I want things done. No annoying sob stories, no background on my victim, no needless information at all. More times than not, they simply hand me picture, a sheet of paper with the most necessary info, and a wad of cash.

This time it’s one of those mobster types ordering a hit, I’m not taking sides in the whole mob war going on, but I only work for one of them. I’m not that stupid, and doing hits on both sides would definitely get me in trouble somewhere down the line. I’m not scared of the opposing side though, nobody knows anything about me, and I’m always slightly more careful when I’m doing jobs like this. It’s always the same guy I meet with, and if they send me a substitute, I refuse to do anything. They’ve only done so once, and learned their lesson, as they missed out on a perfect opportunity to get rid of someone high up in the hierarchy. Not my problem, I don’t give a fuck if they never get the opportunity again, I’m playing it safe with these murders.

He’s a large man, sitting in the transaction spot, every other customer of the bar keeping as far away as possible. He’s always nicely dressed; pinstriped suits, perfectly tied tie, neatly pressed shirts. Harvey doesn’t much like him coming here, but as long as he leaves as soon as the job is given to me, he manages to live with it. I doubt whoever they are up against knows anything about Harvey’s, the transaction spot or anything regarding me in general, but I can see why it makes him on edge.

I slide into the chair opposite of him, and without any words exchanged, he hands me a large, brown envelope. I nod as I take it, assuming the ‘conversation’ is over with, but he leans in a little and whispers something in my ear.

“Beware with this one. He knows we’re out to get him.”

I raise my eyebrows and shrug. It’s unusual that they give me any other information than what’s kept in the folder, but never the less I make a mental note of it. As soon as he leaves the establishment, I return to the bar, sitting down in front of Harvey. Opening up the envelope, there’s a lot less information than usual. A picture – an old mugshot taken by the police – but besides that there’s only cash and a single post it note with an address scribbled down. I think it over for a while; usually there’s a whole schedule of where they go, what they do and what time of the day they do it. These people usually keep a clear tab on the people they want to get rid of, doing most of the work for me. It seems strange to only give me a single address, and my brain tries to connect the dots with what he just told me. It’s a home address, an apartment complex on the other side of town, which really only gives me one place to get a hold of him.

It dawns on me: the guy doesn’t go out. Seems like a stupid move, he should try to get the fuck away from Destiny City, but apparently he’s decided to hole himself up inside his apartment. With all the surveillance around these days, it’s not exactly the easiest of tasks getting into someone’s apartment unnoticed, but I’ll just have to find a way around that shit.

“Give me a beer,” I say to Harvey, handing him an ID card. He takes it and runs it through a slot on the refrigerator, but instead of allowing him to give me said beer, it makes an angry noise, blinking a red light. “Motherfucking...” I grumble, then pull out another one. I look it over carefully, this one says I’m 21, old enough to get a god damned beer.

Harvey sighs and shakes his head, as he takes it from my hand, repeating the process. This time the fridge complies, blinking bright green, and opening up the door. Fucking surveillance society, keeping a tap on everything, making it impossible to get a fucking pack of cigarettes without a fake ID. Luckily I have plenty of those, Harvey sets me up with new ones once in a while. How he gets them I have no idea, he must know a guy, because the pictures match my appearance.

“You really shouldn’t walk around with your own,” he points out as he hands me the beer.

“Had to, I drove here.”

That’s the one thing I haven’t found my way around, my car is registered to my real identity, which in itself is harmless enough. If I ever get pulled over I don’t want any alarms going off, nudging the cops towards the thought of me doing anything illegal. Should I get caught with a body in the trunk, I’ll be fucked regardless of my ID card, but getting caught with a fake one in itself, could attract some attention.

“Lazy sod,” Harvey comments, as he hands back the fake ID.

“I spend all night fucking, I’m allowed to be lazy.”

This makes him chuckle a little, “So all is well with the love life of Michael Mayhem?”

“Shut the fuck up,” I take a sip of my beer, then add a quick, “And yes.”

This is probably the most conversation we’ve ever had, and I down the rest of my beer quickly to move away from it. I have no intentions of sharing my life with Harvey, or anyone else for that matter, but sometimes he catches on to little snippets of details without me even knowing. He’s perceptive like that, he figured out I’d met someone a long time ago, and has been making little comments about it for ages.

“If you leave the car, I’ll drive it home for you later,” he calls out behind me, as I make my way towards the door.

“No need, I’ll pick it up before work.” That way I can also let him know when he’s supposed to write me down for hours, doing this without a schedule for the victim, I can’t really make one of my own. I leave the bar, barely nodding a goodbye to Harvey.

***

It’s gotten late before I manage to drum up some layouts of the victim’s apartment. It’s small, just one room, but it’s lodged in between two others. That’s a problem, partly because there’s only one window available, located in the kitchen; partly because it gives me two sets of neighbors, plus whoever lives underneath to take into consideration. At least it’s on the top floor, no one above, but it’s also a locked building, one that needs a code to get through. That limits my options of getting inside a lot, I pretty much have to go through the window, which leaves me with the problem of getting inside from there. I am no cat burglar, I don’t come with a set of glass cutters or lock picks, I’m just a guy who wants to murder some other guy.

I sigh and lean back in my chair, this would be a hell of a lot easier, if I could lure him outside.

Then it hits me: the guy’s got to eat. He can’t exactly live off dust and thin air, so somehow he’s getting food into the apartment. I just need to figure out how and when, and if I’m quick about it, I can probably catch him at dinnertime. It’s only five in the afternoon, it’s a wager, but I can’t come up with anything else. Hurriedly I check nearby restaurants, and find a few that delivers. If I was some grand hacker I could locate everything within a second, but alas, I am not. I’m just going to have to take my chances and hope for the best.

With a huff I remove myself from the computer, and ruffle Tofu’s fur thoroughly before putting on shoes, jacket and gloves. I grab the duffelbag from the closet in the hallway, the one filled with murder weapons of all kinds, and leave the apartment.

The rain is pouring down outside, it’s okay, I’ve always liked the rain. Just like murdering people, it has a somewhat calming effect on me.

I half run all the way to Harvey’s, somewhat in a hurry to pick up my car. If any of this is going to work out in my favor, I have to stick to my makeshift plan and wishful thinking. I open the door to the bar, popping my head inside and calling out for Harvey. When he emerges, I give him a thumbs up, and he nods, grabbing a pen and a piece of paper. There we go, now I’m officially at work busing tables.

Outside again, I slip into my car, a small smile on my face. Damn you, you paranoid asshole, I’m going to get my hands on you, regardless of how much undercover you think you are.

***

I park my car several blocks away, then walk the rest of the way to his building. I look as average as I always do, no need for great theatrics on this one. If I can just get inside the building, it won’t matter. Luckily there’s an alley right across from the building, so I can stand there and keep watch. I hope I’m right in my many assumptions, otherwise this is a complete waste of time. It’s not like anything bad will happen if I’m mistaken, but I could definitely spend my time doing something much more fun, than hanging out in some alley. Like spending time with Shadow, that I would much prefer over this annoying job.

It’s closing in on six o’clock, when a car pulls up, stopping right in front of the building. It’s got a big pizza sign on top of it, and I revel in my own ingenuity. I’m not quite at the finish line, but it’s a big step of the way. Hurrying across the street I almost get hit by a passing car, but it doesn’t seem to catch the pizza boy’s attention, and as such it doesn’t matter. He’s bend over the backseat of the car, removing a pizza box. I’m almost certain it’s for my target, it’s a gut feeling really, and if I should be mistaking, it’s not that big of a deal.

While the kid is still bend over, fiddling with the many boxes stacked inside, I grab a hold around both sides of his face. He barely even gets to react, before I make a rough twist, breaking his neck. He tumbles forward, his entire body going limp within a second, and I catch him on the way down, pushing my arms underneath his.

Thank fuck I don’t care about other people, if I did, I might feel bad about the casualties along the way.

Luckily there aren’t a lot of people out, everyone is either at home eating dinner, or hiding out from the pouring rain that’s overflowing the streets. I shove the pizza guy into the backseat of the car, grab the cap off his head and put it on, picking up the pizza too. There’s a piece of paper taped to the top of the box, and it is indeed intended for my target. Picture perfect, step two accomplished.

Carrying the food, I go to the door, trying to balance it on one arm as I locate the buzzer with his name attached. Obviously he’s using a fake name, I know the feeling, but that part the mobsters already took care of for me. I’m sure they have their ways of keeping track of a guy, something I’d never bother to do myself. I expect that part of a job to be handed to me, I’m happy to do the dirty work, but figuring out all the details is totally on my clients. I push the button, and there’s a long pause before someone asks who it is.

“Pizza guy,” I say in a tone somewhere between tired and polite.

I know the building has one of those sensor screens, but it doesn’t matter, the cap is covering my face. He wouldn’t recognize me either way, but I don’t particularly like being caught on camera. He doesn’t respond, just buzzes me in, no questions asked. Step three.

I take the elevator up, in spite of it being littered with cameras. The stairwell probably is too, it doesn’t matter, the cap is pulled tightly down, and I look at nothing but the ground. Making it to the top floor, I straighten up, I need to be ready for any kind of reaction.

I ring his doorbell, and it’s answered almost immediately. He’s a big guy, larger than what I expected, but nothing I can’t handle. I hand him the pizzas, with a polite smile, and just as he’s about to close the door in my face, I wedge a foot in the crack between it and the door frame. He’s caught off guard, even if he is paranoid, he believes the delivery guy to be safe enough company. I’m not though, neither delivery guy, nor safe company.

I make a swift push at the door, before he can react in any way, besides staring wide-eyed at my foot lodged in his doorway. The pizza box drops to the floor, as he flails his arms to close the door in my face. He can’t, it knocks hard against my shoulder, something that will definitely leave a big bruise, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. He’s strong though, probably stronger than I am, and I can’t ruff him up too bad, for this to go down perfectly. I’ve already settled on a method, but it does take a little preparation, for it took look just right. Which is exactly why I kick at the door and not him, pushing myself into the apartment. He lands hard on the floor, but he’s quick and jumps right back up in my face. Slamming the door shut behind me, I know he has no other way of escaping. The only two exits are the front door, and a window he – according to the pictures I found online – isn’t small enough to fit through. I hope I am, I’ll need that a little later. First I need him dead though.

He’s fit for fight and more than willing to do so, which is a drawback. Not that I was expecting anything else, but one can always hope that people will just die the way they are supposed to. I dig into the inside pocket of my jacket, pulling out a small spray container. It’s nothing deadly, it just stuns people, without leaving a mark. Maybe a little red eyes, but that’s okay, that’ll be covered up later.

He grabs onto my arm as soon as he spots it, trying to wriggle it out of my grip. Not happening big guy, and even if it’s quite the gamble, I push down on the top of it, spraying the mist everywhere. It catches me a little bit, but only a small dose on my right cheek, making it numb. Annoying motherfucker, but it doesn’t matter, the stuff’s got him paralyzed within a few seconds. His face and arm, the places I hit him most, are already starting to stiffen, and he loses balance, tumbling to the ground. I keep spraying, covering his entire body in it, until I’m absolutely certain he can’t move. It’ll wear off within twenty minutes, but it’s all the time I need.

Locking the door behind me, I leave him lying there in the hallway, unable to do a damn thing about my presence. I walk into his living room, a dirty place with curtains drawn shut, and find a chair. It looks stable enough for what I intended, even if he is big and bulky. There’s a rafter above my head, just like the floor plans said there would be, and carefully I fiddle out a nice and thick rope. Quickly I tie it around the beam, making a noose at the other end. Now to get his big ass up on that chair is going to be hard, but I’m a lot stronger than I look. At least strong enough to drag him from the hallway to the living room, where I let him slump down on the floor. His eyes are terrified, staring straight ahead, stunned just as the rest of him. He’s trying frantically to get words through his lips, but I put a finger to my own, shushing him.

“Don’t even bother, you’re never gonna say another word,” I whisper, a small smile grazing my lips.

For a second I’m just standing there, eyes moving from him, to the chair, then back again. Sighing I realize I’ve made a slight mistake, a miscalculation if you will, regarding his size. If he was a small guy, I’d be more than able to get him up there, but alas, he is not. I lift him slightly off the floor, trying to weigh out my options, then finally agreeing that I can at least get him sitting on the chair. He almost tilts over as I let go of him, but I push him back up in an upright position. Fucking annoying, next time I do this type of work, I’m going to ask for a weight and height chart.

Noticing he’s moving his fingers slightly, I have to work quickly. I can’t just keep standing around and stun him with mist, I’ll have to do something else. First I pull out another chair for me to stand on, I’m going to need that soon enough. Then I take a hold of the noose, and pull it down around his neck, hoping I can lift him off the ground with it. Climbing up on the chair, I loosen the other end of the rope, and maybe, for just a second, he thinks I’ll let him go.

No such luck, I just pull the rope down on the opposite side of the beam, grabbing a tight hold of it, as I begin to hoist him up into the air. It takes every muscle in my body, I’m panting and cursing at the same time, but I manage to get him up high enough that his feet doesn’t touch the ground. His stiffened legs are trying to kick, the mist is starting to wear off, but the only thing he hits is the chair underneath him. He twists and wriggles one last time, before his eyes rolls into the back of his head, and eventually, he just hangs there.

Now I just need to tie the damned rope back up, making it look like the perfect suicide. No one will suspect it, he’s a man hiding from the mob, maybe he just got sick of that, and hung himself.

It’s borderline dangerous the way I’m standing, one foot on the backrest of the chair, both hands firmly locked at the rope, a big guy swinging from it. Right around now I really wish I had chosen another method, hell, I could have just shot him in the face and let the mob take the fall for it, but this just seemed like a much better idea. Better idea my ass, I’m never doing this again, unless it’s some teeny tiny person I can swing over my shoulder without any problems.

Eventually I succeed in getting the rope tied up to the beam, and I let him hang there, sitting down for a little while, smoking a cigarette until I catch my breath.

There’s a ripping sound above me, and as I lift my head, the rope breaks. It fucking breaks, the guy tumbling down with it, all of my hard work going to waste. I sigh, get up off his couch, and walk into the kitchen. This is by far the dumbest, most excessively complicated murder I’ve done to date. Opening up the kitchen window I glance across my shoulder at the mess I’ve made. Fuck it, it is what it is, I think to myself, before climbing out on the small ledge, and begin my way down back to my car.

***

I’m tired and bruised when I finally return to my apartment. Going up the stairs, I see something – or rather someone – lying in front of my front door. It’s Shadow, and the first thought that flies through my head, is that he’s dead. I guess I am a little damaged, thanks to what I do. I rush forward, grabbing a hold of his head, turning him over. My heart is beating a million miles an hour, I am for the first time in my life genuinely terrified. Only when his eyes open up slightly, looking all blurry and wet, I notice what he’s got clutched in one hand. A bottle of wine; he’s lying passed out drunk at my doorstep.

He blinks at me, an almost apologetic look on his face, before he mumbles, “Sorry, I got all sleepy from waiting for you.”

I’m still a little shocked, but in the end I just give him a close hug and pull him up from the floor. Looking him over carefully he seems to be in perfect condition, short of being drunk of his ass.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, “I probably shouldn’t have come here...”

I chuckle a little at his sad puppy dog look, then pull him in for a close hug. “It’s okay,” I run my fingers through his hair, “Really, I’d rather have you drunk on my doorstep, than drunk somewhere else entirely.”

Still holding on to him, I unlock the door and get the two of us inside. In spite of how annoyed I was with my kill, right now I just praise myself lucky that I didn’t go for something bloody. Not sure he’d notice, his current state taken into consideration, but still, it’s damn lucky I don’t come home with blood spatters all over my face.

I log him down on the couch, leaving him there for a second to go fetch him some water. When I return he’s curled himself up on it, looking somewhere between miserable and ready to pass out again. I nudge at his feet, making him move slightly, so I can sit down next to him.

“Here, drink this,” I hand over the glass of water, and he eyes it skeptically. “Seriously, it’s water, just drink it.”

Groaning he pushes himself back up, takes the glass from my hand, and gulps down the water in big sips.

“Thanks...” he mumbles, still holding the glass. I shake my head and laugh a little, I’ve never seen him like this before, maybe a little tipsy, but never this drunk.

“So… What happened?” I ask curiously.

“I got into a fight with my mom.”

“I see.”

Of all the things I don’t get, being in a fight with a parent is pretty high on the list. I think it’s a typical teenage thing, but as I am nothing of the sorts, there is no way of me fully understanding it. Makes me wonder how I’d be if I had parents, if I would still be off killing people, or if I’d just be having stupid arguments about not doing my homework. In the end I shrug of the thoughts and questions, and get up from the couch instead.

“Let’s get you to bed,” I say softly, pulling him up with me. He groans in disagreement, but in the end he complies and follows me into the bedroom.

When I’m done getting him out of his clothes, and tugging him safely into bed, I turn to go get my phone. He grabs onto my wrist, looking at me with pleading eyes. “Are you leaving?”

“I’ll be right back, I just need to make a quick call.”

He nods slowly, lets go of me, and curls himself into a ball. I laugh at him, and decides I’ll bring back a bucket for him to throw up in, just in case.

I fiddle out my regular phone; my list of contacts has doubled itself to all of two people. I dial the number that doesn’t belong to Shadow, sighing a little, and hope that the conversation won’t go over too badly.

“Hey Alice,” I greet Shadow’s mom, we’ve moved to first name basis a long time ago. “Yeah, it’s Michael. I’m just calling to let you know that Shadow’s at my place.”

“Oh he is now, is he?” she sounds mad, not at me, but no doubt she’s mad at her son.

“Yeah, I don’t know what happened, but he’s a little drunk and passed out in bed.”

“Big surprise there, he ran off with a bottle of wine about an hour ago.”

“An hour ago? Well the bottle’s empty now, so no wonder he’s drunk.”

She huffs, then, “Tell you what… He can sleep it off at your place, but I’ll stop by in the morning and come get him. Pretty sure I’ll still be in the mood for telling him off then, and he’ll remember more of it if I do.”

“Sounds good to me, you can just drop by whenever.”

“I’ll be there bright and early,” she says, before hanging up on me. Damn she’s going to yell at poor Shadow tomorrow, thank fuck I’m not him.

***

He throws up in the middle of the night, and I’m not sure he entirely hits the bucket I’ve set out for him. I pad him gently on the back, pull him back into bed, before he tumbles over into the vomit that’s probably everywhere. As he curls back into fetal position, I wrap my arms around him, holding him with his back pressed closely to my chest. I run my fingers through his hair, and kiss him gently on the back of his neck, before falling back asleep.

Two more times in the span of the night, I wake up to the sound of him vomiting. Every time he does, I reach over and stroke his back, finding it slightly odd how affectionate I can be towards him, when I’m so incapable of feeling even the slightest hint of emotion towards other people. I guess I was just right at my first assumption about him, he’s different, no explanation needed, he’s just different.

***

It is indeed bright and early, when the doorbell rings. I’ve been up for maybe half an hour, drinking my morning coffee, halfway getting ready to take Tofu for a walk. It can wait though, I want to stick around to see what happens. Maybe play the role of the supportive boyfriend, even if I’m pretty sure I agree with his mother; Shadow probably was acting a little over the top yesterday. He usually is, when it comes to fights, he has a tendency to get overly dramatic. He’s still in bed though, snoring softly, and as soon as I’ve let Alice in, I go get him.

“Hey sleepyhead,” I whisper into his ear, “You need to get up, your mom’s here.” He groans in disagreement and tries to pull the blankets up over his head. I shake my head at it, adding, “If you don’t get out of bed, she’s just gonna come in here and yell at you, trust me, you can’t win this one.”

Finally he moves himself into an upright position, his hair sticking out in every direction, still a little vomit stuck at the corner of his mouth. It’s not exactly a pretty sight, but I still feel sorry for him. He wipes at his face, holding his head in his hands.

“Okay, alright, just give me a second,” he mumbles, and I do, leaving him to go back into the living room.

I sit down next to Alice, offering up a cup of coffee, which she willingly accepts. It’s no more than six in the morning, I think everybody needs a cup of coffee right around now.

When Shadow finally manages to move himself to the living room, he slumps down in a chair opposite his mom. She takes a long hard look at him, shaking her head exasperated as she does.

“Adam Shadow Wright,” she starts, her tone calm and collected.

In spite of the fact that me and Shadow have been together for more than six months, this is the first time I hear his actual name, and I make a mental note of it. It seems strange that I didn’t know it up until now, but then again, he doesn’t know my actual last name either. It says M. M. on both door and mailbox, and even though he has asked me repeatedly, I have refused to give up that little piece of information.

He looks up at her, a pleading look in his eyes. “Please don’t yell at me.”

“Oh I’ll yell as much as I feel like, and you’re going to listen to every word of it.”

Groaning he slides down in his chair, bracing himself for what’s to come.

In the end she doesn’t yell all that much, but he winces every time she raises her voice. Apparently they got into a fight about Shadow’s grades, Alice believing he can do better. He wants to be an architect after all, it takes a lot of hard work to get into a good school, he needs to up his game and do something other than just drawing on large sheets of paper.

“But mom...” he tries to get a word in, but she raises a finger at him, shaking her head.

“Nope, no ‘but mom’ on this one, you will get your act together right this instance. If you fail math, you’re going nowhere near a good school. Especially considering math is a big part of being an architect, it’s not just drawing pretty buildings.”

She’s right, and Shadow knows this. In the end he nods his head resignedly. “I promise I’ll do better on the next test, really mom, I will.”

“Good. Now stop being a baby, kiss your boyfriend goodbye and get your ass home to study.”

“Can’t I just stay here and study?” he whines, and I know exactly what the answer’s going to be on that one.

“Not a chance, I want to see you knee-deep in books and papers until the next test comes around. You can see Michael when you’ve got some spare time on your hands, but no more studying at his place.”

This, I’m not too pleased with, and Shadow sure as hell isn’t either. Both of us are going to comply though, she is his mother, and apparently these hold a lot of power over their kids. In the end he gets up, gets dressed and with a deep sigh he kisses me goodbye.

“I’ll be back soon, I promise,” he whispers against my lips.

“You’ll be back when I say you can,” Alice states firmly, and Shadow groans again.

In the end they both leave, Shadow looking as miserable as ever. I close the door behind them, giving Tofu a weary look. I guess that’s the average teenage life for you, and as much as it bothers me that I don’t get to see him as often as I’m used to, I’ll just have to live with it.