Untitled story - chapter four

Chapter four.


A dark, empty concrete hallway, smelling like a Turkish restaurant.
Only muffled sounds creeping out from under the doors of the apartments break the silence.
That, and my footsteps echoing trough the hall. 3F, this is the place.
I knock on the wooden door and wait.

After a little while, I hear shuffling footsteps inside, the sound of somebody who's just gotten out of bed.
I look at my watch. 4:40. A little early, I probably should have called ahead.
I hear a muffled voice inside asking "Who is it?"
"It's me, open up." Maybe I should have waited a little longer.
"John?" I hear the door being unlocked, and then it opens slightly.
A security chain is keeping it from opening completely.
"Hello, Michelle."
She closes the door when she sees me.
For a second, I think that it was a bad idea to come, maybe she doesn't want to see me?
I hear the chain being pulled out and the door opens again.
A woman launches at me, I'm caught off guard.
She hugs me hard, burying her face in my shirt.
"I thought you where dead." she says, her voice muffled by my chest, and quiet sobs.
I wasn't expecting this kind of welcome.

She tells me to come in. She locks the door behind me and rubs her eyes.
Reattaching the chain, she tells me to sit down and asks if I want coffee.
I accept and sit down on a green three-seat sofa.
She walks into the kitchen trough a doorless opening to the right of the couch.
I look around the room.
This is probably the nicest place in the building.
In this dark, worn down concrete bunker, she did a great job making it feel like home.
Light blue wallpapers, fake wood floors and strategically placed lamps made it look a lot
nicer than anything you'd expect from the hallway.
The furniture was cheap, but nice. In this part of town, in this apartment complex, this is the one place where you would really be happy to live.


"What happened to you?" Michelle asks from the kitchen.
"Nick said you got shot, and that you had vanished. Nobody could find you."
"Nick came to see you?"
Nick the rat.
If I know Nick, and I think I do, he was probably trying to find out if I was dead.
If I was, he would break into my apartment and steal everything that wasn't nailed down.
"Better that I have it than some jerk." He would probably say.
With friends like Nick, you don't need enemies.
Unfortunately for me, I had both.
"What did he say?" I ask, trying to figure out Nicks agenda.
"He came to the garage, he thought you might be there. He said you got shot by a robber or something."

He didn't know about the shadow, I should have known he wouldn't know the whole story.
I hear the coffeemaker start working, and Michelle comes back out into the living room.
I look over at her. She's wearing a pale pink nightgown and a well used fluffy white bathrobe.
Her feet are bare and her hair is a little messy. She really had just gotten out of bed.
She yawns. I apologize for waking her this early, and she assures me it's no problem at all.
She excuses herself and goes into the bathroom.
I hear the faucet running, she's probably washing up.

I notice a newspaper on the coffee table in front of me.
I pick it up and look at it.
The frontage proclaims: "Mob bosses questioned regarding recent killings."
The picture showed a group of men in expensive suits going into the police station downtown.
I recognized some of them, and assumed the rest of the well dressed men where high price lawyers.
I open the newspaper and start reading.
According to the article, the mafia might be responsible for the recent murders on top level
politicians and law enforcement officials that've been cracking down on the notorious drug cartel
that's said to be flooding the streets with illegal drugs. Now, some mafia captains have been brought in,
apparently some lower level people flipped, meaning they ratted out their bosses to save themselves.
Police are investigating a link between these recent murders and those that took place on
"the slaughter night" three months ago.

That's what they call it, the night I killed three men, and several other hits took place on targets all over the city.
Most of the ones who survived then have been killed the last few weeks, including more top level people.
Somebody didn't want the wrong people to ask questions about the cartel, it seems.

Michelle comes out from the bathroom, looking less tired, her hair combed and pulled back in a pony tail.
She sits down next to me on the couch.

"I called every hospital in town, nobody had admitted you, or they didn't tell me."
I put down the newspaper and look up at her.
"What happened to you?" She asks, sounding concerned.
"I don't know everything yet. All I know is that I've gotten myself into something big."
She looks worried.
"Don't worry," I tell her, "I'll handle it."
I look into her big blue eyes. They're a little red and puffy from crying.
Her care is almost overwhelming, I don't know what to tell her.
I want to say something to make her feel better, but I can't think of anything.
The coffee maker gives out a loud clicking sound, letting us know the coffee is done.

She walks into the kitchen and comes back with two cups of coffee.
There's already milk in it, she knows how I like my coffee.
We drink our coffee in silence.
I put the empty cup on the coffee table and look back at Michelle's.
I look right into those beautiful blue eyes, that seems to swallow me whole.

"Are you in danger?" She asks, her voice trembling slightly.
I pause for a second.
"Looks like it." I say, no point in denying that.
She looks a little scared.
I shouldn't have come, I don't want to drag her into this mess.
Her eyes is filled with tears again.
I hate myself for dumping this on her.
It feels like I'm drowning in a pool of freezing cold water, looking into those eyes.
So full of worry and pain.

I look away, not able to face those eyes.
She puts her hand on my knee.
I place my hand on hers and look back into her eyes.
Her beautiful, sad, blue eyes.
She rests her head on my shoulder.
And here we sit for I don't know how long, not saying a word.
I'm stroking her soft strawberry blond hair.
I feel her warm breath on my neck, and the smell of her hair.
The room is filled with unspoken words.
An hour pass, maybe two. She's asleep.
I gently lower her down on the couch.
I cover her with a blanket so she won't get cold.
I don't want to wake her up again.
I stand there for a moment, watching her sleep.
She really is beautiful.
I kiss her forehead and whisper goodbye.

I make sure the door gets locked before I leave, waking out into the chilly morning air.
I look at my watch. 7:45. I was there a lot longer than I had planned to.
I look back at the big, gray concrete box that is the apartment complex.
There's so much I want to tell her, but I can't find the words.
As I walk away, the smell of her hair seems to linger in my nose.
I feel empty, like I left a part of myself there in that couch with her.
In a way, I did.
I had to, in order to do what I have to do.
I take a deep breath, knowing that from bow on, things would only get worse.