Day 93 – Half Hour Hitman – Part 4

Word count: 631

Andy woke on a hard wooden floor. His head was throbbing. It took a few moments for his brain to realise he was even awake. As his brain slowly came to its senses, he had a strange feeling that he had forgotten something. Not only that, but he also felt naked – as if he had gone out on the street with no clothes on. He felt eyes staring at him; watching him; glaring and observing his every motion.

Still lying face down on the floor, he tried to slyly spy on his surroundings. He did not recognise the room he was in. An impressive mantlepiece framed a roaring fire, which provided the only light to the otherwise dark room. The floor was blanketed in a fine layer of dust. The room seemed vast compared to his frail body. Giant portraits of mountain scenes and eerie gentry lined the oak panelled walls.

It was night, he judged. From what he could see there were no windows in the room. There was, however, a grand door at the opposite end of the room to him. It was masked in shadow and only barely visible in the flickering flames of the fire. There were no furniture, Andy noted. No sofas, no tables nor cabinets. From the arrangement of dust, there was no evidence to suggest anyone had entered the room in years.

Andy pushed himself up to an upright position, coughing up dust. He scoped the room further and found that he was surrounded by near darkness save for the amber fire. As he struggled to rise to his feet, he finally realised why it was that he was feeling naked. His hands were not tied. He examined them as if they had just been conjured from thin air.

Suddenly the door creaked open, though no light poured in as the crack widened.

“Who’s there?” Andy pulled back from the potential danger.

A shadowy figure slipped into the room silently and let the door close shut behind him.

“Please… please let me go…”

The shadowy figure advanced on him just far enough for the glow of the fireplace to ignite half his face from darkness. He was an older man; he could be in his late forties at best. Andy shrank back to the pathetic form had been whilst lying on the floor upon seeing the man’s face.

“Please… please don’t… I can’t… not any more…”

But the man shook his head.

“You cannot leave this place,” his husky voice was final.

Andy shook his head in disbelief, “No, no! I haven’t done anything to you… I haven’t done anything to anyone. Please… please let me go…”

The man drew something cylindrical with a sharp tip from his pocket. Something dripped from the tip. Andy stepped back, but his foot hit the wall. He was cornered. The man glided towards him, arms outstretched and – with considerable force – pinned Andy against the wall. He couldn’t move. He tried writhing and wriggling, but to no avail. His neck was jammed at an angle that meant he could not see what was happening in any great detail. All he could see was the needle being thrust towards him before it pierced his arm like a knife.

There was a moment of relaxation. He almost felt happy, tired – sleepy – comfortable. The man let go of him and Andy slid down the wall to a dishevelled heap of limbs and semi consciousness. He could not control it – his eyes were closing, his brain shutting down. But in the final moments before he descended into the black, he swore – though he thought he must have been mistaken – that he heard the man whisper something as he looked down at Andy.

“Sorry,” he said, “I’m sorry I’m having to do this.”

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~ by S.G. Mark on January 8, 2012.

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