Day 163 – Half Hour Hitman – Part Err. 8?

Word count: 620

The phone had only just begun ringing when the Half Hour Hitman picked up.
“I’m listening,” he answered, knowing exactly who it was on the other end. For three hours he had been expecting this phone call. “I have told you this already. My price is higher. I will not do it for anything less than four and a half million. I realize, but this is too high profile now. It’s that or no deal.”
The Half Hour Hitman paced back and forth between the fireplace and the window, frustrated. He never negotiated: he had never needed to until now. Behind him, the silhouette of a man tied up and blindfolded; a murky grey daylight streaming in from the tall windows. It was hardly the safest place for them both, but there was no other choice. Abandoned many years ago, it was rare that anyone ever came to visit that was not a wannabe thief or desperate burglar.
He hung up and flipped his phone over in his hand. Andy started coughing. The Half Hour Hitman had removed the gag yesterday, to some success. Andy would no longer shout and scream after every meal time and, indeed, any given opportunity. Still, the Half Hour Hitman did not trust his captive entirely and kept a close watch on him.
“Getting a cold?” the Half Hour Hitman approached Andy, kneeling down so that they could speak at eye level, despite the blindfold.
“I think so,” Andy coughed.
“I’ll pick you up some medicine. Are you alright for now?”
“C-c-cold, a bit.”
“Ah yes, it’s been snowing. I’ll get something warm for you. I don’t feel the cold.”
“Will… will that be due to your heart?”
The Half Hour Hitman stopped where he was, half way across the room, “I’m keeping you alive.”
“Yeah – f-f-or how long? Sounds like til you get a better price!”
“I’m going to get you a blanket now,” the Half Hour Hitman did not even dignify Andy’s accusation with a response.
For a number of weeks now he had been keeping Andy alive. He should have been dead the night they met; it should have all been over within half an hour. But Andy, of course, had no knowledge of this.
The Half Hour Hitman climbed the stairs to the first floor and searched his own bedroom for something to put over Andy. It seemed odd, comforting someone he was assigned to kill. He was not sure how to feel for this man, this former-target. Was he supposed to feel sympathy, pity or care?
His own bedroom was a mess. He would sleep on the hard floor just beneath the four poster bed, an original feature of the house. He did not sleep in a blanket and he did not rest his head on a pillow. Towers of books were piled up by the window. These were what he did while he was not tending to Andy and keeping watch on the property and grounds. The Half Hour Hitman stepped up to the window to catch view of the vista. Though it was a horrible day, he could not help thinking how beautiful the pitiful amount of snow looked on the grass and evergreens down towards the far edges of the grounds. It was peaceful, calming and completely different to the world he inhabited. In a way, it reminded him of his childhood.
“Help! Help! Help!” Andy was screaming downstairs.
The Half Hour Hitman sprinted down the stairs, leaping down steps of three and four at a time. He skidded round the corner and into the room where Andy was, who was still screaming at the top of his voice.
“Someone, someone help! Someone was here!” Andy screamed.

~ by S.G. Mark on March 18, 2012.

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