Day 232 – Half Hour Hitman – Part 14

Word count: 591

“Why? Why?” Andy was shouting at the Half Hour Hitman. “Tell me goddammit!”

Andy was distraught. If it were not for the fact that he was still tied up, he would be kicking and punching the walls; smashing everything in sight until he heard the right answers. For god knows how many long months he had wanted answers: he needed them now more than every. In the living room, he was shouting at the Half Hour Hitman, who simply remained silent, head bowed to the floor.

“Who was it? Who? Months I’ve been here! My parents think I just don’t want to bother with them, my friends – my family! You caused all this pain, all of it!”

Andy was storming round the room now. The TV was still blaring out end of match reports. Commentators were busy arguing about some offside goal. Rage could not describe what he was feeling right now. It was pure torture. He was being imprisoned for no reason but to save himself from something he was not allowed to know. He was dead to everyone. He betted they were treating him as if he did not exist any more.

“Tell me! Tell me! Why are you keeping it a secret, what can I do?”

The Half Hour Hitman was sinking into the sofa, pretending that Andy was not there at all.

“Listen to me! Listen, you bastard!” Andy launched himself into the Half Hour Hitman’s face until he was a fraction of a centimetre away from him. But the Half Hour Hitman did not react. He remained as silent as he had always been: a fortress of secrets.

Andy felt volcanic. He felt like walking straight out the front door, but he knew he would be killed within seconds – either by the hitman himself, or some other employee whose job it was to kill him. Andy could not understand anything any more. He had never done anything to want harm anyone or to even remotely upset them. Why would anyone want him dead? Had he done something so wrong to someone that they simply wanted to kill them?

“I wish I’d never gone out that night, never,” Andy whispered to himself, recalling his last night of freedom.

“I would have found you anyway,” the Half Hour Hitman broke his silence. “I knew everything about you. I knew where you lived, what your habits were.”

Andy turned slowly around, “I thought you killed within half an hour.”

“I do, but usually I get given the client a few days before. They give the order and they are dead within half an hour. I have been known to kill within twenty minutes from receiving the first call, though. He deserved it though.”

“Deserved it?” Andy spoke quietly, dangerously.

“Yes.”

“Then why didn’t I? What was so special about me that you would spare my life?” Andy was even more enraged.

“Because you’re special.”

“Special?”

“Yes.”

“And why should I believe you?”

“Come here,” the Half Hour Hitman motioned.

Andy hesitated but approached his capture anyway.

“Raise your hands,” the Half Hour Hitman ordered. Andy obliged.

The Half Hour Hitman proceeded in untying the ropes from his arms. With every tug and wrench, Andy felt freer. He would never be able to describe in words how that felt. Within the minute his hands were completely liberated. Andy raised them up and examined them. His wrists had deep cuts in them.

“Do you trust me now?” the Half Hour Hitman stared at him, bleakly and without a hint of cowardice.

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~ by S.G. Mark on May 26, 2012.

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