Day 277 – Half Hour Hitman – Part 22

Word count 593

Trees flitted passed Andy’s vision as the sped down the country roads. It was daylight: something Andy had not seen in many, many weeks. Andy was in the passenger seat, head resting against the window, as the Hitman drove. They did not speak and it had been hours since they had last acknowledged each other.

This was how it had been ever since they left the house one week ago. They had played it cool for a few days after the attack through the letterbox. Then, in the dead of night, they had slipped out through a basement window, underneath the fence and out into the back lane, running as silently as rats in a sewer. They had hijacked a car and fled to a nearby hotel for the night. That was how life had been since. Hotels one night a new, stolen car the next: they were untraceable, with any luck.

It was hour five into their journey. Midday was approaching, Andy’s stomach was starting to rumble. To be free felt fantastic, but this was not freedom as he wanted it. His hands might be free to move as he pleased, but if he left the company of this assassin, he was sure to be dead within the hour. It was a curse. Every moment of his life had to be watched by the assassin. He was not allowed to visit the bathroom without being accompanied. It was frustrating, but at the same time it was all he had. This man, whoever he was and for whatever reason, was trying to save his life.

The country roads twisted and turned like tree roots in a forest.

“How are you feeling?” The Half Hour Hitman looked over and asked Andy.
“I’m alright, little tired.”
“I noticed you didn’t sleep at all last night,” the Hitman replied.
“I noticed you haven’t sleep in three,” Andy retorted, “How do you function? How can you drive?”
“I just do. I’m more concerned about you. You need to get rest.”
“How can I?”
“Do you want lunch? We can stop. I need a drink.”
The pulled over at a pub. It was a quaint little English pub with a swan on the front. They ordered two pints at the bar. Andy felt as if everyone was staring at him. For months he wished that someone would find him; now all he wished for was for to be lost in a crowd.
“Where are we?” Andy asked. He didn’t recognise the accent of the barman.
“Near Bristol I think.”
“Any particular reason?”
“There’s always a reason, I just haven’t found it yet. How is the beer?”
“Beautiful,” it was the first drop of alcohol he had had in half a year. His nerves instantly relaxed.
“Andy, I wanted to ask you a question,” the Half Hour Hitman seemed almost genuinely interested. “How well do you remember your childhood?”
“That’s an odd question, isn’t it?” Andy was perplexed.
“I ask because I think it is time that you know – perhaps you have already subconsciously suspected –”
“Suspected what?”
“I don’t think there is any real way to say this, but your parents. They are not your biological parents.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“At age five you were adopted.”
“That’s rubbish – I’d remember!”
“There is no doubt in my mind. I have seen the birth certificates. I just wanted to know why you never remembered?”
“This is crazy!”
“Drink your beer,” the Half Hour Hitman’s eyes wandered to the front door, “I think it might be time to leave.”

~ by S.G. Mark on July 10, 2012.

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