A Guardian Angel

by Williams, Phoenix

  “Why don't I tail her?” Andy asked.

  Steven made a face like he was about to say something that Andy wouldn't like and that he didn't much like thinking about it. “To be honest, I'm worried you won't know what you're doing,” he replied.

  Andy felt like replying that he had killed more men than Steven ever shook hands with, but he bit his tongue.

  “Once a face is seen, it is stored in a person's short term memory. Like the history on an Internet browser,” Steven started explaining. “When that same face is seen again, it resurfaces in their mind and they suddenly focus on it. It becomes more interesting than we'd want to be. It only draws attention.”

  It made sense. “Okay,” Andy said, a little late to interrupt like he wanted. “Go.”

  Thirty minutes passed while Andy finished the laundry and then waited around the idle machine, hoping Steven would return at any point. Once it had become obvious that he couldn't stay in the laundromat any longer, he pulled out his cellphone and called the contact labeled “Data.”

  “What?” Steven answered the phone.

  “I can't stay here. The laundry is done,” Andy explained.

  “Get in the car. It's unlocked. You'll find the key behind the brake,” Steven directed, wind ripping past him and into his speaker. “I'm going to keep at this for a while. Drive home.”

  Andy didn't like it, but he eventually agreed. Grabbing the pile of warm linen off the top of the drier, he pushed out the glass door and drove back to Steven's house with a little luck. He fell asleep.

  -Chapter Five-

  Circumstance

  “How did it go?” Andy asked several hours later when Steven arrived back at the house.

  “Really good,” Steven said. “I'm starting to learn about Flynn's routine at the least, but I can't be certain from just one observation. I want to try again tomorrow morning. Same time as she left today.”

  “Alright,” Andy said, and asked no more of him. Steven was no doubt exhausted by now and he could find out what information he had collected after a well-deserved nap.

  Again, he dreamed. This time he was looking at his own face in the mirror. The features had been sanded off, nothing about him more distinctive than anybody else. He even had trouble recognizing himself. All he could really see were his eyes and the black rings that had begun to develop around them.

  Rolling waves of sadness hit him, one succeeding after the other. Each one hurt worse than the last until he forced himself away from the reflection that he hated so much. From there he started walking down an elongated red carpet that stretched from the bathroom, down the hall, and into a large cathedral-like chamber. The carpet became more worn and hideous as he got nearer and nearer to its end. Once he found himself there, before him sat a large wooden throne.

  The throne was Gothic in appearance, the arms raised up on twisted and gnarled looking sticks, designed by nature to be despised. The wood itself looked deader and darker than any wood he had ever seen. He knew that it had not been finished that way either; it was crafted by the divine just for him. He took a seat at it and felt all the horrible feelings that lived in the arms crawl up onto him and burrow into his skin. He felt worse than when he was staring at his reflection.

  Upon his touch, the seat lowered a crown onto his head. Its material seeped down on his hair and suffocated his nostrils. It was made of excrement, the only fitting crown for him. It felt familiar and he welcomed it even though he hated it as well. It only reminded him of his sadness and justified it all for him. There was no pity he felt for himself; only punishment.

  A photo of the young Haley Flynn was smashed and defiled at his feet. He dared to look at it and it stole him. Upon his gaze, the woman in the photograph started losing all of her color. As her hair began falling out in clumps, her skin began to rot and she twisted into an unrecognizable corpse. That killed him. There he broke down, sobbing for the first time he could remember.

  He cried over the jet black suit that he wore, staining it with the crimson blood that flowed from his eyes. Every drop changed the tone of the material and soon he was sitting in a suit of dripping blood. His uniform of evil.

  He couldn't take it any longer.

  Slipping his bare feet into the most evil looking pair of boots he had ever seen, he fled from the chamber. Fled from the carpet. Fled from the throne. As he ran, he tore off his crown of shit, increasing in speed until he was in a full blown sprint. He rushed out of a door and came out into a courtyard.

  In the middle of this vibrant lawn sat a crystal blue pond. On the shore nearest to him was a lamp post, illuminating the night time ripples that ran so elegant through the otherwise still waters.

  This was it, he decided.

  Off slipped his boots by the shore as he tested the water. It was cool, feeling as relieving as aloe on a burn. The burn that was his accursed existence. At that moment he decided that he would drown himself in the pond. No more would he sit on his throne or wear his crown. That was not who he wanted to become. He would much rather die.

  However, he noticed, the farther he waded into the waters, the better he felt. Years of anguish were washing off of him like grime. He felt happy.

  Something hit him hard in the back and he was thrown face forward into the water. His body was held in shock, just as his mind was as he watched his own blood seep out of him and into the water. Finally, he thought. Finally, it's over. Finally I can die.

  Steven woke Andy up.

  “Do you want to come with me today?” Steven asked.

  “Hmm?” Andy hummed in response, his mind fogged by the haze of half-sleep.

  “Today,” Steven started, “do you want to come? You don't need to. I stalk best by myself.”

  Andy rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “At least you're honest about what you do,” he grunted. Then he looked up at his partner who still expected an answer. “No. You go.”

  “Okay, then I will be back in time for dinner, which I would like you to make.”

  “What?”

  “I've left thirty dollars on the TV stand,” Steven continued. “Go shop for something delicious. Buy yourself a beer. Get to know the city.”

  “I don't want to know it.”

  Steven shrugged. “Fine. Don't do it,” he said in response before vanishing from Andy's room. “Remember, I'm allergic to nuts!” Andy could hear the front door open, then close, then lock.

  He scoffed before falling back asleep.

  When he awoke from a dreamless slumber, he remembered Steven's request. Worried, he checked the time. It was only noon.

  He stumbled into the living room and actually found that it had been cleaned and organized. The invading dishes had been eradicated and the general layout of the room was tidied. The carpet had also been vacuumed. And, as Steven had said, a twenty and ten dollar bill rested on the television stand. Andy stared at them for a moment before making up his mind. He stuffed them into his pocket and slipped out the door.

  To Andy's surprise, Steven had left his car in the driveway. He had either decided to follow Flynn on foot, got a bicycle, or took a taxi. Either way, the car was intended for Andy's use, as the giant “drive me” written in dust in the rear window demanded.

  He climbed into the car, noticing how strange it was that it was left unlocked. He never saw something like that. In an instant, he realized that he did not have the keys, but the worry passed as he remembered the spot behind the brake pedal. There they were. He grinned as he remembered that his purpose was of leisure. No work was expected of him.

  Most cities Andy had ever been in confused him. Seldom could he get to a specified destination without directions. There were never any lucky shots in the dark. Lumnin was not such a city. In fact, the alphabetically ordered streets would require some skill to get lost among. The restaurants were next to the entertainment venues and the department stores were near banks. It all made sense.

  Seeing the whole city shouldn't be done
on such an empty stomach, Andy decided, so he pulled into a family owned grocery store. The car eased into the spot and he walked from it to the store with no worry at all that he had to have his trigger finger poised. Instead he came as a normal American shopper. My true freedom, Andy thought for a moment. How relieving it was.

  Something unique had to be cooked, as long as he could remember a recipe or learn one in time. He stopped by the meat cooler, and after careful comparison, left with a large pack of pork chops, off to some other section of the store for sides. Eggs. He picked up eggs. Sunny-side-up pork chop sandwiches was a delightful recipe that Max had invented one day and shared with him.

  A few other things found their way into Andy's basket. A bottle of tequila, two dozen donuts and a block of smoked cheddar. Luxuries that he dug into his own wallet for, dismissing Steven's thirty as nice but not needed. He made sure he had as much paper as he needed as he slid past a woman at check stand four and made it to the front of check stand three, which ran parallel.

  “Excuse me?” the woman from check stand four said, tapping him on the shoulder and provoking him to face her.

  Andy's heart dropped to his gut and it was there that it chose to sizzle in acid.

  “We've met, haven't we?” Haley Flynn asked.

  Little could have prepared him for this. Nothing could spare him now other than his tuned control over every aspect of his appearance. “I'm sorry?” he asked, continuing to bag his groceries.

  “You look so familiar,” she replied. She traced across his face with her icy blue eyes. “What's your name?”

  Even her voice sounded fragile. Like the highest note on a grand piano. Threatening to break but singing so bright until it would, which it never did. Like nothing had ever touched that voice. Andy couldn't help but let his eyes swim for a mere second. In the corner of his eye he could see Steven waving at him from the drink coolers on check stand one. A pained expression was etched into his features, similar to the one Andy felt himself get when he recalled embarrassing memories. Steven drug his hands through his black hair with a speed that threatened to rip it all out. Andy looked back to Haley.

  “Andy,” he answered her, trying his best to seem bothered. Perhaps she would get bored and leave if he failed to engage her. He purposely forgot to ask Haley for her own name as he continued operating the check stand.

  “My name's Haley,” she introduced herself. She looked into his eyes. It unnerved Andy. She almost seemed stoned. Maybe she was stoned, Andy hoped. Then he became afraid. Maybe I'm stoned.

  “Haley,” Andy said the name, flipping it over in his mouth and testing how it felt. It felt lighter than mist but heavier than rain. No, he thought. No. “Look, I'm kind of busy – ”

  “I don't mean to come off as strange, but you wouldn't be interested in getting to know each other, would you?” Haley started asking. She pulled on a long length of hair and moved it out of her face and hooked it behind her ear. She bit her lower lip. There was no possibility that he could endure. “What do you think about drinks and a meal sometime?”

  You're married, Andy lied to himself. Shit, no ring. She would definitely notice that. You have a girlfriend, he demanded to himself. You do. Say it.

  “Or a walk?” she continued, allowing Andy to think. The look on her face was of dreamy nervousness. As if she was back in grade school. “It's starting to warm up.”

  You're gay, he screamed to himself inside his thoughts. Tell her that. Lie to her!

  Then it struck him. “Yeah,” he said. “That sounds nice.”

  Haley smiled with relieved joy and pure compassion. “Yes?” she wanted to clarify.

  Andy nodded. She grinned a touched smile that showed off her beautiful straight teeth. She rummaged through her purse until she found a scrap piece of paper, upon which she scribbled numbers. With happy eyes, she extended the note to Andy.

  “Call me,” she told him before accepting her receipt from her respective check stand. Then she walked away, feet so sturdy on the ground and curved frame too fragile to even make a mean face at without fear of breaking it.

  A stressed groan came from his left side, low at first but almost on the verge of erupting once it arrived at his ear. Andy saw Steven out of the corner of his eye, but he did not dare to draw his eyes from Haley in fear that it might be the last time he ever saw her.

  “This is not good,” Steven hissed through clenched teeth.

  “She has no idea that we know each other,” Andy said, trying to get a better look as Haley walked out of the door. He turned to the data collector. “I got rid of her and that's it.”

  “You can't do surveillance anymore. She'll recognize you without a doubt,” Steven said as if Andy had meant to run into Haley Flynn and must now be punished. “If you aren't able to get dirt on her, what good are you here?”

  Andy looked back out to the parking lot. A neon blue bike darted by.

  “Get a hold of Mr. Graves,” Andy instructed. “I need to talk to him.”

  -Chapter Six-

  Why

  “Hello?” Steven said with clammed words into the receiver of the phone. “Yes, I know, but Summers requested it. Requested. Of course. Okay, thank you. Goodbye.” He hung the phone up and looked over at Andy. Genuine fear was stamped above his eyes.

  “Thank you,” Andy offered. He was grateful that he could get Leroy Graves' number in the first place, let alone that Steven himself would offer to call him and arrange his own meeting. At this point, he was upset by his roommate's distress. “I'll be back. I want to ask him 'why.'”

  “Why what?” Steven demanded.

  Andy almost replied “why must Flynn die,” but he caught himself; once he did say that, there was no return. And this man that he had lived with for the last two days would know that he had been deceived.

  “Why her,” he settled with.

  “I hope the answer is worth it.”

  Andy sighed as he turned the door knob, hesitating only a moment before disappearing from the house to meet Mr. Graves.

  The plane sat on the runway like a cat sunbathing. How Andy had started to hate Mr. Graves' customary method of meeting with people like him. It seemed cowardly. However, it was a little convenient for him. He got Steven to secure him a flight from here to Chicago so he could visit for the rest of the day. Mr. Graves believed that Andy was feeling homesick and just needed a rest in order to complete the job.

  “Mr. Winter!” Leroy Graves addressed the assassin as he climbed up the stairs and entered the jet.

  Andy took a seat as the plane took off. “Sir,” he called his employer.

  “Now what was it you wanted to talk about? Mr. Graves asked, then added, “Scotch?”

  “No, thanks,” Andy said, dismissing the stewardess who had just appeared by his side. “I wanted to talk to you about Haley Flynn.”

  “Why?” Leroy asked.

  Andy swallowed. He knew how the words would sound once he let them hiss out. They needed to sound like they came from a confident man. He formed his words. “Why does she need to die?” he asked.

  Leroy Graves sat up in his seat with a startled expression. “Why?” he echoed the word. “Did you just ask 'why?'” He did not wait for an answer. “Only I can ask that. Therefore, I ask you why you must know.”

  There was nothing to be said. Nothing that would please Mr. Graves. Or Leroy; however it was the rest of the world knew him. Perhaps he was just the nameless man. He had no idea what to call him in his thoughts. “She is a fragile woman,” Andy started. He chose his words with as much care as he could manage. “I don't think I will be able to kill her, to perform to best of my abilities unless I could calm my conscience. I need motivation.” He begged for a reason.

  “Motivation?” Mr. Graves started. “You should realize how compromising it would be if you did not perform as instructed. Not only would you never see a dime of your own money, but an eradication of your knowledge would be put in place. Do you underst
and what I mean? There is nothing I can tell you about Miss Flynn. Remove the concern from your mind.”

  Andy squeezed his eyes shut in a wild attempt to wake up. Only now did he feel stupid for his inquiries. He should have stayed in Lumnin and done as he was told. Or just stayed. Or, Andy thought now, ran. Anything besides telling the man who hired him to perform severe criminal offenses that he had to pussy out. That he wanted to pussy out.

  “Forgive me, Mr. Graves,” Andy began. “I will proceed – ” He realized his mistake as he bit his tongue.

  Leroy Graves jumped to his feet and drew a small six-shooter, aiming it at Andy's heart. The hitman did little to react other and loosening his face in instant regret.

  “What did you call me?” Mr. Graves asked. His face was far more serious than Andy had ever seen it before.

  God damn it, he screamed in his head. God damn it to hell. He let his knowledge of his name slip out, effectively killing himself. There was no possible escape. He was cornered.

  “How do you know my name?” Mr. Graves asked, pulling back the hammer on the gun. His face had hardened from shock to malice.

  “I,” Andy stuttered. For the first time, he couldn't respond. He was terrified. Every instinct he had ever used in his line of work screamed at him to break Mr. Graves' arm, steal the gun and kill him, but there would be no walking away alive if he did it.

  The bearded man thought hard. Andy could see the new layer of glistening perspiration that had built up on the man's brow. This decision was crucial.

  “Do you know what this means?” Mr. Graves asked him, lowering his gun. Andy did not trust it. “You must kill Haley Flynn. Whether you feel up to it or not. If you fail to, I promise that I will kill you.”

  Andy kept silent.

  “And we will find Homer,” Mr. Graves added. He smiled when he saw the shocked expression appear on the assassin's face. “Don't think that I don't have eyes watching you in Chicago. I know everything.”