Strangers_(1)

“Shut up shut up shut up, here he comes,” I whisper frantically, flailing blindly with one hand to silence Missy while I stare mesmerized out the crack I had created in the blinds with the other.

“God, you’re such a freak. Why don’t you just go talk to him and get it over with?” Missy says, obviously a little sick of my growing obsession with the mysterious stranger who lives above our apartment. I just can’t help it though. He’s so…. mysterious… and strange.

I gaze eagerly through my peephole as he approaches. I have to strain to make out his dark profile through the gloomy dusk but his silhouette is distinct. He walks with an easy confidence and a purposeful stride, as if he has somewhere to go and something to do. His body is cloaked in a full length obsidian trench coat, but his broad shoulders are unmistakeable. Suddenly and without warning, he stops and stares up at my window, his face pale in the waning light and his eyes boring into me.

With a gasp, I stumble back from the window, the blinds closing with a snap. My foot catches as I try to backpedal and with an impromptu squeek, I find myself sprawled out on my back on the floor, my heart racing. From across the room I hear Missy burst out laughing. Climbing to my feet, I give her my best “Fuck you, bitch” glare and return to my place at the window. A quick peek reveals the stranger gone.

“Just go talk to him,” Missy repeats as I sit down on the couch next to her.

“But I don’t even know him, what would I say?” I reply as we begin down this road of discussion for the eighteenth time in eighteen days following eighteen stake-outs.

Normally, Missy would be a good friend and try to bolster my confidence or simply listen to me gush about my mystery guy, but today she was having none of it.

“Chicken,” she says. I hate her in that moment, knowing exactly what she is doing but powerless to defend myself. I put on my best defiant pout and prepare myself to resist the goading, but know that I’ve already lost.

“Pussy, wimp, scaredy cat…,” Missy continues and after only moments I am crumbling to the onslaught.

“Fine,” I say with an exasperated sigh. “Help me find something cute to wear.”

———————

“Egads! The blasted feds are on to me again!” I think, having caught one of them surveying me from a crack in a second story window during my approach to the apartment building. Moving quickly, I make my way up to my door, double checking my berettas concealed within the confines of my trench coat, more out of habit than any real need. Contingency plans, escape routes, money and weaponry caches, all running through my mind.

There was little time. They know that I know that they know that I know. They would be making a move and it would be sooner rather than later. I unbolt the door with quick efficiency and am inside within moments.
The interior of the residence is exactly what you would expect of someone in my trade. Blank white walls devoid of life. Bare carpet, untainted by furniture except for the bed in the corner. The bed is covered in deep red sheets, perfect for hiding blood stains or concealing the odd cadaver. A laptop sits alone on the kitchen counter. This is my first stop.

A quick succession of key strokes, a few mouse clicks and an email is shooting off into the vast relays of the interwebs. “Jeopardized. Might be going out hot. Be prepared for clean-up.” I step away from the computer, my obligations fulfilled. I walk over to the bed and sit facing the doorway. Over and over, I run scenarios through my head, mentally disciplining myself for what is to come.

A faint knock at the door brings me back to reality.