The Hitman's Last Job(33)

the stairs now he could almost smell the fresh air that came from
above. With a mighty exertion of effort he made one last big step
and he was at the bottom. He clung onto the bannister and readied
himself for the climb. It may have only been his basement steps
that he’d walked up a thousand times, but in the moment they looked
like Everest.


He placed his
right foot out first and he winced in pain as he felt a twinge in
his side. Looking down to his sweater he saw crusted, dried blood
on the matted wool and it angered him. He was outraged that such a
degenerate could enter his home and hurt him because he felt like
it, because he somehow felt entitled to.


The rage
motivated him. He was going to find out who these bastards were
before they got to his boy and he was going to make them pay.
Before he knew it, he was five steps up and then another one, and
another one, until he was at the top of the staircase looking
down.


The
achievement that was aglow in his heart was immeasurable, and he
looked down to the corner of the room that became his dungeon. It
looked pathetic and he wondered why he had let himself stay there
so long.


Managing to
shuffle himself along the walls he found his way to the kitchen
table. He collapsed on one of the chairs but was proud to get
there. A week old bottle of warm, orange juice was sat before him
and he threw it down his throat. Despite its sour taste it
revitalized him enough to stand up and make his way to the
sink.


He bent over
with his head under the cold tap and drank freely. Then he let the
water glide over the injuries on his face to numb the pain. It felt
good as it cascaded over his nose and washed away the blood.


Drying himself
with a tea towel he looked down to his pants and was aghast to see
that he had soiled himself. He thought that he may have done it on
the first day of him being captive but he wasn’t sure. Fear can do
strange things to your mind and body. He decided his next port of
call was the downstairs bathroom.


He edged his
way through the corridor and before he knew it he was almost there.
The pain was constant in his mind but he managed to imagine it as
living outside his body. He visualized seeing it as though it was a
flaming, red orb outside of his body and he could control it at
will. It was a technique he learned many years ago when working
under cover. He sadly remembered having to teach it to his wife
when her body was gripped by the cancer.


As he entered
the bathroom he was instantly hit by the sight of her things still
on the counter. He couldn’t bring himself to throw them away, and
as he ran the shower he brushed his fingertips over a pair of her
earrings. She had removed them before taking her last bath in the
house and they’d sat there ever since. That was six months ago now
and as he tentatively picked them up, he noticed they were starting
to get covered in a fine layer of dust.


He placed them
back on the counter and removed his clothes. It was agony as he
bent down to take off his shoes but he’d come this far and wasn’t
going to let himself be defeated by a pair of Hush Puppies.
Climbing into the shower and pulling the curtain across, he let the
warm water caress his body. He had never felt a pleasure like
it.


However he’d
always been fond of water. No water where or who you were, water
washed away your troubles. It never judged you, made you feel bad
or asked anything of you. It was merely there day or night. It
could give you life or wash away your sins. Either way John
imagined it to be proof in some way of God’s existence. Yet as he
stood naked and bruised, he wondered if there really could be a God
with all the terrible things happening in the world. He sure hoped
there was.


As he reached
for the soap his eyes caught sight of the little, ornate bottle
with pink writing. This was Miriam’s favourite shampoo. She’d been
buying the same brand since she was nineteen and all John had to do
was open the bottle, and he’d be right back on their first date at
the drive-thru. How much he longed to see Miriam even if it was
just one last time to say how much he loved her. Not that she
didn’t know this. John had given her the best life any woman could
have wanted and treated her like a princess. He hoped if he passed
down one trait to Carl it would the way you should treat a lady. He
imagined his son would someday make a great husband and father, and
for all he knew he could be already.


He placed the
shampoo bottle back on the side of the bath and sighed solemnly.
More than ever he missed Miriam. But in a way he was thankful she
was dead. That way she would never have had to live through the
ordeal he did. Despite working in law enforcement for his entire
adult life he tried his best to shelter her from what happened in
the world. He hoped she went to the grave thinking everybody’s life
was rainbows and lollipops.


As John dried
himself he focussed on feeling better. His strength was coming back
to him along with his motivation and he was eager to get on the
road. But he needed to formulate a plan. As he dressed in clean
clothes and looked into the bedroom mirror he noticed the liver
spots on his hands, his thinning hair and of course his injuries.