The Keepers (Niall Horan FanFic)

Chapter 1-The Call

"Is that all you'll be buying today?"

My eyes flick up to the cashier who's ringing up my total, landing on her name tag. Jordin. "Yeah, that's all." "Your total is 24.42 ," she says, her bright pink fingernails clicking away at the keyboard as she prints out my reciept. As she's doing this, I look back down to the People magazine I was glancing at and resume reading the headline that's been printed out in big yellow letters: YES, WE'RE HAVING A BABY! accompanied by a picture of Kristen Stewart and Rob Pattinson. I have to admit, I was a little surprised  when I heard they were getting back togther, but what could I do? My job was done. I exposed her secret romance with that fool of a director, and now they're both having to answer for the pictures all over the internet of them wrapped up and laughing in one another's arms. The way he chose to react to it was entirely his choice, though I admit I thought he would leave her. Apparently he's overlooked the fact that if she cheated once she'll have no problem doing it twice, but that's not my burden to carry. What's done is done.

           I swipe my credit card and start collecting my bags. "Have a nice day," she says, handing me my last bag of canned goods. "Thanks, you too." I reply, not even bothering to make eye contact while steering my cart towards the sliding doors. If there's one my job has taught me, it's that you should trust no one. Not even those who ring up your total at Asda.

          It's bitter and freezing when I step outside, and a chilling wind blasts me in the face, making my nose immidietly start to run as my gloved hand reaches up to wipe it away. Another lovely day in England, I think as I push myself and my cart forward towards my car. The wind whips at my coat and threatens to take my scarf, so I quicken my pace across the packed parking lot and locate my car, digging in my purse for my keys, which is always a long, tedious process because they always like to hide where I can't find them, even though I thoroughly search my purse more than once. Today I'm lucky, though, as I find them right away and pop my trunk. I'm just loading the last of the bags in when my cell phone starts to ring.

       "Hold on," I tell it, slamming the trunk and scuttling around the car to the driver's door. I dump my purse on the windshield and whip off my gloves, following the sound of the persistent ringing doorbell that can only mean one thing. "Hello?" I say, bringing it up to my ear even though my wind-swept hair is flying this way and that, making the task harder than it should be.

         "Hello, Aster. Are you alone?" "Y-yes, I'm alone," I say, though looking around to confirm it. My hands are freezing. "Very good. Now, I've heard, from numerous people, that you have a..a particular set of skills," continues the voice, slow and pronunciated, like it wants me to hear every word. "Skills that can decieve even the most alert human being into thinking you're their best friend. Skills that allow you to penetrate walls in a matter of days where for most people it would take years. Skills that make you a very valuable asset. Skills..that I need." "I'm listening," I reply, gathering up my purse and opening the car door. Even though I have no idea who I'm talking to, experience has taught me it's better not to ask. "I want you to meet me at the corner of Abbotstone Road. You'll find a bench near the lamppost, white with black trim. If you make an appearance within the next 15 minutes, sit down on the bench and wait for my call. If you don't, your absence will be noted and will not be overlooked. It is now 2:45; you have 15 minutes. Do not keep me waiting." Silence. I watch as a single snowflake flutters down and lands on my windshield. Two seconds pass. Then three. "I won't," I reply, then flip my phone shut.