The Hitman's Informant

Chapter Four

The morning sun filtered through the half-open curtains, drenching the queen-sized bed in a soft golden light. Light washed over my face, stirring me from my sleep. My eyes opened to an unfamiliar bedroom. I seemed to be laying on someone else's bed, in someone else's clothes, in a house that was definitely not my own.

I sat up and looked around the elegant bedroom with a dumbfounded expression on my face, "what the-, "

The moment I caught my reflection in the mirror above the dresser. The second I noticed the bandage plastered on my forehead, the memories from the night before swamped my mind. I was on my way to a job interview, witnessed a murder, almost died, was saved, almost died again, got a job, and now I'm in said murderer's house. What the hell is my life? This is the kind of stuff that only happens in books or movies!

A loud thud followed by muffled footsteps sounded outside the bedroom door, they seemed to pause out front of the door for a moment before fading away once again. I let out a long sigh and slowly collapsed back onto the bed to stare at the white ceiling. The soft ticks from the clock hanging on the wall marched on as my mind slowly started accepting the new reality I seemed to have been thrust into.

Everything happened so fast, all I could think about was how I didn't want to die. I glanced over to the source of the ticking irritation prickling along my skin. That ticking will drive me insane if I stay in here any longer.

The bed groaned slightly as I finally got up and made my way out of the bedroom and followed the smell of cooking bacon down the hallway.

Surprise jolted through me, at the sight of the elegant apartment. I was too exhausted last night to really look at the place. It was the perfect balance between homely and modern, even the gym equipment set up in the far right of the living room looked like it belonged there. What surprised me was the small garden sitting on the balcony that wrapped around the giant sliding glass door.

"Good morning," Dion's voice snapped me out of my dumbfounded stupor.

"Oh! Good morning," I replied walking over to sit down at the kitchen island, "I was just checking out the little garden on your balcony."

His back was turned to me, but I could've sworn that his ears turned red when I said that.

"Yeah, it gives me something to do between jobs," he mutters over the sizzling bacon in front of him, "and homegrown produce tastes better than store-bought."

"What are you growing out there now?"

Dion turns off the stove and fills two plates with bacon, eggs and sliced cherry tomatoes. He hands me a plate and slides into the empty barstool beside me before answering.

"Right now, there's peppers, tomatoes, strawberries and grapes," he responds before digging into his plate of food.

I say a quick 'thank you' before digging in as well. I haven't known him very long, but it was still strange to see him in sweatpants and a t-shirt with his bangs covering the scar on his forehead. I think some strange part of me just assumed he slept in his suit with his hair in that half-up half-down style that made him look a lot more intimidating than he actually is.

"We should probably get ready," Dion states, grabbing his plate and setting it in the sink, "the shop opens in an hour."

I finish off my breakfast and head over to the sink where Dion set his dishes, "I'll wash the dishes, it's the least I could do."

Dion's eyes widen slightly and he looks as if he was about to protest so I gave him a little nudge with my shoulder, "I insist," I state with a toothy grin.