The Ghost (A John Wick Story)

First meeting

This is how it felt to be John Wick: you were alone. You liked it but not in this way because they were always after you. They always found you and you always killed them. All of them.

There was no exit from this situation and you cursed yourself a thousand times for pulling the trigger. One little move did this to you. You should have more patience. More will, more of that man who once you've been.

Because you and only you caused this.

John Wick arrived 'home', this currently meant the little cottage in the middle of nowhere in the pine forest of Russia. It wasn't a lot but he liked it more than the previous ones. The oaken, tiny, one-roomed house was far far away from any settlement what could proudly say that it was at least a town. It took one day to him to get to the closest village for durable food and some kind of other supplements but it's worth it. He knew that this won't be in this way forever but... It was peaceful and he lived here nearly one month which was a lot more time to spend in one place then in the past three years. 

The night's air brought the chillingly cold with itself however the soft but characteristic smell of pine managed to make the minus twenty Celsius-degree not just acceptable but also enjoyable. At least it felt in this way for John.

He stepped front of the door and he instantly knew that something was wrong. His instincts yelled a warning sing and without checking he was sure that someone was inside. His dear pitbull would came to greet him but there was only the deadly silence around.

John wasn't known as the Boogeyman for nothing, he left the door with tiny, little, invisible sings which the uninitiated eyes couldn't even notice nor if they were in front of them.

John put his hand to the revolver on his hip and slowly opened the door. Anybody was inside, he had more than one opportunity in the past thirty seconds to kill him. So with this exact knowledge John knew that there won't be any bullet in his head, at least not in the next few seconds.

Opposite the door there was a bed and an armchair and in the last there was somebody - not a he but a she - sitting. The only light inside was the flickering fire beyond the armchair which gave a monumental outline to the woman. Her head was in the shadow but her long, slim legs crossed and rested left out from the dark. She wore a skin-tight, black leather-trousers and a matching jacket, all of her dress was tactical. Beside her on the old, dingy armchair there was his pitbull with a gun tightened to his head.

The woman leaned forward slowly and John thought he was dreaming. Because it can't be... The woman dressed in black was incredibly similar to his dead wife and this sight physically hurt him.

There were the same hair, a little darker but definitely the same.

There were her eyes, the exact light brown which Helen once had.

There was the beloved and well-known outline of her face...

And the lively, rosy lips and that smirk which he was fall in love years ago. Back in time when Helen wasn't sick, when she was the kindest and the most playful whom he ever met.

There was this woman, looking like his dead wife, holding a gun to his dog's head. Sitting peacefully in his secret house and laughing a little on his dismay and hesitation.

"Hello there, John Wick. It's nice to meet you... finally."