*Boom!* The sound of a gunshot rang out loud in the quiet alleyway. I just sighed and pulled up my duvet to cover my ears, it's 2:00 a.m. and I don't start murdering people before 5:00 a.m.
I should have been used to this, the gunshots, the crying, the slaps, all of it. I'm wasn't though. Somehow, I'm wasn't. Apart from being a huge disappointment to my parents, I also happened to be an assassin, of sorts. I didn't kill people for money, I had more than enough money from when I sold drugs.
It's not like I enjoyed the murders anyway. Not that it excuses it, but I was left with no other choice. I had to kill people to find the piece of shit who put me in prison for five years. The last four were in solitary confinement but that was partly (mostly) my fault.
*Slap!* I heard a slap and I heard crying. This is what I get for renting an apartment off of Craigslist. The crying sparked my interest, because it wasn't an adult or a few adults. It was children. Two children sobbing and two men arguing in a language I couldn't understand. As far as I know, no one around here watched T.V. shows in what seemed like French, or better yet, understood French. After 5 years of learning French, I could only vaguely identify the damned language. I quietly got out of my bed, put on a pair of jeans and a hoodie and fastened a dagger to my belt. I put my phone in my pocket and walk out of my studio apartment, making sure to lock the door, not that there was anything in my apartment to steal.
I walked out to the alley and see a small pub in front. The door was slightly ajar, allowing a path of dim yellow light to enter the dark alley. I went closer, making sure I was quiet. I got close enough to peep through the little open space left by the door to see that there were two children huddled up, crying and two men, one drunk and the other sober, arguing in French. The drunk man had greying hair, a large build and wore a ratty t-shirt and sweat pants. He was slurring his words and was holding a beer bottle in his hand, presumably empty. I noticed his hands were full of scars and burns. The sober one seemed young, about my age and was red with anger. He had blue hair and grey eyes. While he wasn't the most muscular man, he definitely had muscle definition on his arms. His stance was wide and protective and he made sure to stand right in front of the kids. The drunk man was holding on to a table for support.
No one in the pub noticed me and I looked around the pub before stepping a foot in. The T.V. was off, the remote thrown close to the door. There was a broken photo frame and a large shard of glass next to where I was standing. There were no other things to use as weapons in the pub. I could use my dagger but that was only a back up option, I didn't want to use it when I didn't have to, I could have risked leaving more evidence than I already would. Walking in now would have attracted the younger man's attention (who I shall now call 'Smurfie') but I doubted that 'Beer Belly' over there would have been able to turn around in time to dodge me if I were to attack him. He was standing too close to the door to be able to dodge me in time.
I pushed the door ever so slightly and while the kids were sobbing too much to notice me, Smurfie did, but I signalled at him to keep quiet. I went behind Beer Belly and quietly slit his throat before he could realise someone was behind him. Smurfie stared at me in horror for a second before coming to his senses and turning to the children. He whispered something to them and I told him to take the kids out the back door. He took a while to unlock the door and the kids ended up seeing the dead drunk man and they looked at me in horror.
Once they went I phoned a friend of mine, Daniel, to make sure the body would never be found.
After all that I went out the back to see if Smurfie and the children were still there and to my surprise they were. The man was consoling the children. Man, what it was like to be a child. The fun mixed with the occasional dose of trauma. Guess these kids got their fix.
He turned to me and asked me if I'm okay. I told him that I was. His shoulders were slouched and he looked down for a second before saying, "I can't thank you enough for what you did back there. I know how hard it is-" he stopped himself for a second and shut his eyes, almost like he was telling himself to correct what he said. Maybe lie-"I can't imagine how hard it must be to kill someone and I don't know who you are but I do know that I owe you my life and Hunter and Emily's too," and that confirmed my suspicions. He was lying. He had killed someone. He somehow looked pained when he said that he didn't know who I was but he owed me his life. I obviously couldn't judge him too much since my record wasn't squeaky clean either.
The girl, Emily, looked up at me, with dare I say, fascination and admiration. On the other hand, Hunter stood back, almost hiding behind the man. Which reminded me, I didn't even know this guy's name.
"Hey, I never got your name. I'm Nyx."
"I'm Bert."
YOU ARE READING
Nyx Anora
Teen Fiction"What are we doing? Really. What-what is this?" "I'm sorry, I don't know," "Exactly. We don't know. I don't know you, you don't know me. What is this then?" "...I-" "You don't know."
