The Bodyguard ✔

Chapter Fifty-Five

I lie awake in bed, with my thoughts circling back to the moment Frank and I shared a couple of hours ago. Knowing I won't fall asleep, I get up and go to the living room.

As quiet as I possibly can, I move forward on my socks, so I won't wake Frank. I approach with caution, finding him asleep on the couch.

It strikes me how rare it is to find him in this state, all relaxed and, seemingly, at peace. I could watch him all night like this.

Ehm, okay, creep alert.

I move myself to a window. The nearest street-lamp finds itself outside my immediate viewpoint, but its light illuminates part of the street I'm looking at, and some of it may very well reach my face. It's so calm outside, one could come to believe to be staring at a picture, instead of the ever-changing nature of reality itself.

"Anything interesting to see out there?"

I smile. "Not really."

Even after hearing Frank's voice, when a silence fills the space again, reality outside appears frozen, still. I thought perhaps Frank went back to sleep. Glancing him a look over my shoulder, I conclude he's well awake, observing me.

I guess we're both creeps.

I stroll away from the window, to the couch. Frank sits upright now and reaches out to take one of my hands. I sit down on the coffee table, facing Frank. "What are you thinking about?" He asks while stroking the back of my hand with his thumb.

I lift my shoulders slightly. "I was thinking about something you said ..." My answer gets interrupted by the muffled sound of shattering glass.

Both our heads aim to the direction it came from. The bedroom.

Frank stands up and, without hesitation, takes two steps in direction of the kitchen table, where his gun lays. Just before he gets to it, the front door swings open and two individuals, all in black, emerge.

In just one second, Frank grabs his gun, one of the two individuals points his own gun at Frank, and Frank points back.

Two seconds pass in silence, not even a breath is drawn amongst any of us.

Then, time seems to slow down again.

A third person enters the living room, coming from the bedroom. Frank points his gun at person number three. A shot gets fired.

Frank freezes.

A second shot fires.

Two down.

In a reflex, I cover my ears and shut my eyes. Frank didn't fire his gun. Terrible thoughts start pouring into my head, based on the one fact I know is true. It wasn't Frank who fired. I quickly open my eyes, not ready to face the outcome.

I make eye contact with Frank, eyes spread wide open. My heart's beating vigorously in my neck.

He's equally as confused as I am. One of the two individuals that had entered the front door, just shot both his colleagues. What is going on?

Frank and the individual aim at each other with their weapon.

"Drop your gun." A woman's voice.

Frank hesitates.

Tension not only builds inside me, but floods the entire room. She shoots him or he shoots her. Both possibilities could become conceivable with something as minor as the flip of a coin.

Frank makes his decision. He slowly lowers his gun and drops it to the ground. She doesn't.

"Who are you?" She asks with a strong voice that easily matches up to Frank's.

"Don't shoot! He's my bodyguard." I cry out.

Her head turns into my direction. I try my best to persuade her with my expression. I don't know who she is, but there might be a chance she could be one of the good guys. Or am I being too naive?

The woman doesn't lower her gun, but her shoulders relax, continuing to observe my expression.

Frank noticed her lowering her guard as well.

From zero velocity to lightning speed, he covers the distance within two impressive steps and clutches the woman's arm to lift it upwards as her gun fires. Just as Frank presses her shoulders to a wall, in an effort to restrain her, her gun falls onto the floor.

She may have lost her focus a moment ago, but, by the looks of it, she certainly isn't going to let that happen again. Her fist buries itself in Frank's side, releasing a hollow sound. The small distance created between them is enough for her to plant the sole of her shoe on Frank's chest and push him back with considerable strength.

I watch the scene in awe, but I awake from my position as a spectator when I sense it could go wrong any second now. I jump forward and snatch Frank's gun from the floor. Surprisingly, I'm not shaking when I point it at her, meticulously keeping her under observation.

A second goes by.

Then another.

Remembering what Frank once taught me, I slowly toggle the safety lever until a faint click releases.

The woman raises her hands to the level of her shoulders upon hearing the sound. "Giselle."

Not only does her voice sound suddenly more soft, but also oddly familiar.

"I'm here to help you." She hesitantly takes a small step forward, letting the lamps from outside cast light on her features.

Once it finally hits me, it hits me hard.

"Mom?"