The Hit List

Chapter 12

I'd love to say that I said something intelligent to him. I'd love to say that the skies opened up through my ceiling, and I knew exactly what to say to him.

I'd be lying. Instead, I sat on that couch, sinking deeper into the expensive leather. A piece of furniture that was included in my rental.

"Like I said, I want you to die with no regrets. And I want to go to trial knowing that I did all I could to make the last months worthwhile."

I crave answers, but I'm afraid to open my mouth and ask them. Afraid of what I'll have to do to fulfill his request.

We sat in silence for longer than two people should. The quietness brings an uncomfortable familiarity to me. Stretching between us like two members of a church, heads bowed praying to an invisible God. 

I expected this exchange to end similarly to Christmas, hopefully, I'd get what I wanted, and worst case scenario I'd still get something out of this. My skin itched for more alcohol pumping through me, wanting to fade away from this. Instead, I remain seated in front of a stark white coffee table.

"So, what do you want me to do? Help you plan the perfect murder? Get you a special documentary all about your genius?" My tone was mocking, but I knew if he looked closely, which he was, he'd see my fingers fidgeting.

"You know, I want to do something too."

I trailed on, knowing that he wouldn't interrupt me until I was done. He was strangely polite in that way. A gentleman with a psychopath's mind. Not that I was one to judge, there were many a time when I had wondered if my dangerously intrusive thoughts would lead me down a dark path.

"I hate being here. This room is fucking suffocating, but leaving seems like an even worse hell." The worst thing about being isolated is leaving it. Like coming home from war and finding the welcome not as warm as you were promised.

"So do something about it. You can do anything you want. You've got a whole world that's not even trying to stop you."

He spoke as though it were simple. As though I haven't thought about the endless list of things I'd never have the energy to do. "I want to help you achieve them Eaven. And in return, you can help me achieve mine."

Simple. He gave the impression that it was simple.

I snapped back at him, my legs adjusting to relieve a cramp. "So what? Did you come here to be some self-help guru? You should try out the high school circuit. They'd eat this up. This following your dreams bullshit."

He chuckled, his eyes crinkling slightly. His laugh was deep, but not quite baritone. It was not an unwelcome sound, but certainly not one I enjoyed hearing. "You do not have a wide vocabulary. You're gonna have to work on that for me."

"I appreciate the comments."

He leaned back comfortably, nestling himself into the edge of the cushion. "What would be at the top of your list? If there was anything you could do before you died. Anything you have yet to do?"

I took a breath, my eyes finding the back of my skull. I would humor him just this once. "I don't know. My parents always took me to these beaches with rocks, so I guess building a sand castle. Is that good enough for you?"

"It is if it's good enough for you." He responded. He looked at me intently, clearly interested in hearing my honest opinions. Judgement gone from his crinkled eyes. I felt uncomfortable under his stare, always hating the idea that people cared about what I thought, but craving their approval.

I needed him to feel what I was. "What about you? What's at the top of your pre-prison bucket list? You look like the kind of guy who didn't go camping with his parents. Ever made a S'more? Ever wanted to?