"Tim, this isn't the time for games. I need an address,"
He really wouldn't want to get on my bad side, especially now. My blood was boiling in my veins. Why would the ally start mentioning names? He must have known that being so deeply entangled with an organization that held such a high caliber of anonymity and giving out names just wouldn't work.
"What did you say he did, again? We can't just have you out here killing off our allies Jacky-Poo. Especially a piggy. Oink oink," Playfulness laced his voice, yet I knew he was serious. As was I.
"He's giving out names, Tim. (Name) knew my name. She called me by it just a few minutes ago. He told her more than just a name, Tim,"
He sighed into the phone and muttered a "Shit" under his breath.
"That's not good," I could hear him pacing in the room he was in. "That's really not fucking good. I'll run it by the boss, but honestly, Jack, you know what you need to do. Shit, if you don't do it, I will. Check your messages."
He ended the call, and just like he said, a notification appeared in the pull-bar of my phone.
3248 Sherman Billow Heights, Apartment 13.
I didn't waste any time making my way to his apartment. You'd think a police officer with a wife and kids would live in a house, apparently not this one. A little pig that squeals doesn't deserve one, anyway.
Our Operation had always made sure he was well-paid for his information. He had more than enough money to keep his children and his wife happy and in better living conditions than what he was. Though, his wife and kids weren't my problem. He was.
Though I could have seen the exact time with a quick glance at my phone, I didn't care enough to look. The sun was rising, turning the eventful night into yesterday. The birds would be waking soon, straying from their nests to drink the early dew on the grass as they sang their songs to those who were up early enough to listen; Neil wouldn't be one of them.
As I neared it, I took in the sheer size of it. The red sign protruding from the ground in front of the complex doors stood out from the dullness of the morning, reading, 'Low-Income Housing Available! Inquire Within!'.
I shook my head disapprovingly as a sneer grazed my lips. My stomach was growling already with sweet anticipation of what was to come.
Apartment 13.
I hadn't ever been to the complex before, so finding the exact location of the apartment within the overwhelmingly large building would be virtually impossible. At least, I had thought. I looked just above the first door I had seen when I approached the brick building with ACs sticking out of a few windows and mold seeping it's way into the cracks and crevices of the uneven brick-lay, to see a sign reading ,'Apartments 1-15'.
Too easy.
Anger flooded every fiber of my being. He was telling stories that weren't his to tell, and playing with fire knowing he would get burned. He had told (Name) enough details to catch me off guard, and should the circumstances have been any different, she could have used my momentary shock to attempt an escape. After seeing my face, I was exceptionally surprised that she hadn't. After all, I didn't lock the door behind me when I entered the room.
Had I locked it when I left?
My anger washed directly out of me and was instantly replaced with a feral panic.
I hadn't locked the door. She would escape.
Yet, he's so close. I could just kill him now, catch her later.
The cabin was only a meager five miles away from a literal slaughterhouse, though.
This assignment was becoming more and more unfavorable by the hour. Dawn was any second from breaking, and I could already hear the birds awakening.
I had to choose quickly, and correctly.
--(Name) POV--
It had only been about an hour since Jack slammed the door and left. Or maybe ten. With nothing to tell the time, I had only an internal clock to base my guesses off of.
However, my internal clock was only thinking about one thing; I was absolutely starving. I couldn't recall the last time I ate, having a vague memory of it being the night before I had received the news about Henry. It didn't look promising that Jack would feed me, either. I assumed after seeing his past in my nightmare, which I decided I wasn't going to put any more thought into, and seeing his face in real-life, that his diet didn't consist of the same things mine did. He didn't appear exactly human, and such was made obvious when I took the time to note his advanced senses; for the most part, it didn't terrify me as much as I thought it would. It wasn't his appearance that was terrifying; he could almost be described as handsome. His cheekbones sat high, but not too high as to make his cheeks appear sunken in. His eyebrows were full and nicely shaped above his abyss-like sockets for eyes. His top lip was thinner than his bottom lip, but despite his gray skin, were light pink in color. Not enough to wash him out, but enough to be pleasantly noticeable. His most terrifying attribute was his innate lack of human emotion. Again, presuming any qualities or traits in him other than qualities or traits of a monster would be a presumption made in vain. Yet, I couldn't help but wonder who he was before he was Jack. Who was the human on the table in my nightmare whose skin turned ashy gray under the chanting of a cult? Who was the human that had endured such a terrible sacrifice? Who was the human that had his eyes taken as a present to a demon? To Chernabog?
Forbidden questions circled my malnourished brain as I paced the floor, intently listening for any sign he was returning.
My stomach growled loudly and quite painfully, demanding sustenance after all the stress and physical interaction I'd had over the last two nights. I needed food, and soon.
Had he locked the door before he left? I hadn't heard a lock, or a click, or even the harsh clunk of a padlock when he left. Perhaps he was in such a hurry that he had forgotten to lock the door?
Adrenaline coursed through my veins as I realized the opportunity I had in front of me. If he didn't lock the door, he would soon realize it and come wheeling back to the unknown location.
Where I would go? Which direction I would run? I didn't know, nor care. If my legs would carry me, my quickly-formulating plan would cover me, and in that I had faith. The only thing I could afford to have as I swung the door open, looked around for a brief moment before I spotted what I instinctively knew was the front door and flung myself out it, not bothering to close it, was faith. No fears, no doubts, and no lock on his front door to hold me in. Blind hope held me instead, swaddled in it's warm arms. And to it, by fucking God, I clung mercilessly.