Loose ends
814 Words
Rain tapped against the windows as Alfred stepped into his apartment.
He closed the door behind him and locked it before removing his shoes. The apartment was quiet, almost unnaturally so. There were no family pictures on the walls, no souvenirs from places he'd visited, no photographs of friends.
Nothing personal.
Alfred preferred it that way.
He placed his keys on the small table beside the door and headed straight for the bathroom.
The hot water ran over him as he stood beneath the shower, washing away the sweat and dirt from the night's work.
His mind went back to the convoy.
The screams.
The gunfire.
The politician's terrified face.
Nothing.
No guilt.
No excitement.
Just another job.
Alfred dried himself and walked into his bedroom. He changed into a black T-shirt and grey sweatpants before heading to the kitchen.
He opened the refrigerator.
Two bottles of water.
Half a loaf of bread.
Eggs.
That was it.
“Great,” he muttered.
He closed the refrigerator and picked up his phone.
Three missed calls.
All from an unknown number.
Alfred stared at them for a moment before tossing the phone onto the kitchen counter.
If they needed him, they would call again.
He made himself something simple and carried the plate into the living room.
The television came on.
A news channel was broadcasting live from somewhere in the city.
“Human rights activist Daniel Josh has once again called on the government to investigate the increasing reports of police brutality and unlawful detention—”
Alfred stopped chewing.
His eyes shifted toward the television.
A man in his fifties stood behind a podium surrounded by reporters.
Daniel Josh.
He had seen the man's face before.
Not personally.
On television.
Daniel was known for taking on powerful people and publicly criticizing government officials whenever he believed their actions violated people's rights.
“We cannot continue to normalize injustice,” Daniel said. “Citizens should not have to fear the people who are supposed to protect them.”
Alfred watched silently.
The reporter continued.
“Daniel also condemned the recent political violence surrounding Senator Victor Hale's campaign—”
Alfred's eyes narrowed slightly.
So the news had already picked up the assassination.
That was fast.
He turned off the television.
The room became quiet again.
Alfred finished his food and washed the plate before returning to the living room.
His routine was simple.
Eat.
Train.
Work.
Sleep.
Repeat.
He had built his entire life around simplicity.
There were no relationships to maintain. No friends constantly calling. No family asking where he had been.
He could disappear for weeks and nobody would come looking.
That was exactly how he wanted it.
His phone vibrated.
Alfred picked it up.
UNKNOWN: Good work.
He stared at the message.
The same message he'd received earlier.
He had already destroyed the phone he used for the assignment.
This was a different device.
He smiled faintly.
Not because he was happy.
Because whoever had sent it was careless.
Alfred deleted the message.
Then he looked at the time.
11:47 PM.
He decided to go for a run.
Twenty minutes later, he was outside.
The rain had stopped, leaving the streets wet and almost empty.
Alfred jogged through the neighborhood, keeping his usual pace.
He passed a closed restaurant.
A petrol station.
A woman locking up a small shop.
Nothing unusual.
He turned onto another street.
Then he noticed the man.
Dark hoodie.
Hands in his pockets.
Standing beneath a streetlight.
Alfred kept running.
He didn't look back.
At the next junction, he slowed down.
The man wasn't there.
Alfred continued.
A few minutes later, he turned around.
The same man was standing across the street.
Watching him.
Alfred stopped.
The man didn't move.
Neither did Alfred.
Then a car passed between them.
When it was gone, the man had disappeared.
Alfred looked around.
Nothing.
He continued running, but his pace had changed.
He was no longer exercising.
He was thinking.
Someone was watching him.
And Alfred knew one thing about people who watched from the shadows.
Eventually, they stopped watching.
They started hunting.
Alfred returned home and locked the door behind him.
He stood in the darkness for several seconds.
Then he noticed something.
His bedroom door was slightly open.
He always closed it.
Alfred's hand slowly moved toward the weapon hidden beneath his shirt.
He pushed the door open.
Nothing.
The room was empty.
He searched it carefully.
Nothing appeared disturbed.
He returned to the living room.
His eyes fell on the table.
His keys.
Wallet.
Watch.
Everything was exactly where he left them.
Except for one thing.
A photograph he'd never seen before was lying beside his keys.
Alfred picked it up.
It was a picture of himself.
Taken earlier that night.
His expression changed for the first time.
Someone wasn't just watching him.
Someone had already gotten close.
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