She shuts the door and puts the chain on, then moves past me. She points to the first door on the left. “That’s the kitchen. Next to it is the lounge.” She turns her body slightly, so she’s facing the other side. “Then we’ve got my bedroom, and finally, the bathroom. It’s not much, but it’s home.”
I look around. “No, this place is nice. Modest, fit for purpose… I like it.”
She smiles at me and points to the lounge. “Make yourself at home. I’ll just grab the first aid kit.”
I push the door open and step inside. It’s a decent-sized room, dominated by a large, L-shape sofa in the middle of it. Mounted on the far wall is a big TV screen. Either side of it, large windows look out over a large, well-maintained communal garden. There’s a bookshelf running along the left wall. I move over to it. She has a variety of classics on here—Pride and Prejudice, The Complete Works of William Shakespeare… even some Sherlock Holmes. Next to them are books about psychology and therapy, including some works by Carl Jung.
I hear her come in behind me. I turn and smile. “Just admiring your collection.”
She shrugs. “I work long hours, and don’t really watch much television. Reading is how I shut my mind off from my job.”
She walks over to me holding a box containing a roll of bandages, some scissors, band aids, painkillers… everything a beaten up old man needs. We sit down on the sofa and she begins peeling my bandage away. I wince a little as she does.
“How’s it looking, Doc?”
She screws her face up as she stares at it. “Like you need stitches. Like I keep telling you…”
“I know, I know… I’ll go to a hospital after I’ve dealt with The Order, alright?”
She leans back a little and stares at me.
Shit. I was a little off with her then, wasn’t I?
“Ah, damn it. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… I’m just—”
She holds her hand up. “You don’t have to apologize. I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now. I know you didn’t mean to take anything out on me. I’m sorry for hassling you about it.”
I go to speak, but I can’t think of anything else to say. It’s been a really long day, and as I sit here, I’m realizing I’m more tired than I thought. I just don’t have the energy for all this anymore.
Kaitlyn patches my head up again. “We might as well take a look at your hand while we’re here.”
I hold out my cast and she unfastens the straps securing it in place. She slides it off and starts gently unwrapping the bandages across my palm. I wince as she pulls the last of it away. There’s a dark incision across my hand, neatly stitched together. Keeping my palm flat, I try to flex just my fingers and thumb.
“Ah! Shit…”
Kaitlyn shakes her head and pulls a face. “Yeah… maybe don’t try clenching your fist just yet, eh?”
I smile, but say nothing.
She re-bandages my hand and wrist, like a coach would a boxer, wrapping it around multiple times, weaving it between and around each finger until it’s thick and tight. She tapes it all down and slides the cast back in place. She fastens it and checks the straps are as tight as they can be without cutting off the flow of blood.
I move my hand around, admiring her work. “Damn… thanks. This is great.”
She smiles as she packs everything away. “Well, just don’t get carried away, okay? I’m running out of medical supplies because of you.” She stands. “I’m gonna grab a shower. I think there’s a beer in the refrigerator — help yourself, okay?”
I nod. “Thanks.”
She leaves and I sit back on the sofa and stare up at the ceiling.
So, now what?
I’m working on the assumption Horizon’s still in his fancy penthouse in Dubai, and I’m figuring after Qatar, and the fact I didn’t head for the airport, Pierce will have gone to see him. When my tracking device disappeared off their systems, they’ll start to panic, and it makes sense that they would assume I’ll be coming after them. Which means, knowing Horizon, that hotel is going to be locked up tight and surrounded by security. Heading there is stupid.
Which is exactly why I’m going to do it.
Given everything he’s told me, I doubt The Order ends with him, but if I can do enough to get them off my back, I’ll happily disappear, never to be heard of again. I’ve been thinking about it. About everything over the last few weeks. The world thinks I’m dead. This could be my opportunity to truly start over and put Adrian Hell behind me. I know it didn’t work out so well the last time I did that, but I’ve learned from my mistakes. See, last time, I tried to properly retire and be happy. For a while, it was fine, sure. But I was too visible. Too normal. Too happy. This time would be different. I don’t want to find peace. After all the shit I’ve done, whatever the reasons, I probably deserved that lethal injection for real. If I get the chance to start over again, I’ll just stay under the radar. I’ll be alone. I won’t allow myself to get close to anyone, that way, no one will ever get hurt again because of me.
I sit up straight and let out a long, tired sigh. That’s the plan. Do what I have to so I can get free of The Order, and then vanish forever. I’ll crash on Kaitlyn’s sofa tonight — this is actually pretty comfy — and head out at first light.
Right, I need a drink.
I walk out and into the kitchen. It’s small and narrow, but useful nonetheless. The fridge is on your immediate left as you walk in, and a worktop runs along the left wall and across the end, beneath another window. There’s a cooker fitted in there, and a sink and garbage dispenser at the end with a washer underneath.
I open the fridge door. I can’t see any beers, but there’s some orange juice in a plastic jug, so I find a glass and pour myself a glass. I take a sip and walk back out into the reception area.
I frown.
What’s that?
I listen carefully. It’s coming from the bathroom. I can hear the shower running, but it’s something else. It’s…
Kaitlyn.
She’s crying. She sounds hysterical, but it’s as if she’s trying to mute the heavy sobbing as she stands under the water.
I feel a pang of guilt as I think about everything she’s been through, everything she’s done for me in the last forty-eight hours. She went from being my therapist to having her office destroyed, to going on the run from a team of killers, to becoming a killer herself… She’s just a normal person, and doesn’t deserve to be exposed to any of the shit I accept as being part of my everyday life.
Should I say something?
I don’t know… I mean, I should—no sense in waiting until she feels she’s dealt with it and moved on, as I’ll just be making her think about something she doesn’t want to. But I can’t exactly walk in there while she’s in the shower…
I put my glass down on the small table and walk over to the door. I tap on it gently. “Kaitlyn… is everything alright?”
The sobbing stops. I hear her sniffing and taking some deep breaths. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
The water stops a moment later. I step away from the door, and after a minute, she steps out with a towel wrapped around her, covering her chest and down to just below her knees. She’s leaving wet footprints on the carpet. Her hair is wet, clinging to her shoulders. She looks completely different. I’m used to seeing her with her hair up, her glasses on, simple make-up applied — ready for her day job. I’ve not really noticed how run down she’s looked over the last two days, as we’ve both been a little preoccupied. Now she’s standing in front of me, completely natural, she looks… different. She looks amazing, if I’m honest.