This is a fanfiction based on the movie Hitman. I've never actually played the game. My hope is that this will be a two part fic that will actually be completed ;) But I will warn you that I start school again tomorrow, so time will be a little thin for a while. Thanks for checking this story out and I hope you like it so far. As always, I don't own the characters, just the storyline...
I.
Nika scrambled along the footpath that ran between rows of maturing grapes-- away from the small Tuscan-style house that she now called home. Dusk was settling over the fields and creeping shadows began to trail her in the filtering light. The sound of her frenzied footfalls echoed softly against the vines as she pulled herself farther along the trail. She didn't bother to look back to where she had left a bewildered family behind. Nor did she feel their questioning stares as she fled across the property-- Nika couldn't feel anything as she continued to run, escaping the burning emotions licking at her feet.
It had been four months since that frightening, yet fulfilling, time in St. Petersburg. Time had done nothing to cease the consuming thoughts of her escape from bondage-- and of him. Fervent brown eyes followed her every action. It had become a ritual in the way she counted objects in the world around her. Forty-seven stepping stones led the path from the house to the road. Forty-seven tiles covered the ceiling of her small kitchen. Even now she passed through Forty-seven rows of grape vines that had been planted earlier that spring. For a man who lived a life of disappearing into the shadows of the world, Agent 47 lingered infinitely in hers.
Perhaps it was this very place that kept her from moving on-- his final gift to her. Nika closed her eyes suddenly from the land around her, marveling yet again at being its sole owner. Her father had slaved away his entire life for something as immaculate as this, and yet, had never reached it. And now she was here, running her hands through the soil of a vineyard that she had done little to deserve. She thought guiltily of the main house then. Standing proudly in the middle of the property was a home grand enough to be confused with a fairytale castle. When she had first walked through the high vaulted entrance, she knew she couldn't stay. The long hallways and oversized rooms screamed a loneliness she couldn't quite name or reason with. Instead, she chose the more humble guest house to take residence in, leaving the main house for the two families whom she had hired to help tend the fields.
Yet, it was more than just the gift of the place that filled Nika that unsettling feeling of his presence. Some days, when she was alone to work the outer stretches of fields, she could almost swear something was there, just beyond her sight. Sometimes she'd catch herself turning quickly at the tiniest of sounds only to find a vacant aisle of green behind her. Then, for a long moment, she'd stare hopelessly at the empty space before finally willing herself to turn away. But even then she'd still have that haunting notion that he was there, even if she couldn't discern him.
But that presence was gone now. Instead, it was replaced a hollow feeling that threatened to fill with something more desperate and painful. Nika sucked in a sharp breath as she pressed on faster. The main house was out of sight now and she had finally broken free from the seemingly endless lines of grapes. Yet, even with the distance she couldn't stop the sudden bombardment of images she tried so uselessly to outrun. But it was one image in particular that caused her to break in stride momentarily-- a single face that called to her from the fading edges of memory.
Earlier that evening, as Nika settled down with the hired families for dinner, it was just in the corner of her eye that she noticed the daily paper sitting on the edge of the table. Ordinarily, she ignored the periodicals here-- she couldn't read the French text. But it was something about the front page that drew her attention and caused her breath to stall in surprise. There, under the headline, was the almost forgotten face of Agent Mike Whittier. It was the first indication that the events of so many months ago had actually happened and weren't a dream as she sometimes caught herself wondering. She snatched the paper from where it rested, determined to find any possible news that might tell her of another, one that she hadn't seen since a fateful train ride over four months ago. But she found it was useless as she scanned the page, irritated at her lack of understanding. It was there, she knew, as her eyes passed over the words "Criminel international," but she simply couldn't put it all together. Instead, she finally pressed the paper into the hands of one of the family's teenage sons, begging him to translate the article for her.
Nika waited impatiently as the boy fumbled over the words in fractured English, not quite knowing how to translate the French into something acceptable. "Fantôme-- phantom." he repeated over and over again, searching for the right meaning until finally looking up, pleased with himself. "Ghost-- it's about the assassin known only as 'the ghost.'"
47. It was the news she'd prayed months to hear. Nika's heart stopped in anticipation before she finally urged the boy on. "What did it say about him?"
The boy looked up to her thoughtfully before finally answering. "He's dead."
Nika stared at the boy mutely for a long moment, her eyes fixed upon his for any untruth that might be found there. There was none though, only a young man looking strangely back at her. Finally, he stretched the paper back to her and she took it with slow hands, as if it were an object foreign to her.
"I don't understand," she finally managed to whisper, more to herself than to the boy. Her surroundings had become unexpectedly hazy and she shook her head as if to shoo the feeling away.
The young man looked to her tentatively. "It said the agent," he reached his hand toward the picture of Whittier, "he found him in his home. There was an altercation and he shot him."
Nika studied the photo carefully. There had to be a mistake. 47 would have never put himself in such a situation, he was too careful for that. But as she looked back down to the agent's face, her chest felt suddenly hollow as she realized there couldn't have been a mistake. Mike Whittier had looked into the face of his almost killer and she knew he would never have forgotten. It was true. 47 was dead.
That was the last thing Nika remembered before she stood slowly, ignoring the families' curious stares, and walked out the door. She didn't notice that she had left her shoes somewhere beside the front steps, leaving her feet bare as she hurried down the walkway. Not even as she began to run did she feel the soft earth beneath her strides. Her senses seemed to be mercifully deadened.
Even now, as Nika followed the grassy lane that led into a small, wooded nook, she didn't detect the tug of brambles as she bolted past. She resisted their pull, as if they were tiny fingers trying to stop her escape. Deeper and deeper she ran, allowing the descending darkness to engulf her from the outside world. It wasn't until she reached the small clearing under the cover of the trees that she finally fell to her knees, covering her eyes with shaking hands, and her broken scream filled the air.
It was here that Nika finally felt the hush of a thousand shattered emotions as they seemed to fall, settling around her like dying embers in the darkness.