He never asked to be an assassin, he thought to himself as he stood in the doorway, looking over two sleeping toddlers. It was his skills, his stealth and his precision that led him down this path. Apparently, those things could not be ignored, those things were exactly what they were looking for. Who they were was another question altogether.
John lingered in the doorway, thinking about them, who they were, what they wanted from him, what they asked of him, how well they paid him. That was a major one, the money. It was too good to pass up, especially with the plans he was making for the future. He had already picked out the engagement ring, a custom-cut diamond, a bold statement. Quitting this life could be an even bigger statement,a thought lulled in the back of his mind. Shutting it all down, handing it all in, burying everything in a wooden chest in the basement of the house he was planning to build for Helen. John suddenly snapped back to the task at hand as one of the toddlers stirred. He stepped back into the shadows and checked his watch.
Any moment now, it was almost time, the mark would be arriving home, to this beautiful house. A beautiful house that was filled with family photographs, expensive decorative vases and, no doubt, large quantities of cocaine. This house was one big hiding place, something he did not want his future home with Helen to be.
Peering back through the doorway at the sleeping children, something stirred in John. Did Helen want children? She hadn't mentioned anything about being maternal. She had mentioned getting a dog, stopping to pet the dogs of strangers in the street as she and John strolled through the city. The owners would sometimes stare at John, jaws clenched, waiting for his next move. They knew. The majority of the times the owners would smile as Helen fussed over their pet, making small talk. An elderly lady with a poodle once commented on what an attractive couple they were, making Helen blush. John caught the flush in her cheeks. He agreed and mused, our kids would be good looking too.
John moved silently across the hallway, gently closing the door to the children's room. He heard a car pull up outside. It was almost time. The time between arriving at work and finishing was usually filled with thoughts of Helen. It was a welcome distraction from John's line of work. Sometimes it was a motivation, getting the job done as quickly and efficiently as possible, with whatever was to hand. Helen did not question what John did for a living or the injuries he'd obtain on the job. She would run her hands across his back, feeling scar tissue and down his thighs, reaching for something on John's body that was uninjured and fully intact.
The sound of the mark stepping into the hallway, keys dropped onto the side. It was time. John listened as the mark stumbled around downstairs, then to his heavy steps ascending the stairs. John prepared himself, stepping out from the darkness. Baba Yaga.
Helen was asleep when John got home. He stood in the doorway of her bedroom, watching her breath gently move up and down in her slumber. She looked so peaceful, so safe. A moment of clarity washed over John: he was going to tell them that he could no longer work.