There are many ways to describe my brush with the Hitman. The police say that I am an incredibly lucky girl to have met the myth, face to face, to have talked to him- and to have lived to tell the tale. My family and friends say that it must have been terrifying to have been so close to him and that he could have killed me without remorse in the blink of an eye and vanish as he so does. I've been called brave, a hero, and honored.
But really, it was none of those things.
The Hitman chose me. Protected me. He saw innocence in my eyes and made the decision to help me leave safely, to help me as no one has ever helped him. He wanted to protect and conserve the innocence within me before I lost it too early, just like he did. He saw himself in me.
This is the story of when I met the Hitman, and of when my perspective on everything has changed.
My friend, Parker, had called in earlier, asking me to take over his job tonight at his father's Waikiki Lounge.
"One last time," he pleaded. "You will get the money, I promise."
He explained that he wanted to help his girlfriend Marissa through a rough time she's going through, but I knew he was just going to do drugs at her place. I agreed to do it anyway- I needed a way to pay for my drugs too, and I currently had no job.
His father, who is clearly obsessed with anything island themed, had opened the
Waikiki Lounge a few years back, and the family is still struggling to pay off the debt that came with financing it. As the owner, he has also built his family's home on the lot so he can 'live an island paradise on a lower budget.'
He is familiar with me taking his son's place when his son 'turned sick,' and as his wife left him a few months ago, he doesn't mind my (only) female presence.
So as I walked into the main bar where he works, he looked up and he smiled at me, his deer-in-headlights-eyes shining.
"Rachel, hi!" he shouted, waving his arms. I forced a smile at him. "I see Parker called."
I nodded my head. "Where am I tonight?"
"Housekeeping," he responded, making me smile even harder. No wonder Parker chose this night to fake sick.
I put my bag down behind the bar and made my way to the storage room, sliding my phone in my back pocket. I entered the smelly room and got the maid's cart and rolled it out, closing the door behind me.
"Ben Franklin," I heard a muffled, yet deep, voice say, to which Parker's father accepted. I shook my head and began my run.
"Can't you just stay a little bit longer?" asked the slurred voice of a drunk man.
I pushed the cart out of his room. "No, sir, I cannot." I looked back inside at the woman on his bed, giggling. "You have enough company. Goodnight."
I closed the door behind me and sighed. I'm only 15, I thought to myself. I shouldn't have to put up with half naked women on beds and drunk men all night.
I sucked it up as I went to go knock on another door but stopped suddenly as I heard the sound of a bus approach. I turned my head to see a beat bus stop in the middle of the apartments.
Ever heard of a parking lot? I inwardly thought.
I watched in bemusement as a group of 6 nuns get off the bus and struggled to hold in my bewilderment. What are nuns doing at the Waikiki Lounge? Blessing it in all its ridiculousness and misfortunes?
I grew up in a religious family and was taken to church every Sunday ever since the doctors let me leave the hospital after I was born. I was always the troublemaker child- stealing kids' blocks and playthings in the children's area and yelling at the priest. You see, I was never religious myself. After my brother committed suicide when I was 6 because of the taunting he got from everyone- family included- for being gay convinced me that there was no god, and ever since then I stopped going to church. So I wasn't exactly what one would call 'one with religion.'
But when those nuns took off their robes to reveal stripper clothing and weapons strapped to their bodies, and as one nun handed a bazooka to the one in front, I knew something wasn't exactly right.
I was watching from the second story on the building to their right as the one in front aimed her bazooka at the shack in front of her. She mumbled something quick to herself and pulled the trigger.
I was too engulfed in my initial disbelief and amusement to actually take cover, so as she shot the bazooka and the place blew, I flew a few feet backwards.
Debris and dust went flying everywhere, making me choke. I tried to muffle my insistent coughing so as to not catch the attention of the stripper nuns and crawled to the edge of the walkway. They turned to talk to each other before dispersing. They all went left and only one stayed behind. Military men in black bullet proof vests and getup ran out of the middle of nowhere to meet her.
"Follow me," she said ever so calmly, strutting to the stairs.
My hand went to my back pocket and patted around, feeling for my phone. When my hand wasn't met with the familiar feel of my flip phone, I looked around- only to find it in half near the housekeeping cart.
"Fucking flip shits," I muttered, making a mental note to tell my mom this so that I may get an iPhone. Or a Nokia.
It took my brain a few seconds to realign and realize that the stripper nun was walking up the stairs towards me with her military detail and I hauled ass. I ran to the end of the hallway and into an indented corner to the right.
If I stayed here hidden, I figured, they would walk right by me and I could escape.
Slowing my breath down to barely audible and making sure I was well hidden, I focused my hearing on what was behind me. I heard the heavy footsteps of the military men stop at the top of the stairs and a door open. The voice of the drunk man I remember not even a minute ago began shouting obscenities at the men, and the sound of a gunshot was heard, followed by a thump.
I probably would too, I thought, almost forgetting that they had guns and were opening fire on anyone.
A woman screamed until her scream was silenced by another gunshot and more footsteps, followed by another round. I peeked my head out a tiny bit to see a military man shooting a few rounds into the dead drunk to make sure that he was dead.
Overkill, I thought as the stripper nun walked up the stairs finally. Her obnoxious heels clicked loudly as they closed in on my position. She began barking out order to the men, commanding that they search the area for the body.
They did all of this for one person? I asked myself in disbelief. That person must've been hard to kill otherwise.
My heart beat faster as they turned the corner, not even knowing I was there.
"Look for 47's body," she demanded. "And if it's too charred then just look for the barcode."
47's body? Barcode? What kind of person was this?
The woman stayed there, a few feet away from the laundry basket, cocking her hips to one side and looked to her left and right. The men disappeared into a charred doorway on their right.
My eyes caught movement and I looked towards the laundry basket, whose top moved ever so gently. I barely contained a gasp that floated past my lips as a tall, bald man stepped out, donning a fancy black yet dusty suit. His dirty face was set into a scowl as he crept up behind the woman, something glinting in his hands, and all I could think was how a man of his size (surely over 6 feet tall and built) could move so silently when he began to choke the woman.
No, I told myself as I squinted to get a better look. He is using a wire in his hand to wrap around the stripper nun's neck to choke her.
Before I could say or do anything-or before I could decide WHAT to say or do, or even if I should-the man had killed her. He dragged her body using the wire still around her throat towards me. My heart beat faster again as he stopped by the laundry basket not even 5 feet away from me, unwrapped the wire from her neck and placed it in his pocket, reached down to pick her up and placed her inside the laundry basket, shutting her dead body inside.
"Wow..." I thought to myself, witnessing my first murder.
The man with the fastest reflexes I've ever seen took his pistol out of one of his jacket pockets and pointed it towards me. My hands went up in instinct, showing him I meant no harm. My eyes widened as I looked down the barrel of his gun, recognized a silencer, and into the man's eyes. His stone cold, bright blue eyes glared at me in anger before turning into a question: why the fuck are you here?
"What are you doing here?" His lips met his eyes as he took me in- red long sleeved shirt, dark green short shorts, red converse- and noticed that I didn't work here. He probably took me for a guest, but that still didn't explain why I was huddled in the corner.
"I, um, hid," I responded. He still hasn't put the gun down and I made an effort to stare at it, hinting that he should. "They were coming my way."
After a second of thought he lowered his gun and placed it back on the holster in his shirt and I took that as my queue to lower my hands and let out my held breath. He looked at me once again-taking in my brown hair, hazel eyes, and freckles- and something changed in his eyes. Almost as if they...softened.
The sound of a group of military men running brought him back to reality. He looked over the edge of the railing from where he stood, his dark and bushy eyebrows furrowing, and reached his hand out to grab my arm.
"Come with me," he said softly, tugging on my forearm and dragging me behind him. All I could do was force my legs to bring me forward as I gazed at his grip on my arm. He had in black fingerless leather gloves which were firmly strapping his large and worn 'farmer's hands.' He used these to kill somebody.
I looked up to see that we had come by the stairs that the stripper nun walked up. He turned around and put his other hand on my back, forcing me into a kneel.
"Stay low, do as I say, and make like I do," he whispered in that deep, monotone voice of his that both commanded my attention and drew a chill down my spine. I nodded in response, gulping. "Do not be afraid," he added as an afterthought.
Don't be afraid, I told myself. Of stripper nuns with bazookas out to kill someone, and the person protecting me from them has also killed someone?
He turned his head the look at the courtyard and that's when I knew. When I saw that barcode tattooed on the back of his bald head, that's when I knew that this man had experience and was worth the government blowing up an Inn to find.
He narrowed his eyes, listening to the guards talk and watching them, his hand still on my forearm. I stared at that barcode. That woman, what did she call him? It was a letter, wasn't it? No, no, was it a number?
I scanned the barcode, no pun intended, trying to remember the sequence of numbers in my mind, until I saw the last two numbers.
The woman had called him 47.
"47..." I whispered to myself, not knowing I said it aloud. His head instantly snapped in my direction, and he looked confused.
"What did you just call me?"
"The woman-you know, the one you killed-called you 47," I explained. He turned back to the guards. "Is that your name, just 47?" I paused. "What's your real name-"
"Shh," he whispered, putting his finger to his lips. His eyes told me to not fuck around, so I shut up.
The guards dispersed and headed in different directions, each taking point in one area of the courtyard- but no one near us. This man, 47, took this as his cue and began walking quickly and low to the ground, and I did the same following behind him. He took us to cover by the bus and stopped, peaking out around the other end. I craned my neck to see what he saw and I did not like what I did.
There was a dead body a few feet away from us- a civilian. Shot in the face, and in the chest. Overkill, yet again. He was young looking too, and had a look of shock permanently etched into his face. I realized something- that these people were taking no chances and killing mercilessly, no matter their age and the fact that they weren't bald with a barcode on the back of their head. They were a witness, and therefore a liability. And if I were to step out, they'd kill me too.
I needed to think differently. I needed to get out of here, and this man would help me do so. 'Make like I do,' he told me. So what was he doing?
His back was hunched but his shoulders were up, ready to attack or run. I fixed my posture. His feet were heel first into the ground to promote silence, so I fixed that. His body was tense, but not too tense, so I fixed that.
A military man walked away from his post, allowing us to slip by and hide behind some bamboo shit sticking out of the ground. I held my breath as we snuck past the dead body, trying to keep my eyes off of it.
He did a quick recon of the surrounding area and then turned back to me. "Wait here," he whispered. "I need to do something."
"Can I come with you?" I asked.
His eyes flickered. "No, you have to wait here until I finish what I need to do."
"Will you come back?"
He paused for a moment, analyzing my face with the ever so slightest look of sadness on his face. He nodded his head yes and let loose his grip on my forearm.
He looked around once again before bolting silently to the next bamboo thing, and one had to wonder how such a big man like him was as silent and unseen as he was.
I rubbed the spot where he gripped my hand, and I still felt his grip there linger. I had to reassure myself that he'd come back before peaking my head out the tiniest to look around too. Two guards guarded this one area, and I saw in the distance another stripper nun.
Was he going to kill this one too? I could only wonder as I watched him disappear from cover to cover, making his way over to her. Trying to focus on silencing my breathing still didn't deter me from the fact that he was going to kill her too.
As he took cover inside the little outdoor bar that she occasionally went to for a sip of her drink, a slight chill ran down my spine. 'He kills women' echoed in my head, reminding me that he isn't a man of total mercy. 'But he saved you' combated another voice.
I watched him put something in her drink before making his way back to me.
Focusing on the woman, I watched her walk back to the bar for another sip of her drink. My heart beat fast as I waited for the reaction and soon enough my heart got what it wanted- the woman clutched at her throat and staggered for a bit before collapsing on the ground, dead.
47, her killer, made his way back to me and grabbed my arm again, watching the guards.
"Hey," one of them said, pointing to her. "What happened here?"
They both jogged over to her and bent down, trying to figure out what happened.
The man with a number for a name dragged me past them to a door, to which he let go of my arm to pick lock. I stood by him like a dummy, not knowing what to do, and looked at his handiwork. But he worked too fast for me to see and soon enough had the door opened in no time, once again grabbing me and pulling me through. I closed the door behind us as quietly as I could.
"What do you mean you can't reach them?" an angry woman asked. 47 put his hand on my stomach, stopping me from moving- a silent 'wait here'- and moved under them behind cover. "Try again."
Static, and then a man: "Strike team one, come in strike team one. Nothing but static, miss."
"Hmm. Alright, keep up the good work soldier." Then fading clicking heels.
I almost scoffed at her assertiveness, but then 47 moved. Over the counter he slid with ease. It took only a few seconds until I heard faint choking sounds-which stopped shortly after it began. The dragging of a body. The opening of a lid. The thump, and then the closing of a lid.
I closed my eyes to imagine myself somewhere else besides here. Somewhere where I wasn't a bystander to murder, and, in fact, I was having a good time. Oh, why did I have to take his shift?
I opened my eyes to see 47 staring at me I'm confusion, and then he held out his hand. Through the shift in his body I could see a wire sticking out of his shirt. I stared at it.
47 shook his hand a bit, getting my attention again. Tentatively, I reached out and his large, gloved hand grabbed mine and pulled me to him and through a door and another.
We moved past two guards by a car and behind a fence where the garbage was kept. He pushed me gently into the corner and motioned for me to stay as he turned around the corner, hesitated, then left.
I almost wanted to yell out no. No, stop, help, psycho! What was I even doing, running along with a man who forced me to stay in certain areas while he went out and killed others? This is accessory to murder! I could be tried and found guilty, sent to prison to rot!
I should just leave now, call to one of the guards to help and maybe I could-
no, I couldn't. I took a breath of air in to calm myself down. No, I couldn't do that- they'd kill me and I know it. No, I told myself. Be strong, for now. Tell the cops that he had a gun to your head and you were forced to.
I silently agreed to myself until I heard a guard yell "Hey!"
My heart skipped a beat. They found me, and now they're going to kill me, and I will never get to see my family again and tell them I love them or have any more weed.
"Look over here!"
I silently walked to the end of the wooden fence as I heard footsteps trailing away from me. I gained enough courage to peer out, only to find that a guard was maybe 15 feet away from me and looking directly at me.
A hand covered my mouth tightly and an arm swooped around my neck, resting on my chest. The man pulled me back into cover, holding me tight against him. I gasped with what breath I could get and put my hands up to the one covering my mouth, trying to pry it off, but the arm on my chest swatted them away and held me tighter.
"Shh sh," I heard a voice whisper into my ear, and instantly recognized it as 47.
My body was still tense but I quit struggling and listened as I heard footsteps approach.
In this moment time stretched into infinity. The footsteps were slow and
precise, and I can almost imagine the guard-with all his curiosity-narrowing his eyes as he approached. The hard body I was pressed up against was cool as a cucumber- his muscles weren't tense and his breathing was calm. He must've been in a situation like this a million times before, doing whatever it is that he does.
"Kyle, get over here! We need assistance!" I heard a distant voice yell, angry.
The footsteps stopped approaching but did not move away.
"Kyle, goddamnit!"
After a second hesitation, the guard jogged away. "I'm coming, I'm coming," he muttered.
47 took his hand off my mouth but his other remained as he looked out beyond our cover and watched the man disappear. Moving his hand to once again grab my arm, he dragged me to the nearest door and began pick locking this one too. I looked behind us the see a group of men and one slutty nun huddled over a body on the ground and marveled the man next to me.
Once he picked the door, the slight push of his hand on my back forced me through it as he turned and aimed his gun at something behind us. I heard the silent 'woosh' of his silenced bullet as it traveled through the air and hit the target.
The sound of the explosion made me gasp and look, but he pushed me back through the door and closed it behind us.
He must've blew the gas station, I thought to myself. Suddenly I wanted to be very very far away from this man and I shook slightly, terrified.
Making me hunch again, we hid behind a car. This time, I let him to the peaking-around-corners thing as I listened and shook to myself.
"Secure the area," another woman said as a group of men uttered a few 'yes ma'ams' under their breaths and moved , I thought, how many of them are there? I thought back to the group of them standing in front of the apartments in the courtyard before they blew it to shreds and mentally counted- 7. There were 7 of them. And how many had he killed so far? 4. More than half.
I offered him a silent, sick 'way to go' in my head as he brought us to the cornfield that resided in the back of Waikiki Lounge. We stayed low and silent, moving along in the cornfield.
We moved past the sound of static and footsteps, which I took for military men, and I held my breath again. Adrenaline was coursing through my body and my mind kept repeating the same line over and over again, even if I knew it probably wasn't true: 'We're going to get caught, we're going to get caught.'
From what I could see of 47-even though he was only inches away- he had his head turned to the left, watching stripper nun number 5 walk into a small cabin.
We waited before a small opening in the cornfield until the guards on either end of the cornfield looked away. Silently bolting to the other side, 47 turned to me again, giving me the 'wait here' signal. I almost rolled my eyes, but instead I watched him.
He made his way to the side of the cabin where the generator was, almost making me scream- he was totally exposed, out in the open!
His muscles flexed through his shirt as he tore off a piece of the generator, earning a silent 'wow' from me, and attached it to a pipe going into the cabin. He placed one hand on the lever and listened hard-focusing, waiting-until he pulled down on the lever.
He bolted back to my position as the sound if electricity could be heard-and smelled-and the woman inside screamed until she collapsed. Somehow, he managed to electrocute her, I believe.
With his hand on my elbow he guided me through the cornfield until we came upon more movement.
"Come on out, 47," a woman taunted. Were we caught? "I promise to make your death painless."
I only ignored the dumb cliché the woman used as I realized that she was only a few feet away. Had to be, by the way her voice sounded. Placing his hand on my shoulder for a fleeting moment, I stood-or hunched-still as he left me again.
Could he even find his way back to me? I asked myself as I soon heard the sound of choking. I mean, when you think about it, I'm in the middle of-
"Hey, what are you doing?"
My heart stopped. This time, it stopped. My eyes widened and tears already formed in my eyes.
I slowly turned around to find a guard pointing his rather big gun at me, an unhappy look on his face.
"What the fuck you doin' all the way out here by yourself?"
Shut up! I yelled at him in my head. Shut up, shut up!
Then, a smile formed on his face, and he puffed from the cigar in his mouth. His beady little eyes laughed down at me and I took one quick look at his disheveled appearance.
"Oooh, yeah, man," he muttered. "Am I going to have my fun with you."
A tear from realization about what was next to come trailed down my cheek and I closed my eyes.
I heard the gear on his body shift and he began to bend down towards me, only to be stopped by what sounded like a kick. I was about to open my eyes when I heard the familiar sound of gagging and decided not to, and in fact covered my ears to block out the sound of death.
This isn't happening, this shit just ISN'T happening. I mean, doesn't he ever get cramps in his hands from this bullshit?
A soft hand on my shoulder gave me permission to uncover my ears and open my eyes, but I would not look at him. Instead, I looked at the ground and played in the dirt with my finger, making swirls, almost ashamed of what was about to transpire.
His hand went to my armpit as he slowly helped me up in almost a way of understanding and comfort.
We were standing now as he led me by a hand on my back to the edge of the cornfield before another opening with a chicken coup and a warehouse. A guard stood by the chicken coup and left after a few moments, walking towards the warehouse.
The slight sound of moving fabric graces my right ear as I saw his silenced pistol in the peripheral vision of my right eye. His leathered hand tightened his grip on the gun and he slowly pulled down on the trigger.
I couldn't even see what he was shooting at, but after I heard the same 'woosh' of the bullet leaving the gun at so-and-so miles an hour, I also heard the sound of something heavy falling, followed by a woman's scream.
"Seven," I whispered, knowing he killed the last one. I sighed.
Over the sound of men rushing to the dead woman I turned to look at his face. He was already staring at me in slight bewilderment, and slight confusion.
'Yes, I counted,' I wanted to say, but I didn't.
He stood up and placed his silenced gun back in his holster and walked out of the cornfield, towards the warehouse.
In my own confusion I followed him and looked out the edge of the cornfield to find him walking toward a little setup of computer screens over a sheet. He picked up a phone and put it to his ear.
"Mission failed," I heard him say, trying to keep his rage in. From here I could see him slightly smile. "Travis."
I heard shouting from the other side of the phone from far away and smiled myself. He sure pissed this Travis guy off real good. He walked back towards me and guided me with a hand on my back out of the side of one of the cornfields and to a car. Luckily, the driver's window was down, so he was easily able to unlock the car and get in the driver's seat. He played around with some wires under the wheel until the car started and the engine revved. What did they teach this guy in school?
"I will bring you to your home," he said, closing the driver's door.
I got in the passenger seat and gulped. "Oh, ugh, okay," I managed to say. "You, um, killed a lot of people back there."
He looked at me funny. "Yes."
"Why?"
"Because if I didn't they would have killed me, and you."
"Oh," I replied. "Valid reasoning."
I gave him the directions back to my place which wasn't far from here at all,
hence why I walked here almost every day. The 5 minute car ride was ridiculously awkward, more for me than for him. I stuttered my directions and said 'ugh' enough times he'd think I'd have the IQ of below average.
Once we arrived at my home, he stopped. "Stay safe," he advised.
"I...will," I replied, getting out of the car. "Thanks for, um, coming back all those times and, like, helping me get out of there."
He nodded in response.
"So...what do I tell people?"
"The truth," he said instantly. "I should be off now."
But I have so many questions, I thought. "Will I ever see you again?"
"Yes, that may seem possible...to you."
And with that, I stepped back to let him drive off and away from me forever.
I have many regrets of that night. I regret not being more careful. I regret not showing care to the bodies. I regret getting spotted in the cornfield, and I regret not fighting back. I regret believing that I should just leave and call for help, possibly getting him killed in the process.
But, I do not regret taking Parker's shift that night. This...happening has reevaluated my perception on life and how things work. I quit doing drugs and made an effort in school. I told my parents I loved them more often and I helped around the house. I associated myself with new friends and volunteered to help Parker's family clean up the mess.
I even began to notice the little things- a bug on the grass that I took caution to avoid crushing, how people walked, how they looked when they were thinking, and I even began a pastime of imagining the blueprints to buildings and possible exit or escape points.
This man, without teaching me anything, has taught me more than my parents or the teachers in my school whose job it was to teach. This man whose name is a number came into my life for less than an hour and out of it just like that.
But has he ever truly left?
Or is he out there, watching? Watching everyone and everything?
Is he...with me?
Yes, I thought, he is.
My brush with the Hitman will never be forgotten.
A/N: Okay so I know I have unfinished stories and I will try to get to them but this just popped into my head at midnight last night and I stayed up until 2am writing it on my phone.
I just played Hitman: Absolution and I just loved it. This is the first Hitman game I've ever played. I further looked into the story of Hitman and I just LOVE the franchise.
I was able to make a connection to one of the games where 47 said, "Yes, that may seem possible...to you."
I also tried to make Rachel similar to Victoria. Albeit a year older, they have similarities: brown hair, hazel eyes, freckles. Rachel even said a few things similar to Victoria in the game, if you caught that (that's what drove 47 to do what he did). I also tried to show Rachel going through changes as well, like quitting drugs. The only reason she isn't freaking out over this whole thing more than she did is because she has seen and been through a lot, making her cold and strong in a way.
I also tried to get 47 to remain in character. Please review and tell me how you think I did! It would mean a lot 3 Also if I should continue with this story (have Rachel meet the Hitman again) or if I should do multiple different stories (like different characters meeting the Hitman). If you would like the second option message me with ideas or with your personalized character to meet the Hitman.
Yes I took this down after I posted it because the edited version wouldn't show up.