Stiles waited until 6:30pm before he walked over to the address given to him – he didn't want his car outside to make him a suspect.
Geared up and ready, he stalked around to the back of the small house to examine his possible entries. Once he had eyed up a slightly ajar window, he pulled his black gloves over his slim fingers and quietly lifted the window upwards until the gap was big enough for him to slip through. In one quick and smooth movement, he was inside the building.
The interior of the home couldn't be seen in the pitch black darkness. Squinting, Stiles tiptoed towards the light coming from through archway that led into another room. A small lamp was enough to light up what must have been a lounge. Stiles quickly took in his surrounding, making connections to decide which of the white doors would most likely lead to the bedroom; he could wait until the victim went in there and then kill them.
Trying to logically plan it out, Stiles decided on the nearest door on the right. He slowly stepped over to the door and slightly creaked it open, just enough to peer through, Jackpot.
A bed stood inside with a lump bulging from under the duvet. For some reason, someone was sleeping at 6:30pm. Stiles dug into his pocket, gripping the syringe containing a little homemade toxin that would make her death look like a heart attack. The floorboards cringingly creaked as Stiles attempted to be silent, approaching the lump like a lion about to take down a gazelle.
Stiles' hand gripped tighter on the syringe as he gently pulled the duvet down just enough to get to a suitable injecting point. He stopped dead, staring in horror at the girl who lay sleeping in front of him; it was his ex-girlfriend.
"Lydia?" he muttered to himself. He must have said it louder than he thought, because the girl jolted awake.
Stiles watched her eyes widen and her skin drain its colour. She then let out a spine chilling scream, making Stiles cringe as the noise filled his eardrums. He quickly shoved his palm over her mouth, quieting her.
"Lydia shut up!" he winced, hoping that no neighbours had heard her scream. He noticed her eyes turn from scared to relieved and then to angry within the space of a minute. Now that she had stopped screaming completely, he finally released his hand from her face.
"What the hell are you doing in my house?" Lydia shouted, exasperatedly flinging her arms up by the side of her.
"Lydia what the hell did you do?" Stiles yelled back, trying to think of any possible reason someone would want him to kill Lydia. Did someone else live here with her that it could be instead?
"What are you talking about?" Lydia screeched, becoming angrier with the lack of explanation for him being in her room.
"Why the hell are you sleeping?" Stiles questioned, his curiosity taking over from his job, even though he should be focused.
"I had a headache!" Lydia wiped over her face with her hands in an annoyed and impatient attitude.
With his curiosity now satisfied, Stiles went back to the questions, "Why the hell are you on a freakin hit list?"
"What?" She furrowed her eyebrows, her confusion taking over her anger.
"I'm a hit man. I was hired you take you out", Stiles explained impatiently; he just wanted a reason why someone might want to kill her.
Lydia gave him a resentful, enraged glare that made his body tense, "Stiles I'm being serious, what the hell are you doing here?" she snarled, balling her hands into tiny fists.
"So am I!" he replied, holding up the syringe he was about to inject her with, "I was about to kill you with this", he explained calmly.
Stiles watched Lydia spend a few seconds examining the syringes brown liquid, obviously quickly coming to the decision that he is telling the truth. She lets out another deafening scream, flying out of bed and pushing past him towards the front door.
Stiles groaned loudly and sprinted after her, managing to grab hold of her wrist before she could get to the handle. He wrapped his arm around her body and pulled her backwards, in the direction he thought he remembered the kitchen being.
About half an hour of wriggling and struggling later, he finally had her tied down to a chair in the middle of the kitchen. She was sobbing loudly and begging for her life.
Stiles sighed loudly; trying to show her that he was now irritated. She clearly picked up his message, becoming silent other than her soft involuntary gulps of tears.
"Who else lives here?" Stiles asked, staring at the wall and rubbing his chin in deep thought.
"My b-boyfriend", she stuttered back, lines of mascara now starting to streak her pink cheeks.
Stiles thought about her answer. The guy who hired him had said 'she' so it couldn't be him. It had to be Lydia that he wanted dead.
"Why would someone want to kill you?" Stiles repeated with a hint of warning in his voice as he turned to look at her.
"I don't know!" Lydia bellowed back at him, visibly wincing at her outburst in instant regret – she would most likely want to stay on his good side.
"You must have done something!" Stiles roared, banging on the table in frustration. He noticed her whole body start to shake and he actually felt kind of bad about it.
Suddenly, the rattling sound of a key in a door echoed through the house. Both Stiles and Lydia froze in panic. Reacting quickly, Stiles seized a knife from a draw in the kitchen and sliced through Lydia's ties. He then rapidly wiped the make-up lines off Lydia's cheeks – they were signs of her being in distress.
Placing the knife back on the kitchen side, he madly slid over to a tall cupboard in the corner of the room. Before he shut himself inside, he shot Lydia a warning glare to tell her not to say anything. He waited for her to nod and then he shut himself in the cramped space of what was now revealed to be a shoe cupboard.
Stiles peered through shutters that were eye level with him in the door. He observed Lydia as she pretended to be washing something in the sink. A tall man, whose face Stiles could not yet see, entered the kitchen.
"Lydia?" a surprised voice called out. Something about the voice was unbelievably recognisable to Stiles, but he pushed it to the back of his mind – he had more important things to worry about, like not getting caught.
Stiles noted Lydia's great acting skills as she pretending to be happy to see him and insisted that everything was fine. The man, obviously Lydia's boyfriend, told her to go and sit in the lounge and wait for him.
"I'll bring you a drink", he insisted, ignoring her excuses as he steered her out of the room. Lydia finally agreed, sparing one more worried glance at the cupboard that Stiles stood in, and walked into the lounge.
As the man stepped towards the sink, Stiles could finally see his face. Realisation hit him as to why he recognised his voice – it was the guy who had hired him. It was the guy who wanted Lydia dead.
