"He killed him... just broke his neck..."

I'm venting to Troy, a regular patron of the library, a friend. I stayed up all night, and in the wee hours of the morning I crept out and left the murderer in my home.

"You have to go to the police."

"Yeah right, and get both of us killed."

His face registers surprise, and mistrust, before I'm being pushed out the front door.

"Ow...!" I state, my bag of belongings hitting me in the back, as the door slams shut.

Nowhere else to go, I hang out at a coffee shop, and do some window shopping. I'm settling in for a nap on a bench at the beach, when a shadow blocks the light.

His face coming into focus, my stomach does a lurch, and I make an attempt at rising, when blood splatters onto my face.

There's mayhem, as two more shots ring out. In shock, I wipe the blood away, my hands shaking, my breathing spasmodic, 47 pulls me to my feet and another bullet piercing his shoulder hits me in the chest.

Waking... I'm in bed, in a room... somebody's room, because it sure as hell isn't mine.

There's a dull ache in my chest, and upon further examination, I'm patched up. The events of that day replays vividly in my mind, and attempting to move produces a hellish pain, that forces me back onto the bed.

Footsteps drawing nearer sends me into panic mode, and literally rolling to the floor, the room darkens. The excruciating pain shooting through my upper body causes me to cry out.

The door opening, I attempt to scoot under the bed. I feel like a damn fool, as shoes come into view, and give up on trying to hide, and just lie there.

My captor doesn't say anything, and I'm too winded and in pain to even attempt to put a face to the shoes.

"Are you just going to stare at me, or help me up?"

"I haven't decided yet."

Relief and then dread grips me... agent 47.

Lifting me effortlessly, and gently putting me back onto the bed, im confused. He's assessing the damage done to my wound, when I go for his shirt, grimacing from the pain.

"What are you doing?" He inquires, his hand on my wrist stopping me.

"You were shot... again, how is it that you're not bedridden yourself?"

"I heal faster than normal."

Not that damn fast.

"How long have I been out?"

"Just a few hours." He says, rebandaging me up.

He's meandering around and lifting me, like he didn't just get shot four times today.

"Do you need help with changing your bandages?"

"No, I'm fine."

Theres no need to ask, but I do anyways.

"Was it the assassin, that did this?"

"Yes, an assassin."

Leaving me with my suspicious thoughts, it's the next day when I see him again.

"Can you handle a bath on your own, or do you need help?" He asks, taking me into his arms.

Indignant and struggling to break free, he tightens his hold on me.

"You can't just pick me up, whenever you feel like it. You have to respect my space, and person."

He doesn't respond immediately, and i'm afraid that he may drop me back onto the bed. The man's capable of anything, so I latch onto his shirt, just in case.

"Do you need my assistance getting to the bathroom or not?"

"Yes, please." I manage, with as much humble pie that I can muster up.

Exploring the house, that we've taken up residence in, it's beautiful. A three story, secluded lake house, it's way too big for just one person.

Being nosey I invade his closet, and find numerous suits of quality with over three thousand dollar price tags on them. I think that I'm in the wrong business.

"Oh shit, my job." I state.

"I sent them your resignation." He says, from behind me.

"You did what?"

"You can't go back, you old life is over."

"Like hell it is... my life was fine, until I met you. I was... I wasn't happy, but I was okay with it."

"If you want to live, you'll stay with me until this is over."

"Which will be?"

"When I take down my employer, if they don't kill me first."

"This is bullshit... I didn't ask for this, you just had to break into my car, huh?"

"You looked like you needed some excitement in your life."

"You chose me, it wasn't the luck of the draw?"

Angrily snatching up a pair of shiny shoes, at the expense of an electric shock of pain shooting through my abdomen, I toss them in his direction.

Missing my target, I grab some nice looking watches, and take aim.

"Put those down." He says, gun aimed at me.

"What are you going to do, shoot me?"

"If you don't put them back, I will."

He can't be serious...

It's a "western stare down", with me reluctantly surrendering the timepieces.

He's quiet, eyes closed, I'm unable to concentrate on my book, and can't help stealing glances at him. Its been an hour, he must be asleep.

How, I don't know... only drunk people sleep like that, except they keel over after some time. He's sitting straight up, that has to be uncomfortable.

Curiosity getting the best of me, I slowly and stealthily make my way over to him. kneeling before him, and at a snails pace, I untuck his shirt.

Wanting to get it over with quickly, my pace hastens, as I unbutton his shirt. My eyes scanning his chest, there's no signs of the wounds, its smooth, and ummarked.

"What..."

"I told you that I heal fast."

His voice startles me, caught in the act...

This makes no sense, there should be some type of blemish.

"Who are you, what are you?"

"Im an agent."

"Are you human?"

"I'm as real as you."

"And you really kill people for a living?"

"I used to work for the ICA, the "International Contract, Agency".

"What happened, you got canned?"

"I chose not to complete a contract, and my handler Diana, sent another agent to terminate me.

"What has this got to do with me?"

"You know too much."

"I don't know shit."

"It doesn't matter, you're involved now, and they won't stop until we're dead.

Realization, the understanding that I'm in way over my head, frightens and unnerves me.