Chapter 4: The Feeling You Can Know So Much..
It's barely four in the afternoon but the few streets between the bus stop and the apartment are already bathed in semi-darkness, the chilling breeze somehow still biting through Phil's thick coat. In his mind (because his mind manages to still always be drifting towards Dan), he imagines Dan is somewhere warm, lounging in a t-shirt and commenting on how dark his skin has tanned.
It's a nice memory, Italy with PJ and Chris. The days were filled with sunshine, water, laughter and the ease of good company. With a half-hearted smile, Phil rustles through his bag for the key, remembering the way Dan would rest, floating on the clear blue water; if he couldn't be here, with Phil, then Italy is where Dan should be.
Perhaps on another night he might have been fortunate enough to be noisy and noticeable, but on this dreary afternoon, Phil slips into the apartment with barely a whisper, so the two figures clad in black approaching from the adjacent lane don't even see him enter.
They've just scouted out the perimeter and are returning to the target site, satisfied with their inspection and prepared to commence the mission.
It was hardly as if this was a challenge to either party.
They had both been trained for more than a decade now for precisely this purpose, and they had infiltrated far more complex situations than the apartment of two young men. They moved seamlessly, predicting and anticipating the actions of each other, based on paired training and years of experience in the field as a team. It was a little strange for such an elite pair to be working an urban case, but the target had been sent to them specifically, and they knew better than to disobey direct orders.
Perhaps their downfall was the simplicity of the task, no murder, no captives; no one could know they'd been there. One apartment in the middle of London and it was nothing more than a grab and run, something they both saw as beneath them.
Pulling out a small black pouch containing the equipment to pick the door's look, barely leaving a scratch, the taller of the pair waves a hand at their partner, indicating he should keep watch.
Phil hums aimlessly to himself as he unwraps the rice packet, cutting along the line and shoving it into the microwave. As the light flickers on and the coloured bag beings to rotate before his eyes, Phil suddenly notices a scratching noise. Not quite scratching, no, but the sound of metal.
He hits the cancel button, concerned that there might be a fault in the microwave, but in the abrupt silence immediately locates the strange noise as coming from the front door.
His eyes dart to the sliver of sunlight at the end of the door and widen as they watch two shadows move slightly- feet, his brain screams, feet or knees, that means person, in London, didn't press the doorbell, come on Phil-
He scrambles to the nearest room, dropping his fork as he runs, and swiftly closes the door behind him, trying to stay quiet. It seems a bit pointless, because anyone robbing his house must be able to hear his heart pounding against his ribcage, but the adrenaline tells him to keep quiet, and so he does.
The front door creaks open (just like it used to when Dan would arrive home later than him, before they were good, stinking of alcohol but still trying not to wake Phil) and he steps backwards. The frame of a bed knocks against his knees and he's in Dan's room, with the duvet where he left it- no one has slept here for more than a year. Moving as silently as he can, Phil lifts the corner of the sheets and slides himself beneath the bed frame, pressing his back against the cold floor boards and letting out the long sigh he didn't realise he was holding.
Don't move. Don't make a sound.
His hand is less disciplined and reaches out in the darkness of his closed eyes (feels safer) to grasp at fabric- silky material- Dan's boxers? He almost laughs but pauses with his mouth half open.
It takes them less than a minute to cleanly pick the lock, and even less than that to find the target's laptop. Stowing it in an unmarked black backpack, the team moves on. The first door opens to a bedroom and the photo on the desk tells them they're found the right one. Too easy.
Phil tries not to gasp when they open the door and walk in, but he's sure he must have reacted audibly in some way. There are footsteps and movements but everything is delicate and quiet and they must know he's here. His foot twitches and suddenly his leg seizes up in cramps, pain shooting up his thigh, his face contorting into a grimace, teeth clamped together as if the tighter he squeezes them, the sooner the pain will end. His hand shifts again, unintentionally, and falls upon a cardboard box, with a soft, dull thud. Phil blinks and is completely still, everything else forgotten in an instant.
They are pulling out the drawers of the desk when they hear two noises, the first nearby and concerning, and the second even more so- a doorbell, followed by the scrape of a key. The drawers are closed and the books restacked in a matter of seconds and they are out the window before the door has clicked shut behind the intruder.
"Phil? You home? I brought some milk!" He can hear PJ's voice but can't convince himself to move. He also heard the window open and close, but this apartment is on the seventeenth floor. It's not until he hears the door open a few minutes later and PJ's voice somewhere above him that he dares to make a move.
"Phil? I saw your phone outside this room, what's going on?"
"Are they gone?"
PJ kneels and lifts up the corner of the duvet, only to see Phil's feet as he crawls out on the other side. They meet on the bed and before he let's PJ ask anything else, Phil dumps the cardboard box on the bed between them.
Underneath a thick sheet of dust, the box is black, slightly larger than a shoebox, with metal reinforcements on each corner. The lid fits snugly and is lifted off to reveal sheets of paper, bound together and sorted into manila folders. Phil opens the first one and pulls out a page, reading the contents aloud.
"Daniel Howell is moving to Manchester at the end of Grade 8 with his family. His father has received a promotion that offers the family greater financial prospects and Daniel will attend the local secondary school. He will not be enthusiastic about sports or anything that requires a demonstration of physical exertion."
The page was lowered in shaking hands to the bed once more and finally Phil looked up and met PJ's confused expression with matching bewilderment.
"Do you have any idea what this is?"
PJ shook his head, taking the page from Phil, squinting to read the fine print. Phil didn't move, his hands fisting into the sheets as he fought back against his watering eyes.
Hello! Wow sorry that took so long, next one will be quicker I promise! Endless thanks to the lovely Serene Wyrd, NeverlandNat, ahlameyacream, Sasaphrinascream, thegirlgage, Ashley, piefould, Rocketship Raven, hunting horcruxes, Apenandpaper, LittlePrincessCJ, EmeraaldDreamss, athleanaprime21, JustAboveYourAverageSlytheri n and wkroine for reviewing- I really couldn't do it with out your kind words and motivation to let you know what happens next! I hope you liked this chapter :D xx