How Do I Get Out of This? Ch. 01

He didn't release her from his arms.

He felt he lost in his own game.

It was the cruelest thing that he had ever done. And he wasn't ordered to do it. It was pointless.

She was still in his arms, but she had turned her back to him. He could feel her silent tears.

His phone rang.

She heard him getting frustrated and tense.

"Fuck. I thought it was gonna be next week."

Then he added, "Fine. Be there in five."

He turned to her.

Touched her lightly on her shoulder.

She turned and through wet eyes she said, "You won."

"What?"

"In that game of yours. You won."

He took a moment.

He had lost. She just would never find out.

He didn't get out of this.

"I'll be gone for the night. You can leave in the morning or stay... Whatever suits you."

She nodded.

8:12am Thursday

He hadn't returned yet.

She decided to leave since she couldn't get any sleep.

Just as she was about to leave two policemen found her outside the garage door.

"Miss, can you come to the police station? I believe you know a Mr. Stephen Daniels."

"Yes, I..."

"Follow me, please."

At the police station they asked some questions, not too many, though. She was tired.

When she heard "You can leave now, thank you," she asked, "Do you know what happened to Mr. Daniels?" repeatedly, but she got only vague answers.

An officer came out of his office and told her,

"Ms. Aitken, Mr. Daniels has been transferred to jail to get through trial. He's alive though."

She mumbled thank you and started to descend the stairs.

The same officer went back to his office and said to the man who was seated inside, "Do you want me to bend the rules and tell her the truth, Mark?"

"No, it's better and safer this way."

"Come on, let me take you home. You need to rest after that gigantic operation. By the way, well done. You should be voted best undercover of the year!"

"Whatever..." Mark replies.

He looks outside the window. She's on the sidewalk bench, her head in her hands, trying to absorb the way things turned out overnight.

Mark turns to his colleague, "Keep her contact info and send a note to college to get her treated for a mild to severe concussion. And maybe get a psychologist to tell her about her family again. She deleted that memory after the hit."

"Sure thing Mark. Sure thing."