The clock on the living room wall chimed twice.
I glanced to my right. Sophia, my beautiful wife, was asleep—peacefully, blissfully unaware. Meanwhile, I hadn't closed my eyes for more than a few seconds since morning.
They found me.
I had underestimated them. I'd planned my "death" with absolute precision, every detail accounted for. But somehow, they still found me.
A sudden hoot from an owl made me flinch. I exhaled slowly and carefully shifted out from under Sophia's head. Once free, I stood, crossed the room, and peered out the window.
There was nothing unusual. Just the big tree swaying gently in the yard.
The owl called again.
I locked the windows and drew the curtains. Then I slipped out of the bedroom, quietly locking the door from the outside. Sophia could unlock it from within, but I kept the only key on me—to ensure no one else could enter while she slept.
I left the house just as silently, locking the front door behind me, and walked into the yard. Toward the tree.
"I know you're there, Zidane," I said, my voice low and cold.
A few seconds later, a shadow dropped from the branches. He landed lightly—short, compact, deadly. Barely chest-high to me, but every inch of him was dangerous.
Zidane.
If I'd once been my supervisor's right hand, Zidane had been her left.
"You're looking good for a dead man," he said with a smirk. He spread his arms. "Big house. Steady job. Beautiful wife…"
"Leave her out of this," I snapped, my voice sharp with threat.
He didn't flinch. "Actually… I was ordered to kill your wife if—"
I lunged before he finished. He dodged easily and flicked a blade toward me—a small, curved knife, poison-tipped.
I twisted mid-air, avoiding it, and moved behind him. He countered fast, blocking my strike and landing a solid punch to my stomach.
Pain bloomed instantly—I tasted blood—but I forced it down, grabbed his wrist, spun sideways, and locked his neck between my legs. I dropped, slamming him into the ground.
I was seconds away from crushing his throat when—
"Honey…?"
Sophia's voice.
I froze.
She was standing at the front door.
"Two days," Zidane whispered, then slipped from my grasp and vanished into the darkness.
"Honey…?" she called again, confused.
"Y-Yeah, Pumpkin," I called back, hiding the piece of paper Zidane had slipped into my palm before disappearing. I shoved it into my pocket and stood up.
"What are you doing out here?" she asked, squinting at me from the doorway.
"Thought I heard something," I lied. "Turns out it was just a gopher in the yard."
"Is it dangerous? Should I be worried?" she asked, already stepping forward.
I rushed to her. "Maybe. I'll call pest control tomorrow—just to be safe."
I slipped my arm around her shoulders and guided her back into the house, locking the door behind us.
-
A week had passed since Zidane's visit.
I had turned our house into a fortress.Triple-locked doors. Windows sealed. Curtains drawn. Alarms wired to every entrance.
I even removed the landline—just in case.
I hadn't stepped outside. And I wouldn't let Sophia do so either.
She didn't understand, and she was starting to grow restless.
"You haven't let me leave the house in days," she said, her arms crossed tightly, sitting on the couch in a visible pout.
"There's a pest outbreak heading into our area," I said, sticking to my cover story.
"Pest? What kind of pest?"
"I don't know. But it's why the gophers started showing up."
"But the pest guy didn't find any gophers—just a couple of holes in the yard," she countered, her suspicion growing.
I sighed and softened my voice. "Please, Pumpkin… I just want to keep you and the baby safe."
She looked at me with a mixture of confusion and concern. "I'm bored… and it's almost Christmas. I haven't even had the chance to get you a present."
"You and our baby are all I want," I told her, forcing a smile.
"I don't even have ingredients for a Christmas dinner."
"We can have frozen nuggets and fries. I don't mind."
Her shoulders slumped, and her pout deepened. When I tried to sit beside her, she stood and walked off to the bedroom without a word.
I stayed behind, staring at the floor, exhaling slowly.
I hated this. I hated lying to her. I hated locking her inside like a prisoner.
But I had no choice.
My supervisor had men in the area—I was sure of it. They were watching, waiting, ready to punish me for abandoning the organization.
The note Zidane handed me had a pager number. I was supposed to call it and confirm I was back. That deadline had passed five days ago.
I didn't call.
Because I wasn't going back.Ever.
My plan was already in motion.After Sophia gave birth, we'd vanish.New names. New country.
Disappear again. Forever.
-
I
I walked into the kitchen and found Sophia crying quietly.
"Pumpkin... what's wrong?" I asked, my heart already tightening.
"Betty… Betty's gone," she said, her voice cracking before she collapsed into sobs. I stepped closer and wrapped her into my arms, letting her cry against my chest.
Betty Gilbourne had been Sophia's closest friend since we moved to Town M. An elderly widow who lived three houses down, she'd taken to Sophia like a daughter. During the first months of the pregnancy, Betty helped her through morning sickness, gave her home remedies, and simply listened when Sophia needed comfort.
Three months ago, Betty had been hospitalized with late-stage lung cancer. She never came home again.
"I have to go to her funeral… please, Tom," Sophia whispered between sobs. "I have to say goodbye to her…"
I held her tighter and let out a heavy breath. "Okay," I said quietly. "But I'm coming with you."
-
The funeral was simple, heartfelt. Though Betty had lived alone, nearly the entire neighborhood showed up. She had touched many lives.
I was on full alert the entire time. I scanned every face, memorized every car, checked angles, exits. But there was nothing suspicious. No strangers. No odd behavior. Everything was as it should be.
When we got back to the car, Sophia glanced at me hopefully.
"Honey… since we're already out… can we stop by the store? We're low on groceries—eggs, milk, detergent… and I'm almost out of my pregnancy formula."
I hesitated.
She placed her hand on my arm. "Please?"
I sighed. "Alright. But I'm going in alone."
"But—"
"No buts, Pumpkin. You stay in the car. Lock the doors. Don't open them for anyone."
She pouted but nodded. "Okay."
I parked in the brightest, most visible spot near the grocery store entrance. Before getting out, I checked the surroundings again. No tails. No signs. Still, my gut churned.
"Lock the doors and wait," I reminded her again.
Less than ten minutes later, I was walking out with two bags full of groceries.
Then I saw the empty passenger seat.
My heart stopped.
The window was rolled down halfway.
And she was gone.
I dropped the bags instantly and scanned the lot. My mind spun. I sprinted around the car, yelling her name. No one had seen her. The parking lot was too open, too bright—this shouldn't have been possible.
Then, something caught my eye. At the far corner of the lot, wedged between a row of hedges, was a volunteer donation booth—a temporary pop-up staffed by two women in red vests. A familiar setup for holiday food drives.
And on the table, in one of the donation boxes, was a folded note with my name on it.
Hands shaking, I opened it.
"She trusted them.She walked to them.You trained her to be kind.We trained you to be smarter.Now you've lost both."
My legs went numb.
I ran through the area, into alleys, across the road. I circled the block twice, heart pounding, yelling her name like a madman.
That's when I saw her—
Or at least, someone.
A woman in her late fifties, sitting on the curb outside the alley across from the market. She looked shaken. She kept looking toward something—then I saw it. An ambulance.
I sprinted over.
"She was bleeding," the woman told the paramedic, crying. "She just collapsed right there. She was barely conscious. I called for help as soon as I saw her…"
"She was pregnant, I think," the woman added, her voice cracking.
I looked past them.
Sophia.
Unconscious. Pale. Blood everywhere.
I don't remember driving to the hospital. I don't remember parking. I only remember the phone in my car ringing again and again until I finally picked it up.
"Is this Thomas McCourtney?" a woman's voice asked. "This is Virgin Mary Hospital. Your wife has just been admitted. She's in critical condition."
The rest of the call blurred.
-
I was leaning against the outer wall of the ER, squatting on the concrete, tears soaking into my hands.
Sophia was alive—but barely.The doctors were doing everything they could.
But our baby…
Our baby was gone.
A clean, fatal wound—deliberate.A piercing to her abdomen, quick and deep. No robbery. No fight. Just surgical cruelty. Whoever did it wanted her alive... just long enough to deliver a message.
And they succeeded.
Sophia, the only good thing I had left in the world, might never recover.
She had already lost her parents. She had loved our child with everything in her.What would happen to her now?
To us?
And I knew exactly who did this.
They knew my weakness.They didn't need to kill Sophia.They just needed to break her.
And it worked.
I reached into my coat, pulled out the old pager code Zidane had slipped to me.
I walked to the public phone booth outside the hospital.
I dropped a coin. Dialed the number I swore never to call.
The operator answered on the second ring. "Number?"
My voice was empty. Cold.
"Message to 88888," I said."Bring my baby back to life. I'll come back."