Happy Hanukah and Merry Christmas you guys! I actually did not plan on this chapter overlapping Christmas, but I guess it worked out perfectly! And for those who have been leaving wonderful comments and critiques, each one has me rushing back to my laptop whenever I feel discouraged, so danke.
*****
Oliver knelt on the forest floor, peering through the scope of the rifle. He had to hike nearly seven miles just to get to his destination. Lucky for him he was south enough where there was no snow, making it easy to cover his tracks.
He waited, counting three men in black suits outside of what used to be a plantation, now a modern mansion. He had waited for an hour, watching the three men circle the property. The owner was right to have bodyguards. When he was confident that they were all within eyesight, he shot as quickly and accurately as possible.
It only took four shots to take down all three in about two seconds. Two men went down, the bullets neatly between their eyes. The last he messed up, shooting him in the throat. But that mistake only took a split second to correct.
He had hoped he could've made it to his target without alerting or having to kill the guards, but they were in the way. He scoured his surroundings as he dropped the Springfield, covering it in leaves. "I'll come back for you later," he whispered.
He jogged to the back door, staying aware of his surroundings. The door was locked. He turned to one of the deceased men and searched his jacket for anything useful, attempting to avoid any blood on the lifeless body. At last he found a keyring in his pocket and went back to the door, trying to fit the right key. When the lock clicked, he opened it and snuck inside.
Even though it had been built over, knowing this was once a plantation and someone actually wanted to live on it was some seriously sick shit. Worse than living on an Indian burial ground.
Each of his steps were silent as he creeped through the halls, poking into various rooms. He went up an annoyingly regal staircase and heard his target. A voice coming from a room all the way at the end of the hall with large mahogany doors.
Oliver put his ear to the door, making sure there was only one person in the room. There was talking, but it was a one-sided conversation. When he heard the word 'goodbye' he casually opened the door.
It was a home office, entirely too fancy for Oliver's liking. Wood paneling walls, stuffy oil paintings and a fireplace on the side wall. In front of him was a plump, sweaty man, looking horrified in front of a wooden desk. "How did you get in here? What do you want?" the man said angrily, hand on his phone.
Oliver didn't give him a moment to pick it up. He walked forward and yanked the cord out. "You know what I want."
"You leave, right now or I'll call my guards-"
Oliver cut off his threatening by leaning over, grabbing the man's tie and pulling him over the desk on his stomach, and onto the ground before him. He reached in his jean pocket, pulling out a length of what resembled piano wire and wrapping it around the man's throat.
He squeezed at the wire, enough to make his victim piss his pants but still able to speak. "Look you perverted fucking piece of shit," Oliver growled into his ear. "I want those disks. I want the pictures, I want everything you fucking have."
The plump man, now leaking sweat from every pore, replied, "Is that it? You want the pictures of the girls?"
Oliver tightened the wire enough to dig into his skin. "No, you sick fuck! There's a special place in hell for people like you, and I'm going to make sure that's where you go."
Oliver loosened the wire enough for him to speak again. "I'll get rid of it, I'll stop I promise," he wheezed, trying to pry the wire from his neck.
Oliver dropped the wire only to shove the round man on his hands and knees. "Sauer told you what he wants, and since you won't listen to him, you're going to listen to me. I want those disks, files, everything you have," he barked, kicking the man in his side.
While gasping and coughing, the man scurried to the end of his carpet in the corner of the office, peeling it off to reveal a latch on the floor. He opened it, shaking profusely as he pulled out metal boxes of different sizes.
"Open them up," Oliver demanded. The man did so, hands trembling and face a deep crimson. Oliver bent down, going through the steel boxes. "Perfect. You know if all of my targets were as sadistic as you, I would have a lot more fun killing them." He took the man by the neck of his shirt and dragged him in the middle of the room.
The man cried and squealed like a pig being slaughtered. Oliver wrapped the wire around his neck again, pulling tight. "So you're just Sauer's bitch?" he wheezed.
"Yes I am," Oliver replied and yanked the wire one last time, crushing the man's windpipe and holding him until his body went limp. Oliver dropped him, letting the lifeless body crumble to the ground. He spat on his face and gave his dead body a harsh kick. "Sick fuck."
AJ woke up in the motel alone. She shot up in bed, looking around but soon realizing where she was. She groaned, running her hand through her knotted hair. He had left her all alone out here by herself. He had told her he'd be gone, but she hoped he'd be there at least when she woke up.
She went to her backpack, digging out a loose pair of fleece pants and an old shirt she used as pajamas. It didn't seem like she had to dress to impress out here. A note was left on the table beside the bed that read, 'coffee in lobby.'
That was perfect. At least she would have a reason to leave the room without feeling like she was in danger. She threw on her sweater and took one of the room keys that had been left next to the note. Any hotel she had been to the key was a plastic card, but here it was an actual key with a small chain.
She shrugged and left the room to the lobby. It was not nearly as cold as it was in the city. No snow, just bare trees and dying grass. The sign in front of the lobby didn't look as intimidating as it did at night, but you could definitely tell how neglected it was.
The lobby was not as eerie as it was at night either. In fact the trophies and taxidermy animals looked campy instead of frightening. A different young man, this one shorter and skinner, was working at the desk, with the same cartoon bear on his shirt.
He acknowledged her as soon as she opened the door. "What can I do for ya ma'am?" he said in a thick southern accent, something that sounded so fake and foreign to her.
"Do you guys have coffee here?" she asked.
