[ Warning this work of fiction contains traces of: M.Health, Violence, Gore ]

Chapter 1: Inside The Wardrobe

[Monday, June 10^th   9:32h]

Controlling your breath you tried to slow down your heartbeat. It was trying to fit in with the sea of sounds outside. Trying to sneak by undetected. You could just bearly hear the faint rustling of keys in the hallway. However, what gives someone chills aren’t objects. What gave you chills was the sound of frantic movement. The door of a nearby room dragged open. Violated, one by one they screeched, pointing out their assailant. It was Zachary Morris. He was close. Knowing that the old fool figured it out seemed deserved, the charade had finally come to an end. It felt as if the walls were closing in, with the pain against your elbows reminding you of the uncomfortable position you found yourself in. Should you make a run for it? The window was right there. On the left of the dresser, tempting you. Sharing its light through the cracks, almost like a friendly neighbor. In the end, you couldn’t debate yourself into leaving. Not yet. Maybe if you...

Static from your earpiece interrupted your train of thought. It was Skinner.

Skinner: “Item planted.”

All the veins in your head fired off at the same time. In an instant, you considered laying him off, on the spot. But you couldn’t. Not until you get back.

Skinner: “Downstairs left-wing Boss, near the entrance. What ar..”

On muscle memory, you double-tapped the earbud. It was a signal for diversion.

Skinner: “On it, sit tig-”

The muffled panting became clear. He was there. At the doorframe. Your old bones had never been more stiff. Unfortunately, your breath had never been more stale either. Breathing that in was a nightmare, is this what people around you smell every day?

He wasn’t saying anything. Almost like he was trying to catch a ghost off guard. As he limped across to the next room, a doorbell rang. Classtime is over, and like an obedient schoolboy, you were ready to sprint for recess. With one continuous motion, you vaulted outside. In your mind you did a quick prayer, thanking God you were on the ground floor. You need to be thankful, you thought as you put on a hat, something youngsters are missing these days. Avoiding unwanted eyes you rushed to grab the box. He saw you. Holding the box you tipped your hat as a good postman would. At the doorstep Skinner was buttering him up, you could tell just by looking at his gestures. Swinging his hands, open and friendly, a little too open in your opinion. Skinner had his ways with words, but his big mouth was his greatest flaw. That, and his attachment to targets, there was no need to get that close, unnecessary risk, but that just might be your old age speaking. You’ve seen enough times what happens when you get too attached, too personal, but maybe kids needed to experience it head-on, through their own hands. Suddenly Skinner pointed at the van behind you and you knew that was your queue. You greeted Mr. Morris, following up by asking where to drop the package. After exchanging a few words Skinner took Zachary's signature and it was time to say goodbye. As a farewell, you turned around and tipped your hat one last time.

Chapter 2: The Ice Cream Man

[Monday, June 10^th   14:48h]

By now, you’ve grown accustomed to the low-pitch rattling of the machine. It was like an old friend, there to hear your troubles and provide soothing comfort. A cog constantly turning the machine - just like you. It almost made you sad when the machine would stop for a moment to turn up the ice cream, stopping for you to take advantage of its hard work. All for a snot-nosed kid in front of you.

Skinner: “Boss! Boss, you there?”

Boss: “Stop calling me Boss kid, learn some manners. We’re at work.”

Skinner: “Sorry ‘bout that Mr. Footman. It’s break time.”, he said as he tended to a barrage of complaints flowing in from his little customers. The kids weren’t having it.

Footman: “Leave the ‘Mister’ out of it.”

You slammed the van blinds shut. The sudden scare started a rat race and startled kids ran away whispering gossip aloud, pretending no one could hear them.

Skinner: “Woa..”

Footman: “Don’t you ‘woah’ me Skinner. What the hell was that?!” 

Skinner: “You m..“

Footman: “Yes I mean the blabbering while THE TARGET was still IN THE HOUSE on the SAME god damn FLOO-"

Skinner: “Lower your..”

Footman: “I’m gonna talk to Tinker, what was he thinking? You lied and sweet-talked him into getting hired, didn’t you.”

Skinner didn’t respond, he started cleaning some miscellaneous objects. You could tell by his red ears, he was being defensive. Probably angry for being attacked and in some ways apologetic. Observing his face you saw it, that faint melancholy frown. Sombre in thought. You can gather he feels sorry to some extent, trying to make up with his actions. God knows you’ve done it so many times. Suiting up your overalls, you slipped one leg after the other. Silence, a rare occasion when the calm comes after the storm. Unbearable. Guilt was starting to settle in, eating away at all that energy you had a moment ago.

Footman: “Help me with the back, will ya.”

Skinner tightened up your collar without saying a word. Somehow it felt as if a noose was wrapped around your heart and an invisible hand was pulling it tighter.

Footman: “Sorry kid.”

Skinner: “...”

Footman: “I did mean the first half.”

Skinner: “You son of a..”

Skinner: “What kind of half-ass apology Is that?”

Footman: “You really could have endangered both of us; and the assignment.”

Skinner: “And you were stuck in a wardrobe, waiting to get caught.”

Footman: “Leave me be, I’m an old man, hips don’t move like they used to.”

You felt relief.

Skinner: “Why didn’t you call in earlier?”

Footman: “You mean while you didn’t plant the item? Hell, I should have led him by hand right to you.”

Skinner: “Well you’ve got an excuse for everything, don’t ya.”

He said as he fiddled with your hat, trying to put it on your head.

Footman: “Of course I do. Now, don’t you be talking down to your elderly!”

You often thought how Tailor's outfits were ridiculous, but It did help to get into character. In the end, what really made them work was you. They are just an extra layer of skin you can’t peel off.

Footman: “It’s like I’m wearing a skin.”

Skinner: “What?”

Footman: “The outfit kid.” 

Letting out a sigh, as a doctor would talking to an ignorant patient, he tightened your wrist. It was an antique, but it showed the right time.

Footman: “It makes you wonder just how many layers of skin does a skinner have?”

Skinner: “You don’t have to go senile on me old man.”

Footman: “Oh hush. I don’t know why I bothered.”

Rolling his eyes, he reconsidered entertaining your attempts at making a joke. But now you weren’t feeling it, the moment has passed.

Skinner: “You mean if a skinner could skin skin?”

Footman: “Yes Skinner. It's a funny play on words. Looks like humor died with my generation. All that’s left is you humorless bunch.”

Skinner: “It’s a real shame. You’ll be taking the best humor with you to the grave.”

You’ve just about had enough.

Footman: “And, thank the Almighty, I will.”

You took a look at the rusty hand watch. It was time.

Chapter 3: Grandad

[Monday, June 10^th   15:20h]

Child: “You’re not grandad!”

Grace: ”Hush Riley. I’m sorry dad, every week It’s the same thing. I’ll be back in the evening to pick them up.“

You just nodded in approval. Opening the door was a gesture for them to come in. Well Daisy anyway, the other brat can stay outdoors for all you care.

Grace: “And you, little mister, think about how that makes your grandad feel? You should be grateful someone has the nerves to look after you two.”

***

[Monday Afternoon]

Riley: “Quiet, he’s probably listening in.”

Daisy: “Are you sure Riley?”

Riley: “I keep telling you Daisy, we need to get that hearing ai-”

Daisy: “But why? Won’t we get in trouble?”

Riley: “Because It’s an ear… It’s aa… It’s like that thing in spy movies, like a phone. You know, the thing fake grandpa communicates with the secret agency. Now help me with the water will y-.” 

Daisy: “No. You’re lying. Phones are for talking. This is for helping grandpa hear better.”

Riley: “Oh yeah? Then why does grandad talk to himself when he’s alone?”

Daisy: “Because he’s lonely without grandma. He talks to me just fine. You’re just jealous of me.”

Riley playfully threw a sponge at Daisy, which caused her to storm off in a childlike manner. Why is she mad? He didn't mean it like that. In his mind, he wasn’t being serious at least. If he was really serious he could have thrown it much harder. Taking out a kitchen chair he climbed on the countertop.

Wait, what was that hissing sound just now? Riley froze in place.

Suddenly a different kind of fear kicked in, It wasn’t grandad. Furious tiny steps were coming back with each step being louder than the last. Daisy swang a bucket full of sponges in front of her, letting out a high-pitched battle cry. Oh no, he’s stuck up there. With a sparkle in her eyes and a grin to match it, she started throwing. Riley had one thing going for him, and that was his sister's weak aim. That didn’t help him not to get hit, the number of sponges was hefty enough to make up for it. After ammunition ran out tensions quickly fizzled out and both parties agreed to a truce.

Riley: “Well if you’re done, how about you help now?”

Daisy: “No! I always help you and then we both get in trouble.”

Riley: “This time It’ll be different. Trust me. I’ll just say I did everything on my own without any help. No one will know, deal?”

Daisy: “Only if you promise to make it especially clear to mom.”

Riley: “I will trust me.”

He saw her looking at the wet tiles on the floor. Daisy pushed the water around, spreading it evenly with her shoe so It wouldn’t get noticed. She could just be tired but as the big brother he could tell. Daisy’s defenses were melowing down.

Riley: “Can you hand me that bucket while I’m up here, that’s actually perfect.”

Daisy: “What are you gonna do?”

It took a few tries but Riley finally placed the bucket over the door.

Riley: “The plan is simple, see this door? When grandad opens it, he will get wet, and then he will have to take out his hearing aid! Then we snatch it and send a message to the agency. They will have to release our real grandad!”

Daisy: “Real grandpa?”

An opening presented itself.

Riley: “Yes! You were too small to remember him. He was the one who gave it to you, you know, that weird pink rabbit you play with. That’s the person I am trying to get back to us! And I need you to be my spy of justice.”

Daisy started jumping with thrill, a title like ‘the spy of justice’ sounded so cool!  It was a lie, grandad didn’t really give her the plushie, but It was a necessary one.

Riley: “Okay agent Summers listen closely.”

Daisy closed her foot and saluted. Riley noticed something moving in the front yard. Combine that with the downward growl of an engine and it could only mean one thing: Grandad has returned from doing the groceries.

Riley: “Okay no time”, he whispered, “go behind the sofa.”

Even though they hid, their hearts were pacing.

Riley: ”Listen up, when he puts down the hearing aid to dry himself you need to distract him. Just make it long enough for me to take it.”

The front door opened. Hearing their names called upon the children didn’t move a muscle. Daisy complained about not being able to see, but Riley hushed her. Finally, he was about to walk into a trap. Large footsteps echoed throughout the hallway, just slightly deafened by the rustling of grocery bags.

The heavy door spread open.

There is absolutely no way what he saw was real. Grandad not only dodged getting wet, but he also caught the bucket mid-air. For this maneuver, he had to raise one foot up on the counter. In the fraction of time it took Daisy to stand up, he quickly depressed his foot back down onto the floor. Without as much as a sip on him, grandad calmly asked them to explain what they were doing behind the sofa.

***

[Monday Evening]

Riley: “I’m telling you he jumped into the air and did the splits on the counter!”

Daisy: “No he didn’t you stinker! Mom was right, you are sick.”

Grandad: “Calm down missy, no name-calling in this house. Your brother just has a rare illness, It’s called capgrass syndro-”

Riley: “Quiet imposter. Where’s our grandad!? Tell the man in your ear that we’re onto you.”

Grace: “Riley!”

There she was, towering over them, listening in on the commotion.

Grandad: “Hi Grace, would you like me to grab a plate for you?”

Grace: “Thanks dad, I’ll pass. If the kids are done, we are leaving.”

Riley: “But m-.”   

Grace: “Now, Riley.”

The children obeyed every verse of the gospel. They washed the dishes and tied their shoes, kissing grandpa’s cheek on the way out. It was a primal fear only a mother can insure.

The family got into the car. Now, sitting in the back seat, Riley gazed in your direction. It was a perplexed look, lost in thought. Unsure of himself and his actions, was it all in his head? You must have seen it a thousand times. He was starting to doubt. Knowing what that meant, you lifted your chin and gave him a slight grin. The disfiguring change on his face was eminent. The car strolled away down the driveway, and as a final hint, you lifted your hand on the earpiece and pressed it.

Footman: “Target has left Skinner.”

Chapter 4: Watchmen

[Thursday, September 19^th   18:15h]

There was something soothing in watching a smoke cloud get carried by the wind. Mind you the smoke can be pretty thick, but raindrops didn’t seem to think so. They ran it down like bullets through a vest. If breaking up a smokes core was the goal, then this would be considered a great success. You were the same. That core that made your foundation has also faded over the years. When did it all start to crumble you wondered? You pulled another cigarette. That umbrella you held was your only sanctuary. Shielding you from the pressure of the rain. Although the same can’t be said for your shoes. Your feet were completely wet, It was gonna be another night of fever reduction. A good night's bath and a few pills should do the trick. For what It’s worth the contracts Tinker brought in were low-level, but there were many. For every file filled out, there was a stack of folders falling in to patch up the vacancy. It was like a not-so-fun vending machine. Skinner was always involved when It came to outposting. It made sense, he was a loudmouth, so gossiping on the job ought to be his forte.

Skinner: “There’s gonna be a murder on the third floor.”

Footman: “You don’t say.”

This was a cheat day. You’ve been off nicotine for a year now. If there was ever a day to open a pack It was on a day like this one. Somber sky and crying clouds, flawed by imperfection.

Footman: “Government-backed I presume. One of your many connections?”

Skinner: “One could say.”

And there lay the catch. You’d need to figure out how to make her believe she killed someone. And how on God's green earth do they expect you to do that?

This was Skinner's field of work, so as a good footman you’re just gonna follow his lead and execute orders.

Skinner: “So, any new stories?”

Footman: “I’m an old man Skinner.”

Skinner: “So that is a… yes?”

Footman: “It can wait until we change our position. I heard you were pestering others about stories, It’s not very subtle.”, you glanced over as Skinner shifted his weight. This time It was completely on his right leg.

Skinner: “I don’t know. Guess It reminds me of childhood. My old man used to tell me stories when I was little, that was until he disappeared.”, he shifted his weight back again.

Footman: “Your leg hurt?”

Skinner: “I had a knee replacement, It was damaged pretty badly. You could say I’m part man, part metal knee.”

Footman: “Apologies kid, I didn’t mean to pry.”

Skinner: “No, It’s oke-”

Footman: “Look sharp.”

Lights on the second floor lit up. That was the signal. It confirmed she was on the balcony, which meant she was observing the street. The target was Judith Bridgett, a potential activist living on the third floor. Your contract was simple, avoid confrontation and stay in sight. In the corner of her eye. What was supposed to be a regular outing turned into a complete mess. You knew the murder was going to happen, but the catch was making her think she committed the crime. Even though she didn’t, making her believe she did was going to be rough.

How? What in God’s name could you possibly do?

Skinner insisted it was time to move. As if on autopilot your body complied, but your mind continued turning the wheel. By what you can recall, one of target’s listed insecurities was memory. So maybe you two could figure out a way to exploit that.

Chapter 5: Dementia

[Thursday, September 19^th   20:42h]

Judith Bridgett was a woman of habit, every speck of dust had Its rightful place. You stretched your legs looking around for items of interest. Suddenly the alarm went off, an alarm in the form of a cat. She detected both of you, so it counts nevertheless. While Skinner was off playing with the kitty, It was up to you to get the job done. First, you took her keys and moved them an inconspicuous distance away. It was still on the same shelf where she originally left them. Next, you opened the fridge. The assortment was miserable. Taking out the milk bottle was in a sense a rescue party. The rest was just slight alterations of household items. It was time for you to leave, you were staying in a nearby room anyway. The silent witness was left to ponder on the oddities it had seen that night, unable to tell anyone.

The rearrangement went on deep into the night. Whenever Judith would leave the apartment or an opening, you would come in and slightly misplace her possessions. Each time you altered Judith's perception of where she put her things. Were they even moved at all? Meanwhile, she was none the wiser you two were staying next door. Sitting in an empty room, drinking a bottle of milk. It really made you wonder how’d you end up in this situation.

Footman: “What do you say, kid? How ‘bout that story I promised you? Could be a way to pass the time.”

Skinner: “Sure thing Footman.”

You couldn’t stand to look at him slouching over there. Anticipating the murder must have gotten to him. You didn’t have any fun stories to tell, but if stories his father had told him calmed him down, then you wagered any kind would do.

Footman: “This is a story of a time I got close to a target. And for you, It just might be a cautionary tale.”

You stood up and strolled to greet the nearest window. You wanted to gaze up at the stars but it looks like tonight the sky decided to reject your wish.

Footman: “A long time ago, in my line of duty, there was a target I was assigned to monitor. My mission at the time was to become really close to him. To be honest, I can’t remember his name, but I do remember we gave each other nicknames. What I didn’t account for was that we’d have so much in common, one might argue we were inseparable. He was a high-positioned executive and I was his faithful employee, that’s how we met If you‘d believe it. Together we went on many adventures, as reckless as we were looking back it was a miracle we survived, but still, those were the better days. We spent most of our time out drinking and looking for good women. One day an order came in - it was time to wrap up. The Paranoia Agency erased my very existence, every trace of it. And I was restationed to watch over him. As time went on my old friend grew more and more mad. He tried everything he could to convince others I existed. It became a heavy burden on me, I couldn’t watch what his daughter had gone through. I chose not to see what injuries he might have caused. The man I once respected became but a cherished memory…”

A cold steel blade pierced your neck. Like a winter breeze, It caressed your cheeks. You were dying. It was all a blur, you tried to hold down your eyes but they kept rolling up. Slowly as your lungs failed to keep up you slipped on your own pool of blood. Lying on your back, the only thing you could see now was the ceiling. In the corner of your eyes, a silhouette came into focus. It was Skinner. He had that same melancholy frown on his face. Your eyes began to tear up from the pain. What felt like seconds passed you spent just looking at him. Now, you could barely make out the outlines. His features slowly melted, turning every curve into a shape. Little by little it got more blurry, colors started to connect, and It all warped until you recognized a face. Boss didn’t have a daughter, he had a son. Only this time, you chose not to look away.