The Traveler

The silence is haunting.

It used to be a friend—a trusted ally—but now it’s different. Where once it comforted me, now it taunts me. Like a bomb slowly ticking away, calm before its eruption. The more I try to push it out, the more invasive it becomes. It’s everywhere and nowhere at the same time. An enemy I can’t kill.

I had the same feeling in Berlin, right before I’d detonated my trap. Only, back then I had no idea what was in store for me. You see, I’d managed to lure my target into a small shed out behind their house using the most rudimentary of methods. A note forged from an old lover. It should have never worked, and yet, it did. It was early morning at the time, and I’d watched the old fool stumble out there in a stupor, their giddiness matched only by my own. I was hidden up in a tree, camouflaged by a hunting blind. 

There was a moment before the man stepped into that shed where time seemed to stand still. Maybe it was the early morning air, or maybe it was the fresh snow, undisturbed amongst the ground and the trees. Whatever it was, the silence became deafening. As if the volume knob has been turned all the way down. Despite the absurdity of it, something about it felt wrong, like the silence was watching me, judging me. I’d always preferred to work alone, but this time it felt like something was there with me. Something that didn’t want to be.  

I knew the big finale was coming, and my target did too. I’d left a small note inside the shed, this one very different from the one used to lure him out there with. After he’d stepped into the shed and read what I’d left him, he looked out the window directly at me. This time I revealed myself. I even smiled—it was hard not to—but he didn’t return the gesture. He projected a very different facial expression.

I pushed a button on the key I was holding and the entire shed went up in flames. It was quick, and everything was over before I knew it.

That was a year ago, but little has changed. The silence and I are still on bad terms.

My other friends haunt me too.

It seems no matter where I go, I can’t escape them. Especially inside this house. This house which is far too much for a single man. When I purchased it, it seemed right. I’d heard of others in my profession buying equally lavish things, so why not myself? Besides, the allure of being out in the countryside felt irresistible.

But big houses have lots of empty space. Empty spaces that the dark is more than happy to reside in. Like the silence, the darkness used to feel comforting. It might have frightened others, but never me. It was like a mask I could wear when I didn’t want to feel exposed. A barrier between myself and others. It never minded, either. Never rebuffed my advances.

That all changed in Paris.

I’d been following the man for an hour, doing my best to play the part of the lost tourist. There’s never a shortage of people on the Parisian streets, and between the street vendors and artists, it was easy to look like I always had something to do. Looking back, it was almost enjoyable. People pay a lot of money to stroll through those streets, taking in the sights while enjoying something delectable. For me it was an eclair, and I savored each bite while I continued my facade. I kept one eye on my target and one eye on my surroundings. When he finally stepped foot into his hotel, I knew the chase was coming to an end.

If he suspected I was tailing him, he never showed it. He doubled up the stairs two at a time, but made no effort to hide where he was going. When he stopped at the door to his room and fumbled with the handle, I made my move.

I grabbed him by the shoulder and pushed him inside. He let out a small cry, but nothing loud enough to attract any unwanted attention. In the darkness of the room he tried to hide, dodging and weaving around the desk and then under the sofa. It was no use though. I was an expert at this game, and he’d never played it before. I caught up to him at the bathroom door and wrapped one arm around his neck, and the other under his arm.

The struggle didn’t last long. In less than a minute his neck had been broken, leaving his body crumpled on the floor in an unnatural position.

I should have felt free. The job was done. As a bonus, I had an entire extra day to spend in the city. I could do anything I pleased, go anywhere I wanted.

Only, when I looked up, I jumped.

Something in the reflection of the mirror caught my eye. Was there someone else in the room? I turned around and listened, studying the space. Nothing moved, nothing made a sound.

When I passed by the mirror again, I saw the same figure. It’s awful reflection gazed at me, and I wondered how anyone could look so hideous. The darkness seemed to distort the features, making them look more grotesque than they should have. I could feel my pulse starting to quicken, and a sensation of claustrophobia took over.

I felt trapped. Trapped in a dark room with a monster.

The monster was me.

I fled the hotel room and doubled back to the street. I checked my reflection on a nearby parked car, and breathed a sigh of relief. I looked exactly how I was supposed to.

The darkness and I never made amends after that day. Whatever happened, something changed in our relationship. I still can’t look at myself in a mirror when it’s dark. The person looking back is a stranger.

But I could still make a living with two less friends. Sure, I missed the silence and the darkness, but I could still get by. 

But that all changed on my trip to London.

Hard as it may be to believe, I’ve always felt an affinity for nature. I feel more alive out in the woods than in the city. There’s something about the earthy smells and fresh air. Even the cold and rainy English weather was pleasant in its own way. It made you work for it, but it rewarded you too.

London was supposed to be my last job. To add a little excitement on my way out the door, the job I’d accepted had two targets instead of just one. It made sense at the time. A little extra complexity, a little extra risk, but I could charge double my rate. It seemed like everything was aligning in my favor, and it felt too good to pass up. There was a slight stitch, however. My client said it needed to look like an accident, and it needed to take place in the woods.

I didn’t think twice about it. I loved the woods.

That the targets were avid outdoor enthusiasts made things easier. It was a couple, a man and woman, around the age of forty. Who’d they gotten on the wrong side of, I don’t know. It’s never been my business to ask.

The accident part could have been tricky. But England is full of old money. And old money loves to go hunting.

I followed the two marks through the woods, keeping as wide a distance as possible. I was dressed the part of a hunter myself, shotgun in hand. It was pheasant season, and I looked enough the part that I knew it was unlikely I’d be stopped. Shooting them on the ground would have been easy enough, but it wouldn’t have looked like a convincing accident. Especially if I couldn’t put both down with a single shell. No, my plan was more subtle. They’d constructed a huge tree stand, and I’d sabotaged it ahead of time. When both of them entered, the combined weight of it would cause it to collapse. The fall probably wasn’t enough to kill them, but a single shotgun blast at that range wouldn’t look out of place.

When I got to the tree stand, I knew everything was wrong.

The woods were empty. Too empty and too quiet. Some instinct inside me told me to duck, and I did. The loud boom of the shotgun pierced the air, and I heard the tree in front of my groan and splinter from the blast. 

I tried to peer around the tree, to get a better view, but as soon as I did another blast came. There was a distinct thudding sound as the pellets from the shell sunk in the trunk, and the tree seemed to groan again.

“You can come out and die now, or we can wait you out,” the voice said. It was a mans voice, thick with an American accent.

I said nothing in return.

“Suit yourself,” he said. His words almost sounded playful.

Early afternoon turned into late afternoon. I had a lot of cover behind the large tree, but I didn’t poke my head out again. I’d learned my lesson from last time. There were two of them and only one of me. I listened for the crunching of leaves, and waited for them to flank me. I was nothing more than trapped prey. Still, I was confident in my ability to shoot, and the second I saw one, I’d put them down quick. If I could even the odds, that would go a long way towards turning things in my favor.

But the opportunity never came. Late afternoon turned into evening, and evening turned into nightfall.

I couldn’t wait anymore.

I stood up and fled. Making my way through the dark forest as best I could. As I ran, I heard something crunching behind me and dropped behind the nearest tree. I raised the shotgun to my shoulder, expecting to take one of them, but when I looked, nobody was there. It was just branches blowing in the wind.

I started off again and tried to find my way out. It should have been easy, except there were no trails and no signs anywhere. There were only the trees, and they did nothing but scratch at me as I ran by.

This forest hated me. I was an unwanted invader, and it showed. I don’t know how long I ran for, but when I eventually found my way out of the woods, I fled. 

Now I sit in my estate alone. Watching the clock and thinking about the life I’ve carved out for myself. There’s a fire roaring, it’s glow keeping back the shadows. I don’t dare keep the room dark. The crackles and pops keep the silence at bay too. Even the smell of the burning wood seems necessary. The trees, once majestic and looming, now hate me.

All my closest friends have abandoned me. Vanished.

The pistol feels heavy in my hand. I open my mouth and rest the barrel on my tongue. It stings and burns.

I don’t know what comes next. But I can’t do this anymore. This existence has become too lonely.