When a Hitman Gets Haunted by a Ghost
Chapter 56: Time Spares No One

Chapter 56: Time Spares No One

Kant tried to focus on something else—the buzzing of the lamp, the faint sound of the heater. Anything but the needle piercing through his skin, followed by the burn of the thread running through, and the stitches being pulled at the edges of the wound.

Midway through, Hunter paused and glanced at Kant, a flicker of curiosity in his gaze. "Why didn’t you kill him? You had the perfect chance."

"Who knows," Kant breathed, wincing as the last stitch went in.

As Hunter tied it up, Kant was left floating between relief and irritation. He exhaled slowly, leaning his head against the backrest, grateful it was finally over.

"I’m not sure of many things lately," Kant mentioned, not fully grasping why he was even telling that to Hunter.

"Like what?"

"Killing." Kant’s fingers curled around an invisible blade. "I know it’s one move and he’s dead." He exhaled, relaxing his fingers. "But for some reason..."

Hunter paused in the process of tying the bandage and looked up, unimpressed. "You suddenly developed a conscience or what? None of your attacks were critical."

Kant narrowed his eyes, bracing for some snide remark along the lines of "you’ve gone soft." But it wasn’t delivered. Instead, Hunter began leisurely gathering the bloodied supplies like a man with nowhere better to be.

Conscience? What conscience could he have after all these years of bloodshed? The thought of it was ridiculous.

"Was that one of the assholes from six years ago?"

Kant confirmed with a nod.

"Seems you want the bitch to suffer before finishing him off." Hunter tossed the used towels into a trash bag and tied it up.

The atmosphere between them was unusually peaceful. Then again, it could’ve been the painkillers that finally kicked in fully.

Kant suddenly asked, "Have you ever wanted to quit? All of this?"

Hunter looked at him with a sardonic smirk. "What do you think?" He stretched, his eyes moving to the picture frames on top of a dresser. "After I married, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Every day, every job, it was there. This little voice saying ’walk away while you can’."

"Then why didn’t you run?" Kant prodded.

"That’s what I ask myself every day. Should’ve packed up and left with Alice the moment that idea crossed my mind." Hunter murmured, his voice dipping into something darker. "Now, it’s not even worth thinking about it. Got nothing to run for."

Kant sighed, feeling crushed under the weight of this conversation.

After pulling the rubber gloves off, Hunter couldn’t resist asking, "You want to quit?"

"Don’t know."

Hunter stared at him for a long moment, then dropped down next to Kant on the couch. "Then figure it out. It’s not some rocket science. Yes or no?"

The arm lamp sat close by, drooped like a wilted tulip, the cool light fanning over the plastic. Kant pursed his lips, staring at the shadows where the plastic wrap had crumpled. He didn’t have an answer.

"Has something changed in your life? Meet someone new?" Hunter inquired.

Kant lifted his head, wondering if his thoughts had been read. "Huh?"

"You don’t overthink shit until you got someone to shield. I know it first-hand."

"So do I."

As if reminded of the reason why he hated the guy, Hunter grabbed a mirror off the shelf and shoved it into Kant’s hands.

"Deal with the rest yourself." A pack of cotton pads and the bottle of rubbing alcohol was dropped next to Kant on the couch. "I’m not your nurse."

The door slammed behind him as he left to take out the trash.

Kant stared at the door, unimpressed, then glanced at his reflection and frowned. It was a miracle the mirror didn’t shatter. Dried blood streaked his face, bruises darkened his jaw, and a splinter from one of the crates stuck out of his hair. He looked like he belonged under a bridge.

Who’d want to stick around for... whatever this was? What the hell did Gabriel see in him? Did the guy squint every time they met?

Kant set the mirror aside and tapped through his pockets for his phone, only to realize it was still on the ground in the hotel basement.

Just great.

Perhaps it was for the best.

. . .

Gabriel was bustling around his apartment, moving from corner to corner in a hurry. He stopped by the mirror, tying his tie with a slight crease in his brow, glancing at his phone a few times before finally sighing.

"Where are we going that you’re dressing up for?" Hale asked, slightly intrigued.

Gabriel paused, turning to face the evil spirit, feeling a bit guilty. "Uh, so, I was called into the office."

Kant hadn’t sent him the address of the shaman’s house either, and there was nowhere else he wanted to go with Hale. "Look, I’m really sorry, but can you wait until the weekend? I have no choice right now."

Hale frowned indignantly. "What could be so important in that office that you break your promise to me?"

"It’s my father’s orders." Gabriel turned back to the mirror, adjusting his tie. "He wants me to show face."

"And then what?"

"Back to work." Gabriel sighed, putting on a beige coat.

"No, what about me? Are you just going to ignore me?" Hale grumbled.

"Only while at the office."

While Gabriel turned to grab his painkillers from the nightstand, the evil spirit slammed the bedroom door. A sharp click followed.

Gabriel frowned, turning to the door. "What...?" He went to open it, but it was locked. His hand lingered on the door handle as he stood there, stupefied. "Are you serious?"

It was ridiculous. Grounded by an evil spirit. At his age.

Gabriel rattled the handle, calling out, "Hey! You can’t just lock me in here because you’re mad! I have to leave in five minutes!"

Silence. Hale had either left or was listening from the other side and snickering.

Infuriated, Gabriel spun on his heel and walked away from the door, throwing his hands in the air. "Amazing! I’m being called into the office weeks before my rest is over, and the evil spirit decided to throw a hissy fit on the very first day!"

He plopped down on the bed and stared at the door. "This isn’t very original, you know," he muttered in case Hale was listening. "It’s not the first time someone’s done this."

Gabriel looked at the clock and exhaled slowly. He clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to release the tension.

"Petty evil spirit..."

How did Hale manage to lock it without a key? Or had he snooped around and pulled it out of the kitchen drawer? Gabriel never even used the stupid lock. The thought of leaving a spare inside the bedroom hadn’t crossed his mind since he lived alone.

He leaned over his knees, breathing carefully. Ugh, he felt sick. Gabriel pressed his cold palm to his forehead, trying to feel okay.

It had been almost ten years since he moved out of that house. William wasn’t even present in the office much anymore, much less Gabriel’s life. There was no reason to panic.