When a Hitman Gets Haunted by a Ghost
Chapter 93: Miracle

Chapter 93: Miracle

Kant’s boots skidded across the rooftop. Wind and rain battered his face as he dove, arms flung wide, the concrete slipping beneath his feet. There was no thought—only instinct, only the memory of Gabriel’s voice, his eyes, the feeling of his hands cupping Kant’s face.

Kant caught him mid-air.

Their bodies collided with a harsh thud, the impact ripping the breath from his lungs. But Kant locked his arms around Gabriel’s torso and held tight.

They were falling.

The city blurred around them—windows streaking by like electric rain, wind making it impossible to open eyes without tearing up. Below them, the earth opened up like a grave. But in Kant’s arms, Gabriel was warm.

His heart thundered wildly, pressed against Kant’s chest. His breath came in ragged bursts—terrified, human. His hands clutched Kant’s coat like a drowning man grabbing at driftwood. Hale had abandoned him after the jump.

"I’ve got you," Kant breathed into his ear, lips nearly frozen, but his voice steady. "I’ve got you."

The two of them spun through the storm, leaving the skyline above, so cruel and distant, like a painting of oil colors—dark violets and smears of gunmetal clouds cut by sharp white light as the world below rushed to meet them.

No matter how close to death he’d come, Kant had never experienced the flash of memories in the last moment. But he did this time. Everything Gabriel.

Gabriel turned his face toward Kant, water streaming down his cheeks. His lips moved around a short sentence—one that got lost in the wind.

Kant didn’t need to hear it. He saw it in his eyes.

Their descent ended in silence.

A final crash.

The storm went quiet.

Security found them tangled together in the shattered wreckage below, entwined limbs and blood and rain-soaked cloth. Kant had landed first, breathless and still. The other man stared wide-eyed at the sky, rain burning his eyes.

It didn’t feel like a fall. It felt like a shield given.

Some woman who’d seen them hit the ground wept. The territory was grimly enclosed in a cage of red-white warning tape.

The news spread quickly through the hospital. The staff spoke in hushed voices, faces pale with disbelief. A patient—unstable rich heir—had fled to the rooftop. Some man had gone after him. Security had arrived too late.

Two bodies. One miracle.

Gabriel lived.

He should have died from the fall, but impossibly, his injuries weren’t fatal. He was broken, yes—ribs, leg, a collapsed lung—but he was alive.

Kant had taken the brunt of it. Most of it. All of it.

The doctors said he must have twisted at the last second, shielding Gabriel with his own body. He was gone by the time they pulled them from the wreckage. But he never let go.

Even in death, his arms had stayed locked around Gabriel protectively. As if it was the sole reason he’d lived for.

Weeks passed.

Gabriel healed, slowly, painfully. Most days he just sat in his room, staring somewhere like a blank survivor. He wasn’t sure of the reality. Or his memories. Nothing felt real enough to keep living. So he waited. For something. For a real miracle. But it never came.

Sometimes he would cry for no reason. Some nights, he would wake screaming, Hale’s voice still echoing in his skull. But the grip had loosened. The shadows had faded. No sight of the evil spirit that used to pester him.

Sam Everett had passed the night he was admitted to the hospital. Someone called the cops on the mysterious cult in the middle of the forest, and it was shut down. A large article, soiling the entire Everett family line reputation.

When some sneakily taken pictures of Gabriel with a dark, tall man making out on the bridge in the middle of a wintry night surfaced, no one cared.

Gabriel moved far away. To a remote corner in a small town. A tiny house with a view of a bench and the garden from his bedroom window.

For a long time, even the blue of the sky seemed sorrowful. The birds’ chirping was the only company during daytime, and the crickets rubbing their wings together in a repetitive shh-shh was pacifying in his nights.

Spring came. The world became green. As long as it wasn’t as blue, everything was peaceful. His father drove from the city to talk to him sometimes. Cautious, awkward conversations. One-sided mostly, because Gabriel didn’t feel like talking much.

Eventually, he accepted. Not everything. Not all at once. But enough. To leave his bed and take a walk in the garden.

One morning, as Gabriel sat on the bench facing the garden, a small dog ambled up to him—a neighbor’s shaggy terrier mix with mist-damp fur and big, cloudy eyes. It sniffed his boot once, then nudged his shin with its cold, wet nose. Gabriel blinked at the contact.

A beat later, a voice followed.

"Oh, don’t mind him. He likes the quiet ones," came the soft chuckle of an older woman. She was short, bundled in layers despite the sun, with a rain bonnet half-tucked into her collar.

Gabriel gave a confused smile. "Quiet ones?" he asked, voice dry from disuse.

The terrier sat at his feet like it had known him all its life.

"His name’s Murphy. He’s nosy but harmless," she said, nodding at the dog. "I’m Margery. This land and the house used to be empty. Sorry if we’re intruding."

Gabriel nodded slowly, then replied, "It’s okay."

Margery smiled, then eased herself down on the far side of the bench, sighing as her knees cracked. Murphy gave a low huff of satisfaction and leaned against Gabriel’s leg, the damp fur leaving a darker patch on his jeans.

"This place’s nice. The last owner rarely visited," she mentioned after a few moments, then leaned forward on the bench to look at him. "Did you move here by yourself?"

Gabriel glanced sideways. "Yeah. Just me."

Margery smiled at that—genuine, not pitying. "Right. The birds, the bees and the trees will keep you company. There’s plenty of work in the garden. If you ever need any help, come over to that house over there." She pointed at a red brick house across the field.

He nodded and thanked her politely.

They sat like that for a while.

Murphy dozed. Margery rifled through her bag for something and gave up. Gabriel didn’t move, didn’t speak again. When she stood and left, he watched her go. The bench felt a little less cold when she was gone.

Murphy sneezed on his shoe and trotted after her.

Gabriel wiped his boot without complaint.

One afternoon, Margery had taken him the long way home, down a narrow path to a quiet lake nestled in the trees. Every time he went to help her with her taxes, he stopped by the lake and sat there for a while.

The surface shimmered with silver reflections, broken only by the soft curl of wind across the water. The trees rustled quietly behind him, buds just starting to open. The clouds had thinned, leaving the sky soft with watercolor blues and gold.

He held a folded piece of paper in one hand—a crumpled bookmark, dried flowers hanging off it, but he kept stuffing them back onto it. It was objectively hideous. Time hadn’t been kind on it. Yet he wouldn’t let it out of his sight.

The wind was cold, but the sun was warm on his skin. And after a while, something warmer bloomed within him whenever he looked at the bookmark.

Gabriel closed his eyes, the breeze tugging gently at his hair.

"Fine," he murmured, voice barely a breath. "I’ll live for the both of us."

He let the broken petals go and stood. The water rippled, and the petals drifted away, across a reflection of a man heading to town.

END.