Remember I told you I would keep an item from each job? Some specific and some general? I would store them in a rented locker unit. The building that housed the unit was in a more industrialized part of the city and even though I figured Terrance had eyes on me, I would still visit there after every job and place whatever my new item was into the cardboard box near the back of the glorified shed.
One day, after my third last kill, I went there and my lock was cut and the box was gone. Vengeance I had never before felt coursed through me. It was tamed by a slam on the back of my head and the darkness that followed.
When I woke I was in the dark and the room was cold and the floor concrete. I checked my phone for the time but it was dead. For a moment I thought that this was it. Between my brunches at your restaurant and my box of humanity I had breached the terms of the contract and was now left in a pit to waste away. I thought of every job I had done and if there was one method I had used that would come in handy so I could expedite my eventual physical suffering, however, none came to mind. I had never used dehydration or malnutrition.
I stood up and raised my hands toward the ceiling of the room in an attempt to figure out the size of my prison. Nothing connected with my fingers. I walked a couple steps forward and was pleased to hit a wall, even if it was as cold as the floor. I felt something underfoot and picked it up. In my fingers it felt glossy, like a photograph.
When the light flickered and eventually burned constant I realized I was a prisoner in my own unit but I wasn’t alone. My cellmate was you in what had to be hundreds of different photographs. Each with its own red “X” over your face.