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By the time I reach the end of "Tainted Love," the body is wrapped. I pause to rewind the tape. I only ever listen to one song during each clean. I actually don't even remember jobs by their crimes or locations. I remember them by the songs I listen to while I'm cleaning.
For a brief second, I think I see movement out of the corner of my eye. I turn towards the confessional, but there is nothing there. I turn behind me to see Tony still standing watch in the doorway.
I return to my work and try to shake the feeling off me. Another run of "Tainted Love," and the target is in a body bag and the blood stains are taken care of with my special combination of oxygenated bleach and UV light. A few more repeats, and I've located all of the bullets and their matching casings and have taken care of all the stray fingerprints.
As I heave the body bag over my shoulder and head to where Tony is, I still can't shake the feeling that there is someone watching.
I know it isn't God.
Mainly because he's proven to me that he doesn't exist.
"Tell them to cut the power," I say to Tony, turning around once more. I cut my music off so I can hear better.
"Something the matter?" he asks as he pulls out his phone to send the message.
"You haven't noticed any movement, have you?" I ask him.
He shakes his head as he presses send on the message.
"Nothing. Have you?"
"I'm sure it's nothing," I reply, the uncertainty clear in my voice.
Just as the lights go out, a flash of silver moves in my periphery.
"Hold this!" I say, tossing the dead guy at Tony.
He catches the body with an "umph," and I turn and bolt back into the sanctuary. The darkness makes it hard to see, but the lit candles on the altar are just bright enough to make out a bit of movement as someone or something runs past them.
"Gotcha," I say, my adrenaline spiking as I sprint forward towards the new target.
As I round the corner of the sanctuary in pursuit, a side door I haven't seen comes into view. I know if they close that door on me I'll find it locked by the time I get to it.
I unsheathe a throwing knife from my pocket and hurl it towards the doorframe. As the target tries to close the door, it gets in the way of the door sitting flush, preventing the door from locking.
Their few seconds of struggle are enough for me to gain on them. I force the door open just as they decide it's better to try and make a break for it.
"Not so fast," I say, stepping on the bit of fabric I see trailing on the stone floor. The target goes toppling forward, landing with a thud and a strangled cry.
A high-pitched cry, actually.
It's a woman, that much is clear.
I have to give her credit. She doesn't give up easily. She starts trying to crawl using her elbows all the while kicking at me with her legs.
I crouch low, pinning more and more of the fabric from her skirt to the ground. In our skirmish, she turns over to try and push me off, but that gives me the ability to grab her wrists firmly and press them into the stone beneath us.
My eyes adjusted to the low light of the hallway around us.
Her breathing is labored.
Her hair is dark.
And her eyes are a beautiful hazel.
They are a color I haven't seen in over a decade, but it is one so beautiful I never could forget it.
She stills as I straddle her. Our eyes meet.
