Chapter 3:

I woke up to my mother rattling the doorknob. It doesn't matter how many times she's done it, it frightens me to no end. I take a deep breath. My exhale is shaky and frightened like a child's. I dig in my pocket and take out the crumbled card Mr. Banks gave me. I have no idea how much I can trust him. But I don't exactly have much of a choice.

"I'll think on it." I mutter and get out of bed. I always go to sleep fully clothed. The one time I didn't, it became a mess. I shudder and head to the door. I stand behind it and unlock the door. I hold onto the knob and make it seem like it's locked as my mother shakes the doorknob. I quickly open the door and hide behind the door. My mother runs in and begins to jump on the bed. I reach up and retrieve a syringe from on of the many pockets on the door.

I slam the door shut and run towards her. I tackle her and stab her arm. She claws at me as I inject her. She slowly stops and becomes quiet. I slide her off of me and sit up. I hate doing this. I don't have much of a choice though. It's either that or history's repetition. That's the last thing I need.

I stand and slip out of the room, locking the door behind me. I head to the kitchen and make breakfast. I slip the small mountain of pancakes into the bedroom for my mother and sit down for my own. I never shower in the house. It's too risky. No amount of locked doors will stop it from happening again. How the hell do I deal with this? I take out the card and my phone.

I sit there for a few minutes before cursing under my breath. I look at the ten digit number and quickly dial it. It rings once. I begin to hesitate. Twice, I'm tempted to hang up. Three...

"'Ello." Mr. Banks answers. I take a deep breath.

"You said you'd help me out " I say. There's a pause.

"I did. Did you think it through?"

"Yeah. I need to know what kind of job this is, what's required, how I'm getting paid and on what scale, and what the hell am I gonna do about my mother." Mr. Banks chuckles.

"You get paid 50,000 a week as a bodyguard. The contact told me that if there's any issues, that you can talk it out with him." That's it?

"Okay. Will there be an interview or something?" Mr. Banks grunts.

"I dunno. He told me to take you to him. I hope you don't mind."

"No." I mutter.

"Well then, I'll be around 12 at your place to take you there today. See you in five hours or so." With that, he hangs up. Damn it.

Those five hours pass by fairly quickly. I make sure that my mother is fine for the day and head outside. I basically go flying down the stairs and run outside. Mr. Banks gets out from the driver's side, rounds the big black car, and opens the passenger side door. Without much of a word, I get in muttering my thanks. He grunts, closes the door, and gets back to his side.

"Where are we going?" I ask. Mr. Banks smiles.

"To an old friend of mine. He told me he needed a bodyguard recently. I'll be honest, I don't really know why. He's quite capable of protecting himself." I frown.

"Sometimes, people have bodyguards for show. Whatever. As long as it fits with what I deal with and get paid, I don't care."

"Yeah." There's a pause. "I've got a question I'd like to ask you—If you don't mind." He worded it carefully. He wants my honesty and not just some half-assed answer.

"Go on." Mr. Banks grunts, giving me a jerky nod.

"What did your mother mean yesterday? About the screams and cries. And if I was—" He breaks off. I knew he was going to ask questions.

"I don't know or trust you enough to answer that question completely," I say carefully. "But what I can say is that my childhood went to hell when my father left. My mother became unstable. I was on the receiving end. With no money and being quite young, all I could do was watch my mother as she descended into what she is now."

"Okay?" Mr. Banks mutters patiently.

"Those screams and cries... She's referring to the abuse. She's referring to the monster she thinks I've become. Well, not necessarily a monster. More like someone weak and easy to pick on."

"Prey." I nod.

"I'm just a husk she picks on." Mr. Banks stays quiet. He knows I don't want to tell him what he wanted to know exactly. But even that's too much for him.

"Why a bodyguard? Why not a teacher, doctor, or lawyer?" I laugh.

"The military took hold of my mother and I after I accidentally got someone killed. They did exams on my mother in exchange for doing some dirty missions for them. Once I became eighteen, they dumped us on the streets. Using what little I had left, I opted for what I knew best. Protecting and killing."

"Oh..." I nod. "So...What do you plan on doing?"

"I dunno." We don't speak the rest of the way. I stare out the window and take in certain details to remember later. An abandoned playground with trash all over the place, a graffitied building left to rot, and a small bus station with "Bitches" spray painted in red under four models.

We arrive at a huge building. A bar? Why a bar? The lights are off, making the building seem more like a diner. The lights are on but the sign says it's closed. Banks parks in front of it and unlocks the door. He gets out first, opening the door for me. He again opens the bar door for me and proceeds to take me to the back of the mostly red and gold bar.

Banks knocks on the door four times, loudly. A muffled voice yells for us to come in. The door flies open and an angry man bursts out, swearing as he went. The man's tall with multiple tattoos, short hair, and brown skin. Banks assures me into the office and closes the door behind himself.

I look around. The office is small, but oddly cozy with the soft lighting. A man sits in a chair that looks quite comfortable. Behind him, there's a bookshelf with a small fridge hidden behind the tall chair. To the left, there's a small table with shot glasses and multiple alcohol bottles. To the right, there's a TV on a shelf containing cases in it. Two chairs are set in front of the desk in the middle of the room. The chairs are meant to undermine you.

"Do you drink?" The man in the chair asks, motioning to the "drinking area".

"No." I respond. The man has a mask that covers his nose and mouth. It's made of black metal with gold details that remind me of those Chinese masks with the huge teeth. A scar barely peeks out from his mask. His eyes are stormy grey. I envy his long brown eyelashes. His brown hair is short and pulled back. Even though he's seated, I can tell he's a tall and lean man. I can tell he's young. His clothes remind me of those models I see in random places wearing black scarves with clothes that aren't even meant for the cold weather.

"You're going to learn then." His voice is deep and slightly hoarse. Banks walks over and picks up a clear bottle with dark red liquid in it. He pours some into a shot glass and hands it to me. I block it.

"I will have to politely decline." I say.

"If you want to work for me, you will have to drink a lot of alcohol. We want to avoid any poisoning." The man says. There's no small name plate to know his name. No introductions and drinking. Great.

"With that mask, I don't think you do much drinking." The man's thick eyebrows pinch together. It's best not to test him. Finding jobs are hard as is. With a sigh, I accept the drink and down it in one swing. It's sweet and strong. I swallow, letting the fermented drink burn down my throat. Not bad.

"You'll be working mostly at night. Forget about weekends and be available 24/7. The moment I call you, you must arrive immediately. You'll earn weekly. Medical expenses will be taken care of by me. That extends forward to any of your family members. You are to refer to me as 'sir' at all time. No talking unless I'm addressing you. Any questions?"

"How much and when do I start?"

"Depends and tonight. I want you here thirty minutes before sun down. Dismissed." I stand and leave with Banks. That was quick. But there's so many holes and questions. What is up with this guy? He seems like a spoiled rich kid?

Whatever the case, this is what I got and I'm not letting go. But what happened to my past boss bothers me. Are these two tied together? I doubt it. But who knows. The world's fully of unprecedented things.