Chapter 4: The Musician

I found myself revealing a part of my recent escape while waiting to settle the bill for the items he had graciously bought for me. It wasn't my intention, but the sheer awkwardness of the situation compelled me to share. Picture this – me, meandering the streets alone in a nightgown, barefoot. It seemed only fitting to acknowledge my escape, especially as I grew more acquainted with him and realized he wasn't the type of person to lead me back to that place.

"So, you're an orphan," he stated bluntly as we exited the store.

I couldn't disprove his observation, so I couldn't muster any offense. It was just peculiar to hear it stated so matter-of-factly. Nevertheless, conversing with him had a certain refreshing quality.

"I never imagined an assassin like you casually strolling into a shop." I teased.

He walked with purpose, looking ahead. "Everyone in this town knows me."

Observing him stride ahead, then glancing back at me, he assured, "I am not a threat."

I had already suspected that he wasn't a danger to me. He hadn't given me any reason to think otherwise, particularly since his motives excluded harm towards women.

Drawing closer to him, I leaned in to meet his gaze. "So, have you taken out men with that weapon before?"

It was a question worth asking. Was he a ruthless killer or a vigilante delivering justice with his weapons?

"I suppose you could say that," he replied in a tone that suggested it was all in a day's work. His response was surprisingly nonchalant.

"What?!" I exclaimed, taken aback. "I suppose?"

His eyes seemed to shimmer in the dim light, the wind brushing through us. His brown eyes transforming into a mesmerizing fantasy blue under the moon's glow at a certain angle. It was an unusual sight, I couldn't dismiss it.

"All I do is give men a warning," he breathed. "They are the ones who end up tormenting themselves to death."

His demeanor shifted, sending a shiver within me. Was he implying that his mere presence could drive men to self-destruction? The thought was unsettling, and I couldn't help but gulp nervously.

"Don't be scared, love," he reassured, bending down towards me.

Despite my racing heart, I tried to calm myself. Why was I feeling this unease? He wasn't going to harm me...right? But his earlier words lingered, creating a sense of fearfulness.

"I only deal with men who slip through the cracks of the flawed justice system." he clarified.

The world outside appeared harsher than I had imagined. I exhaled deeply, maintaining eye contact. "So, do criminals simply walk free?"

He paused, contemplating my question of the harsh world I had yet to fully grasp.

There was so much about the real world that I desired to understand. Isolated for so long, I'd only interacted with the same group of individuals daily. We all wore the same bland personalities, yet carried our own thoughts. Memories of my former best friend surfaced. I hadn't hesitated to end her life, but were women not considered wicked beyond those gates? Why does Chris exclusively only target men?

Returning his gaze to me, his eyes narrowed, a hint of a smile beneath his mask. "Let's go."

He seemed to sidestep my question, steering the conversation elsewhere. His silence fetched volumes, hinting at the mystery that covered his identity as an assassin. Despite my curiosity, I chose to let the matter rest for now.

"Where are we headed?"

He maintained his pace, leaving me to follow in his speed. His brisk stride hinted at the ability of an assassin, leaving me slightly breathless.

"A place for you to stay," was all he revealed, leaving me puzzled by the lack of details.

"A place? What place?" I inquired, struggling to maintain his hurried pace. What was the rush?

A sudden halt caught me off guard, colliding with his side. "Ow," I rubbed my forehead. "You have to stop doing that."

He turned back, a deep sigh escaping him. Clearly, he preferred giving lack of information over long explanations, but how could I blindly follow him without knowing the destination? An orphanage came to mind as a dreaded possibility. It will just be as though i'm back to where I started.

"I'm taking you to a bar."

My eyes widened in surprise. "A bar?" The idea sounded vaguely familiar from my novels, but I couldn't quite grasp its meaning. "What's a bar?"

The world outside seemed like a foreign language, each new discovery like a puzzle to untangle. If only I could fast forward five years into the future. Surely, by then, I'd comprehend the difficulties of this unfamiliar world.

"A friend of mine runs the bar," he explained. "He'll provide a room for you to stay in."

His unwavering kindness left me bewildered. We were mere strangers, yet he had already extended a helping hand, from new attire to a place of rest. Was he trying to rid himself of a burden or genuinely offering aid?

"Wouldn't I be intruding on his personal space?" I hesitated. "Your friend, I mean."

It was his companion, not mine. A slight exhale from him prompted me to meet his gaze.

"He always listens to me," he affirmed.

His words reassured my worries. A loyal friend who lent a listening ear was a rare find.

"Let's go," he urged, setting forth. I matched his pace, each step feeling like an exhausting exercise. Despite the appearance of safety, I couldn't shake the thought of placing my extreme trust in him. Chris's mysterious nature left me questioning his motives, his guarded demeaner hinting at deeper problems.

"So, about your friend..." I trailed off, prompting him for more insights.

He glanced down, then back up, pausing before responding.

"My friend owns the bar...he's a singer there."

"A singer?" I interjected, stepping forward. "Is he famous?"

A brief chuckle escaped him, his eyes meeting mine. "I guess you could say that. The townspeople adore him, as if his voice holds mystical powers."

His words painted a vivid image, related to a tale from my fairytales. The anticipation to meet this puzzling friend rushed within me, his short description recalling a sense of wonder.

"He and I go way back," Chris reminisced, a hint of nostalgia in his gaze.

The thought of an assassin sharing a bond with a singer who owned a bar seemed surreal. Reality often separated from the narratives spun in novels.

"His voice is believed to mend the broken lives of the townsfolk," Chris remarked. "Though, I suspect it's merely a comforting illusion."

Eager to witness this voice firsthand, I pondered about the voice behind the man. Was his talent truly life changing, or merely a balm for weary souls?

"You'd expect soothing melodies, but he's got more of a rocker vibe." Chris added with a faint laugh.

My mental image of a harp-playing musician shattered, replaced by a rocker with a captivating voice. The intrigue surrounding his friend deepened, and I found myself drawn to this enigmatic figure.

"What's his name?" I inquired, eager to learn more.

A long breath of silence goes through us before he answers. All that's heard is the strong sound of the wind, piercing through our ears as we both stop in our tracks.

"His name..."

Chris slowly looks up at the sky.

"His name is Lee Felix."

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