Chilled 'Til Frozen

The ice cold water of the shower pounded his skin. After a few
moments he could feel the tension in his muscles begin to flow away,
down the drain just like the water. He needed a chance to unwind after
the days happenings and a cold shower followed by a good stiff drink
was as good a way as any. He tilted his head back and let the water run
over his face. The chill jet stream of water made his skin tingle, then
go numb but for some reason Michael Caninhan had never been a fan of
steaming hot showers. He swept his hands through his hair, his fingers
hesitating over the small knot of scar tissue on the nape of his neck.
The mark of where a hired killer had made a botched assassination
attempt, four years ago in his San Diego apartment. That, however, was
history and he was part of a different world now.

He finished washing the shampoo from his hair and turned off the
shower. He pulled back the curtain and stepped out looking for a towel,
he knew there should be one in the bathroom somewhere but he couldn't
see one. Opening the small wicker hamper in the corner, he reached
inside. It could simply be that he'd used to towel this morning and had
forgotten to put a fresh one out before he rushed off to see his boss.
His fingers closed around a thick, damp object. He'd found the towel,
it was wet and wouldn't do a very good job of drying his skin but it
would do till he went into the bedroom and put on fresh clothes. He
secured it around his waist, picked up his watch from where it had been
sitting on the sink stand and walked into his bedroom. He walked around
the bed and over to the small wardrobe. Michael lived on his own and so
there was never any need to find a lot of storage space for himself. He
enjoyed wearing simple clothes and only ever needed a limited supply of
these. If anything else was required, then he could just find a shop
and purchase the necessary items. He pulled a grey sweatshirt and a
pair of old, faded pair of blue jeans off the shelf, no need to dress
up when he was just spending the night home alone. The denim of the
jeans felt good against his damp skin, they were a pair he'd bought
many years ago and through many years of hard wearing they'd become
parchment thin, just the way he liked them. Next came the sweatshirt,
he'd pulled a muscle in his shoulder on the shooting range this morning
so putting it on was going to be a little difficult. He'd just got it
over his head when he heard the noise. He'd been trained to recognise
even the minutest sound and this was definitely the creak of the wooden
stairs outside as someone sneaked to sneak up them.

He waited a few seconds to see if the sound came again, it was a long
shot, the stairs could just have been settling, old apartment blocks
did that sometimes. Seconds later he got his answer and was certain of
it this time. The stairs creaked again. Whoever it was, was walking up
the stairs practically hugging the wall. If they'd been walking
normally, stepping onto the centre of the boards then the creaking
would have been louder. Michael had been living here for fourteen
months now and knew exactly which stairs creaked and in which places.
He wasn't expecting anyone to call round to his place tonight and since
only a few people knew where he lived, he doubted anyone would drop by
without calling first. Another incriminating fact against whoever was
creeping around, was that his apartment was on the top floor and was
the only one on that floor. Therefore, it couldn't have been someone
calling round to any of the other occupiers of these apartments. He
tugged the sweatshirt on the rest of the way and then stepped quietly
towards the door. The other person wouldn't have expected Michael to
hear him coming, so he had the element of surprise on his side. He
pressed his ear against the cool wood of the door, the sound came
again, the person obviously wasn't well trained. If there was any other
way to get into an apartment then never use wooden stairs, even with
soft soled trainers on, the stairs made too much noise. Then came an
even more worrying sound, the noise was soft and hardly audible but a
trained ear would pick it up, a knife had been unsheafed. The assassin
or whoever it was may not have been the most intelligent person but he
realised that using a gun in an environment such as this would make too
much noise and would attract unwanted attention. His hand automatically
went to his waist to grasp the gun that normally resided there in its
holster, the fingers groped for a few seconds, forgetting that he had
removed it when he went into the shower. Home was meant to be a safe
place, there was no need for gun to be pulled here, that was until now.
Michael cursed softly under his breath, he should have been ready for
any situation, he was a trained killer for god sake but when he really
needed it, his training had begun to escape him.

Pulling himself together he moved away from the doorway. The gun was
sitting on a table, on the other side of the room still in his holster.
Moving silently he crossed the room, he needed this as protection, he
had been heavily classed in hand to hand combat but not knowing what
weapons the other man was carrying, he wouldn't be able to rush into a
fist fight. He picked up the gun. It's weight reassuring in the palm of
his hand. The scenario was one he had gone through so often in his
training, he knew it back to front but confronting it in real life was
a totally different matter. Any minute now the person would try to gain
access to the apartment. Michael needed to escape to a safe distance to
think about what he was going to do. The television in the apartment
was on and would make it obvious that someone was home. Turning it off
would make it apparent that the attempt to sneak up had been noticed.
He needed time to think about this.

Glancing around the room for another exit to the outside world, a world
where he could control what was happening, he noticed the window that
led onto the fire escape, from there he could escape to the pavement
below or he could get onto the roof. Right now, the roof was his best
bet, the intruder could have a partner waiting outside on the street,
someone that could help if the plan went wrong. Crouching down, the gun
held level to his chest Michael made his way to the window. Lucky for
him it wasn't locked, there were many security measures in this
apartment but most of them were clustered around the door. Who'd climb
four stories to break into an apartment? Pushing gently upwards on the
glass opened the window silently. He let out a breath that he hadn't
noticed he was holding. Any sound from the window would have alerted
the intruder to Michaels escape and that couldn't happen yet. Michael
needed to take this man out silently and without any risk to others. No
one else needed to get involved in this.

He swung a leg out onto the fire escape and pressed his foot to the
cold metal before remembering he wasn't wearing anything on his feet. A
curse slipped almost silently from his throat, precious seconds would
have to be wasted going back to the bedroom to grab a pair of trainers
and they were seconds he really didn't have to spare. Footwear was a
necessity though, he couldn't add any more to his vulnerability. He
removed himself from his position sitting on the broad window frame and
crouched again. He stayed crouching as he made his way silently across
the floor. If the person happened to burst in while Michael was
retrieving some footwear then he'd expect his target to be standing or
sitting. The extra time it took to locate Michael could allow him a few
precious seconds to do something that would get him out of the line of
fire. His trainers were almost within his reach when he glanced at the
apartment door and saw the handle being slowly turned. Only a few
moments remained before that door would be compromised. Luckily he'd
remembered to lock the door when he'd come home. That would buy him
enough time to dive across the room, making as little noise as possible
and get out onto the fire escape. There probably wouldn't be enough
time to shut the window after him and although it would mean that he
would have someone on his tail faster than he wanted them to be, it was
better than having the guy see the window dropping shut. If the
intruder had undergone any sort of training then he would secure the
apartment first, before pursuing Michael outside.

Michael continued to crouch as he ran silently to the window, the pile
of the carpet rough against the soles of his feet, he lowered himself
through the frame and stood on the cold metal flooring outside. The
trainers could be put on when he reached the top of the stairs. He
looked back at the door for the last time, any second now the door
would ease itself open, the lock would have to be jimmied, it couldn't
be kicked open because of the noise factor. There would be time to shut
the window after all. Placing his hands on the frame he pushed the
window home, just in time too. Just as the window dropped into place
the door swung open almost in slow motion. Michael took a step
sideways, he could stay and watch as the person performed a quick
search of the apartment or he could do the intelligent thing and get
out of there and onto the roof as soon as possible. Carrying his shoes
in one hand and the gun in his other, he raced up the stairs. It was
only one flight to the top and then a short ladder to the roof. He
paused at the bottom of the ladder, wearing the trainers would give him
more grip on it and minimise the risk of slipping and plunging to his
death. Without undoing the laces he shoved his feet into them, they
went on fine without the need of a finger being pushed down the back or
the laces being undone.

Taking a deep breath, he started to make his way up the ladder. Once he
was over the short wall that ran around the edge of the roof, he would
have a major advantage point. The other man would have to put a hand
over the edge in order to haul himself up, Michael could use that
opportunity to grab him and maybe put an end to his miserable life.
Capturing the intruder just wasn't an option, men like this needed to
be entirely removed from the equation. He snaked a hand over the edge
of the wall and dragged himself upwards. The rough concrete scraped at
the skin under his sweatshirt, he was going to be sore for a couple of
days after this little escapade. Finally, he got his leg onto the wall
and was able to push himself onto the roof. Taking up position,
crouching against a chimney stack, he waited. The barrel of the gun was
levelled at the place where the man's head or hand should appear. It
was just a waiting game now. From below he heard the sound of the
window being opened. The assassin had realised where Michael had headed
to. Michael took a deep breath, this was it, the fight for his life
would start in just a few seconds. He steadied his aim, the shot would
have to be perfect cause as soon as the gun shot was heard, the police
would be called and it would all be over. Michael knew he had to get in
that first shot otherwise he was the one likely to end up on a cold
concrete slab in the morgue.

Footsteps were making their way up the steps, every now and then there
was a pause. The man was fairly intelligent after all, he was securing
his surroundings, minimising the risk to his own life. A life that
Michael would like to end soon. After a few more agonising minutes, a
hand appeared over the edge of the wall. Michael tried to take aim with
his gun and cursed as he realised that he had picked a bad angle to
shoot from, from here there was no chance that he'd get a lock on it.
It was a bad target anyway, even with a shot to the hand, the other guy
would still be able to fight back. He scooted backwards, further into
the protection of the shadows. Just a few seconds more and the target
would be in range. The hand disappeared again. This guy was up to
something else. Michael cursed, he needed to know what was going on but
he couldn't risk sneaking to the side of the roof. He continued to
wait. The intruder was impatient too, otherwise he wouldn't have
chanced attacking Michael at home. The moon slid behind a cloud and the
world around him visibly darkened. This wasn't good. He needed the
moonlight to see by. He decided to try to creep closer to the edge, he
had his gun and he had sharp reactions, if anything happened he would
shoot.

When he was only a few paces away from the ladder, something Michael
had never dreamed of in his wildest nightmares happened. A small,
pewter coloured hand grenade flew over the edge of the wall. The
assassin had taken a big risk, it would cause a huge amount of
destruction but it was obviously something he had carefully planned.
Michael tried to run away from it but he couldn't move fast enough. The
grenade exploded, a wall of searing heat and debris pushed intensely on
Michael's back. He was going to die, he should have been able to second
guess the assassin but that wasn't to be. Huge shards of concrete and
steel slammed into Michaels flesh, tearing it apart. He fell hard to
the smoke obscured ground. The pain was so intense and he was finding
it hard to breathe, he was dying and he knew it. He was going to feel
every moment of this pain. Unconsciousness, which would have been a
blessing wouldn't come to him. His ragged breaths caught in his lungs,
his heart wasn't pumping right and the sticky wetness of blood trickled
down his chest, stomach and legs, the trails from dozens of seperate
wounds merging on the torn, raw flesh. The grenade had torn him to
pieces. He made an effort to roll onto his side or at least his back.
He wanted to see the bastard that had sent him to hell. His hand slid
down to his side, hissing in pain as he felt the gaping holes in his
flesh, then his hands closed on something hard and slick with blood.
Either a large piece of bone was sticking out of his body or he'd had
the luck to collapse on top of his gun.

His fingers grasped it after what had seemed like an eternity. He might
be losing his life but he could still make sure that his killer lost
his too. Through the slowly clearing smoke he saw the approaching
figure of a man, a man that just kept coming closer and closer till he
was standing over Michael's shattered body. A frown creased Michael's
face as he recognised the man. His own brother. Alas, Michael wouldn't
have the chance to shoot back or even understand why this had happened.
His brother raised a hand that was holding a small pistol. Michael
screamed as he saw a flash emerge from the muzzle. He felt the bullet
tear into his skull, shattering bone and cauterising exploding brain
matter. The last of his life pumped out of him along with the last of
his blood. The world faded to black. Michael Caninhan, professional
government assassin had been murdered by the brother he himself had
helped to train.