Christophe swore as he stabbed the last of the men around him. Finally, it was done. They were all eliminated, including his main target. Everything had gone smoothly. It was all okay. Although he was a little behind schedule. If it wasn't for being captured he would have been out and done by Thursday. He'd have been down and going back to Gregory's house to chill out and relax. Get in a decent meal and an extraordinary fuck. But, no. The target had to be difficult and had to stall him until Saturday. Christophe swore again and lit up a cigarette. He pulled out his cell form his pocket and checked the time. It was nearly noon, Saturday.
"Gregory is going to bite my head clean off," Christophe muttered as he speed dialed Gregory.
He knew how worried Gregory got over his health and since he was late, he'd be even more pissed off. Christophe couldn't help but smile however. Whenever Gregory got wired up it made for a more exciting fuck. There was more raw anger and passion then gentleness. Just how Christophe liked it.
Christophe waited a few moments. It rand six times total before Gregory finally picked up. About time, too. Usually he answered on the second or third ring.
"I'm done, Gregory," he muttered.
But there was no reply. There was nothing on the other end of the phone. No angry yelling. No hurtful sobs. No light breathing. Nothing. And then, Gregory let out a weak gasp. It was barely audible. The phone had to be right next to Gregory's head for the gasp to be picked up.
"Gregory?" Christophe called.
There was no reply after that. There was nothing.
"Gregory? Come on, you little bitch. I know I took long but it wasn't my fault. Answer me!" Christophe demanded.
He continued to be ignored.
"Gregory!" Christophe shouted into the phone.
Still no reply.
"...Fine! I'm coming over there to kick your ass for ignoring me!" Christophe shouted before hanging up and scowling at the cell in his hand.
He was pissed off now. Gregory actually had the nerve to ignore him this time. Christophe pulled the cigarette from his mouth and stomped it out under his heel. Gregory was going to pay when he got back to the house. He was not only going to cook him a decent meal, but, he was now going to do it with a big black eye and a sore ass.
Christophe was silent as he watched the ambulance pull up to Gregory's house. The paramedics rushed inside with a stretcher. It only took a few minutes for them to come out with the stretched filled with a body covered in a white sheet, completely shielded from the world outside. It didn't take a genius to tell that the man under the sheet was dead.
"You're such a dumbshit, Gregory," Christophe muttered as he watched Gregory's mother fall to her knees outside and start sobbing.
Christophe pulled out a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. The air around was cold and nipped at Christophe's skin as he stood and watched the ambulance drive away and a pair of police officers start to talk to Gregory's father. He was much more composed then Gregory's mother was at this very moment. He answered the questions that needed to be answered and the cops went onto their merry way.
Christophe scowled as Gregory's father collected his wife into his arms and went back in the house. They weren't even going to go with to the morgue. They were both dumbshits. Gregory was a dumbshit. His whole fucking family was a big bunch of dumbshits. Christophe cursed under his breath and turned, walking away from that dreaded house that he had made his home for the past few years of his life.
Christophe cursed under his breath in French as he finally got the lock to the funeral home open. He slid inside and closed the door behind him. The alarm system was quickly disarmed. Christophe scoffed at the cheap security and walked down the long hallway. It was decorated scarcely and had nothing in it but a few pictures of random dead people. Christophe kept walking until finally he came to large double doors that lead to a large room. He pushed the doors open and stepped in, looking around.
The room was a living room, only decorated past the point of it being a living room. There were flower vases and paintings all against and on the walls. Rows and rows of chairs lay in the middle of the room. There was an isle of empty space in the middle of the chairs that went to a finely decorated coffin. Christophe scowled and walked to it. The wood of the coffin was smooth and decorated a bit. Christophe opened one of the sides and was met with Gregory's pale and unmoving corpse.
Christophe stared down at him for a long time before opening the other part and climbing in. He straddled Gregory's waist and just sat there. Gregory was pale. So very pale. His skin was ice cold to the touch. His hair was splayed over the pillow that rested beneath his head. He was wearing a fine tuxedo that just didn't look good on him at all. Christophe pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, taking a long drag and exhaling the smoke into the air.
"You looked much better in orange, dumbshit," he muttered.
Christophe stayed there for hours. There wasn't a sound in the house. Christophe glanced out the window, finally taking his eyes off of Gregory. The sun was coming up. He had to go, he knew he had to go. But, he didn't want to. He really didn't want to go. He leaned down and pressed his lips to Gregory's ear.
"I'll see you again, mon amour," he muttered.
And he was gone.
Breaking into Gregory's room was the easiest thing Christophe had ever done in his life. This was so because his window was wide open and there was a nice little tree that lead to the balcony that Gregory had outside of his room. Christophe had to push back the memories he had of himself and Gregory on that balcony. Now wasn't the time for moments like that. He shook his head and skillfully climbed to the balcony and casually walked into Gregory's deserted room. He had no fear that someone would come in. They were all gone. All went to Gregory's funeral.
Christophe looked around the room. It was the exact same as it was when he left for his mission less then a week ago. The only differences were the ruffled sheets, the open closet and the dirty rusty shovel and the phone on the bed. Christophe went to the bed and picked up the phone. It was dead. He put it back down and looked at the shovel. He recognized it immediately. It was his own shovel. He had given it to Gregory because it was useless to him back then. Christophe picked it up and looked it over. It seemed cleaner but still smelled like earth and rotting blood.
Christophe took the shovel off of his back and looked it over. It was dirty, but, nowhere near as dirty as this one was. There were a few bloodstains that Christophe needed to clean off of the newer one. He sighed and tossed the newer one on the bed, strapping the old one onto his back. He was going to be needing it soon. Very soon.
Silently, Christophe walked out of the room, onto the balcony and jumped to the ground without hurting himself. He gave one last glance to the big house and to Gregory's open room before pulling out a cigarette from his coat and lighting it. He turned and took a long drag, blowing the smoke into the chilly air.
Christophe appeared when everyone had gone. In his hand he held a single black rose. He walked over to the freshly made grave and stared down at the tombstone. Gregory. He was laying here, under six feet of earth. It was an easy dig for sure. He'd dug through worse. Christophe pulled the shovel off of his back. He stared at it again. It wold be harder with this shovel, but, he could do it. Silently, he began to dig.
The work was hard with a crap shovel but he got it done in a decent amount of time. Now, he stood over the coffin with his shovel resting against the wall. He took out a cigarette and lit it. He took a deep inhale as he stared up at the starry sky that hung over his head and outside of the hole. It was cold, quiet and beautiful. Christophe turned his eyes back to the coffin and brushed the dirt out of the way until he could open it. Gregory was still there. He was still pale and beautiful to look at.
Christophe climbed into the coffin next to Gregory and took the shovel with him. Gregory was cold. So cold. Christophe sighed as he put out the cigarette in the wall around him. He knew that Gregory hated the smoke and the cigarettes that created. He turned to the shovel and dug the tip into the wall around the coffin. He banged hard on the end and jammed the shovel into the soft wall. The dirt started to fill the hole once again. First it was a light rain. Then clumps. Christophe turned to Gregory and leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss to his cold, dead lips before the earth crushed them both.