Page 34 of Not This Soon

The man's eyes narrowed. But he didn’t refuse.

"No sermon," the assassin reassured him. "Just a prayer. For healing."

His gaze flicked to the man's bandaged head. He could feel the despair radiating off the man, so intense it was almost tangible. The pain was there, yes, but beneath it was something else—anger. A deep-seated rage against the world that had brought pain to him.

The assassin uttered a quiet prayer under his breath and moved on, leaving the man staring after him in bewilderment.

Next, he approached a young woman writhing in agony on one of the beds. Her glazed eyes met his. "Prayer?" she whimpered.

"Yes," he said simply, clasping her hand in his own and murmuring words of solace.

He continued this way, moving from bed to bed, person to person—praying for the sick, the injured. Praying for mercy in this world of pain.

Finally, he came upon a woman who sat in a plastic chair, her foot propped up and wrapped in gauze. She glared at a nurse who was attempting to hand her a clipboard.

"I told you, I don't need any damn paperwork," the woman snapped. "Just give me the pain meds and let me go home."

The assassin watched the exchange, intrigued. The woman radiated hostility. Bitterness. Her soul cried out for solace.

He took a step towards her, his uninjured hand extended. "Excuse me, ma'am?"

The woman's head whipped around. Her eyes narrowed as they landed on him. "What do you want?"

The assassin smiled gently. "I couldn't help but overhear. It sounds like you're in a lot of pain."

"Yeah, what's it to you?" The woman eyed him suspiciously.

"I just wanted to offer a prayer for your healing. If you'd like."

The woman scoffed. "A prayer? What good will that do? I need real medicine. Not some hocus pocus nonsense."

The assassin's smile didn't falter. He took another step closer. "Prayer is powerful medicine, ma'am. It can work miracles."

The woman leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed.

The assassin's eyes glinted with amusement. He liked this woman's spirit. Her fire. It would make saving her all the more rewarding.

He glanced down at her injured foot. "That looks painful. How did it happen?"

"None of your damn business," the woman snapped. "Now, are you going to leave me alone, or do I need to call security?" The nurse was beating a hasty retreat, seemingly relieved to not have to deal with the grumpy lady.

The assassin held up his hands in a placating gesture. "I apologize for intruding. I only wanted to offer some comfort."

He took a step back, but his gaze remained fixed on the woman. "I'll leave you be. But if you change your mind about that prayer, I'll be around."

The woman snorted. "Don't hold your breath."

The assassin inclined his head, then turned and walked away. But as he did, he caught a glimpse of the clipboard the nurse had left on the woman's lap.

The name "Eleanor Hartley" was scrawled across the top, along with an address.

The assassin smiled to himself.

He caught himself and turned again.

The assassin's eyes bore into the woman, his stare unblinking and intense. She shifted in her seat, discomfort etched across her face.

"I told you to scram," she hissed, her voice quivering slightly despite her harsh tone.

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