Unedited

 WARNING: THIS HAS NOT BEEN EDITED. PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION

Since I was little and could understand what it meant, I’ve seen things. Numbers, to be specific. These numbers hangover every person’s head, telling me how dangerous they are. A coworker’s newborn, for example, would have a 1. A soldier who’s trained in assassinations who has a firearm on his person, on the other hand, would have a 7.

Now, this information is kind of irrelevant when there’s not a story that goes along with it. Unfortunately for me, there is a story. 

When I was 19, I started working at a local hospital. I was simply a person who was there to make sure only people who were supposed to go into certain hospital rooms went in. So, really just family members, nurses, and doctors. For the first year and a half, it was good. I made a decent sum of money, I got some nice medical benefits, and life was fine. 

Two months before my birthday, a new guy showed up in the breakroom. I didn’t know who he was or why he was there but I simply nodded and walked out. Before I left, though, I noticed his number. 10. I’d never seen or met anyone who had a 10. I didn’t say anything, though, as no one knew of my “ability.” 

Over the next few days, I noticed the new guy wandering around, but he never talked to me, and it seemed like no one noticed he was there. I thought that was weird, but didn’t think anything of it, as I didn’t want to involve myself with someone as dangerous as him.

Three days before my birthday, I got assigned to guard a lady, Ms. Creole, as I later learned. She was a terminal cancer patient. Having only a few days to live, the medical staff didn’t want anyone but family entering and potentially giving her a sickness that would make her end worse. 

After my lunch break, I went back to my post in front of Ms. Creole’s door. It was a fairly boring job since there was nothing to do and no one to talk to, but I had learned that it gave me plenty of time to study. College was something I wanted to do, but I hadn’t had enough money to go after high school. With my job at the hospital, I’d made enough money to at least take the tests to get in. It was still a work in progress, though. Anyway, I was sitting in front of the door when the new guy showed up. He went to open the door and enter. Gulping as I glanced at his number, I said, “Sorry, no visitors. Only family.” He looked at me with a very concerned look. All of the nurses and staff looked at me like I was crazy. I thought maybe I was excluded from some inside knowledge or joke until he said, “You can see me?” A scythe appeared in his hand like it was some magic trick. I looked at his number and glanced at the scythe. Absolutely petrified, I didn’t say anything. He looked at me, furrowed his eyebrows, and shook his head. “Weird,” he muttered. He walked past me and entered the room. A few seconds later I heart the cardio machine signaling she had no pulse. 

Oh my god, I thought. Oh my god, I just let him walk in there and kill that poor lady. Oh my god.

As nurses rushed in the room, whizzing past me, I forced myself to go to the bathroom. I entered a stall, locked the door, and sat down. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. I tried to take deep breaths but my mind was whirring. I felt dizzy and afraid and my head screamed. The taste of bile entered my mouth. Oh god. Now, this? I stood up as fast as I could, whirled around, and threw up in the toilet. 

After that, my boss sent me home and told me to take the weekend off for my birthday. I was glad to have some time at home, but I wasn’t looking forward to spending another birthday alone. I decided to go to bed early to sleep off the craziness of that day. Before heading up, I locked all my doors. My whole life I’d been paranoid. Even if it was for no reason, my paranoia never went away.

Eight wonderful hours later, I was woken up by a loud clang. A list of people who had a key to my house ran through my head. Then I remembered I’d changed my locks. No one but me, I thought. With a gulp, I slipped my sheets off and dropped to the floor. I was trying to be as quiet as possible, but it was hard with tile floors. I approached my door, only to be met with more banging. Then I heard a sizzle. A grabbed the umbrella that was leaning against my bureau. Something was better than nothing, right? As silently as possible, I opened the door and crept down the hall. The smell of bacon wafted through the air. My killers making food before he attacks me? As I rounded the corner to my kitchen, my jaw dropped and practically hit the floor.

Standing in my kitchen, using my pans and making himself some bacon was the guy who had killed Ms. Creole.

 “What in the actual-”

 He cut me off. “Oh, you’re up. Good. Took you long enough.”

“Who the heck are you? Why are you in my house? How did you get…? What the hell is going on here?”

He looked at me. “You really have no idea who I am?”

I shook my head. “You’d think the confused looks and blank stare would have answered that for you.”

He chuckled. “Have a seat, Marissa. We have a lot to talk about.”