Part 5: Exposed

November 5th 2008

To Whom It May Concern:

I'm feeling a bit rushed because its late and I want to eat. I was a little disappointed with the poor comment show out on part 4. This is mostly because of the large turnout for part 3. I have been told by some of my consistent following that commenting makes them uncomfortable. Understandable; but I'm putting myself out there with you...so know you're not alone. I've taken everyone's comments into serious consideration. I wanted to wait a bit before putting out this next part because this is going to be good if you're into it. I'm going to be doing a little video about how silhouette has been going from my point of view: thanks to Lindsay Gandolfo (thank you). Trying to be as interactive as possible. I think the best thing you can do to help me out, if you want, is tell a friend about the series :-D. So when we left off someone was outside the door....Thank you so much for your continued support.


Now without any further ado I present Silhouette:

Writing in the Nude

"Where are we meeting Don?" She walks over to meet him at the door.

"We're not." He meets her there with their coats. They snap and button up as they talk:

"We're not? What do you mean we're not? Who are we meeting?"

"I don't know."

"You ...don't ...know?"

"Whoever it is will text me right now we need to get out of the city."

Anderson opens the front door slowly and looks out into the hallway. He peers left before looking right, and quickly closes the door.

"Someone's out there."

"Who's out there," she turns suddenly?

"I do not know."

"What's the matter? Why does it matter that someone's out there?"

"It's not a resident."

"So...what's that mean?" he puts his hand to her mouth and pulls her closely. He stares into her eyes deeply.


"Shh!" he whispers under his breath, "Stay away from the windows. We need to get out of here." He turns sweepingly to the door and peers out of the peep hole. The man stood there in a full suit, similar to the one Anderson wore. He wore a long pea coat that touched his knees as he moved. His movements were subtle and uncontrived. He wore a bowl hat so low that Anderson could not make out his face. He walks slowly toward the door with his hand in his pockets. Anderson turns around to face Delilah. Her face falls despairingly. He feels the despair from her frown more fully than the possibility of the moment.

"Well who is he?" she whispers.

"I can't tell."

"Did he see you?"

Anderson had been wondering that since he shut the door. Hearing it out loud made the thought more real to him. He was certain he wasn't seen, but life's certainties always had a way of turning on him.

"What do we do?"

"Give me a second to think?"

"Do we have a second?"

"You always have a second."

"Don't give me that Anderson shit right now...I'm really sca-..." her words were interupted by Anderson's hand once more. She imagined how many people had felt his hand like this, against their face in all. Was he always this gentle? She knew he had killed people before, with those hands. Yet they felt soft. She shivered to herself.

"Shh! I have an idea. Make sure your piece is ready."

"What are we going to do?"

"We aren't going to do anything, cover me." he pulls out a smooth silver browning 9mmx. He had to have just cleaned it because it reflected the moonlight as he flashed briefly through the moonlight. He knew they must have thought that she had come here alone if they only sent one agent. Either that or the whole building was littered with them. How did they know where he was. They hadn't just blown cover. They had to be set-up. The whole mission was compromised. He attaches the silencer to his piece with mechanical efficiency.

The music in the background played eerily, like a real life soundtrack, as Anderson positions Delilah behind the couch. She thought it was ironic to have the couch between her and him again. Suddenly old thoughts returned. The protector, he was a lion protecting his den. She watched him as he walked gallantly to the door trying to fight images of him being mowed down. She squeezes her eyes tight and tries to push out the vision of the dead broker under the table. One second he is speaking about stock options and analysis' and the next second he's staring blankly at frantic shoes.

It was as if it was meant to be the way the bullet had come through the crowd and found his forehead. She was supposed to be closing a deal and leaving, but the broker had been extremely chatty. She tried to be speedy but he kept going off topic.

"My son turns 17 today. He's my oldest. He's a soccer player" he kept saying in his heavy accent: Anton, he had said his name was

It hadn't made any sense how his head whipped back. His body limp fell to the ground without resisting gravity's pull. Anderson was there before she could realize the plan had botched; Her protector coming to save her from the failed hunt.

"Anderson," she projects her whisper. Tears well in her eyes to the point of breaking, if she were to blink it'd be hopeless. The 45 in her hand wavers shakily.

"Not now..." he mouths as he puts his back to the door. He peeks through the peep hole: nothing. Relief. Maybe it was someone visiting a neighbor. He turns around in relief. Delilah smiles at his relaxed demeanor. He glimpses the clock on the wall 1:13am. That can't be right, he thinks before he crouches slowly. Delilah follows in fashion confused.

She watches him as he places his hand on the knob and opens it slowly sliding a small glass out the door. Her heart races. Her forehead is sweat and fear, she knows that if all goes right she's still going to have to reapply her eyeliner. She blinked and Anderson was gone...the door still slightly ajar.

Where did he go? Anxiety enters with the moonlight. It slithers across the hardwood floor, passed the tapestry, passed the wine cabinet with the phone, and over to Delilah. Panic starts to pull at he. She feels her legs get weak.

She jumps startled as she hears shots fire in the hall.

She falls back in horror, and puts her hands over her mouth to keep herself from screaming. The feel of her own fingers brings to mind the hands that just touched her mouth. His hands, his dead cold hands. Why did she let him go out there? And now that he was gone who was going to protect her. He was dead she knew it, and it was all her fault. Just like the broker, just like Allen. She was a dark omen, with the blood of men on her hands and in her shadow. Don't scream, she screams in her mind. Don't scream; more shots fire. Than all that's left is silence.

The door burst open. She screams and fires four times...