For Her, Silence

For Her, Anything

He sat alone in his apartment, quiet. In one hand, a worn black book—creased, underlined, lived-in. The man read 3:16, and he continued. The sun beamed with bright peace onto this quiet corner of the room, in the apartment, in the building on the second floor. A mug rested in his lap, steam almost gone. Across the room, everything stood exactly where it always did. Unmoved. Untouched. And no, there was no gun in the top drawer of the dresser—especially not tucked neatly beneath folded underwear. This is the part where the drawer doesn’t hold a gun.

No secrets. No metal. No easy out. Just underwear. Folded. Cotton. Maybe a hole in one.

The apartment was small, but it had a warmth to it, like the kind of place you’d find in a forgotten corner of a bustling city. The pillows on the couch were fluffed just enough to make it inviting. Sunlight bleeding in like God’s flashlight. A table with a picture frame. The glass was a little smudged.

The photograph captured the man and his wife. She stood beside him, her long hair cascading in soft waves, its golden sheen almost glowing against the dim light. She was a vision, her long, golden hair cascading like a river of silk. Her beauty was not of the loud, attention-seeking kind; it was subtle, like a secret garden waiting to be discovered. Her eyes, bright and alive, sparkled with a unique light, as if they held the key to a hidden treasure. A treasure that only her husband truly knew how to unlock. The way she tilted her head slightly toward him, her cheek grazing his shoulder ever so gently, said more than words could have. Her posture was relaxed, leaning into him, the subtle weight of his hand resting at her side, as if she trusted the space between them,

Her face was delicate and warm, like something you'd see in a dream, her eyes wide and full of life, sparkling with a kindness that only those closest to her could truly understand. She leaned into him just enough that it was clear they were two halves of the same whole, the way a pair of trees might grow close together, their branches intertwined without force. Her head tilted ever so slightly, creating an intimate angle, as if she sought the comfort of his shoulder.

The curve of her lips, a warmth that reached her eyes. It wasn’t the kind of smile that demanded attention.

Her body, though poised and graceful, carried a natural ease. Her body, a work of art in its own right, the camera had captured her in a moment of relaxed repose. She wore a simple black dress, its fabric hugging her curves in all the right places. Her waist, slender and toned, curved gracefully into hips.

The dress came to end, as the observer's gaze travel down, when you look at the image it shows Emma's legs, long and shapely, one slightly bent at the knee, giving the photo a sense of movement and life. The hem of her dress flirted with the tops of her thigh.

The man was—that is his presence—was solid and reassuring. He stood slightly behind Emma, his tall frame a protective shield. His dark hair, neatly styled, contrasted with Emma's golden tresses.

One could almost imagine the moments leading up to this photograph. Emma perhaps had been laughing, or maybe not, there’s just so much movement in that smile that one would think she had been laughing

The more one examined the photograph, the more details emerged and the more wonderful it seemed.

As the sun set outside, casting a warm glow through the window, the photograph seemed to come alive, the smudged glass adding a hazy, dreamlike quality to the scene.

This man was disturbed by a loud bang below. He put the black book aside slowly, tenderly. He heard a clatter like many objects hit the ground. He lifted his tea off his legs onto the chair next to him. Thus he sat.

Bang! Then a pause in which the sound of a thump could be heard. He heard grunts, like the sound of a person in pain. Another Bang! For it was the sound of a gunshot, and because of this all the hope was dreadfully low, and that observation is what finally caused the man to act.

He rushed toward his dresser. In that moment, three things happened: he pulled open the top dresser drawer, the innocent man’s room door was flung open, and the birds stopped.

For her, Silence

Silence divided in the room to all who stood there. The man stood still by his dresser. The man that entered was tall, thin, and along with a white hew, had a red complexion. That’s both because of his wounded, battered, and battle hardened impression; the man that entered was a hitman named Beny short for Benedict.

Beny Needed to kill this man’s wife—-Emma.

“What are you doing?” asked Beny, streaming out the words.

The man kept his hands where they were which was touching the wood of the open drawer. He was completely aware that the man had a gun on him. Also that he could be shot any moment.

“Seriously!” The man retorted to Beny. “What! IS! THE MEANING OF THIS?!” He says roaring.

“Put those over your head!” Says the hitman pointing to the hands, fully aware of his own stupid question, but a couple seconds ago.

Even though the man couldn’t see he understood. Immediately the man put his hands on his head. He stayed where he was. He silenced himself realizing that quietness was, the pen is mightier than the sword. He was well experienced in those areas.

“Where is your Wife?”

Silence, he stayed in that position that afforded him little.

“Tell me! Tell me and I will go easy on you,” Beny says; kindly at the end.

“For you… Anything,” says the man in a small voice. Then silence.

“Well?” Says Beny.

“”Well what?” says the man thinking about his wife.

“WELL, WELL!” He roared, then realization hit him, “are you not going to cooperate? Don’t stay silent.”

Silence. The man was in the position of the pen-silence.

“Ahh Argh! You little! Fine, well—” He walked close. “We know other ways to make you agreeable,” he paused “I don’t know what game you're playing, but I am sure as hell you don’t need the leg and the foot isn't that important; and really knowing is half the battle. So it seems you weren't talking to me. That is…well—fair, but what you even owe her? IS SHE WORTH YOUR LIFE?!”

“Yes, more” very firmly.

“And I was hoping you would not say that. No, she is not worth your life! We have ways of making you talk.” He snarled, so having said that, he—still holding the gun in his right hand, and perfectly capable of shooting in that hand—pulled a knife out from behind his belt. That being a knife with a curved and a very sharp tip.

While the moments of dread ticked by, the man eyed the top drawer, and he eyed a white lump—his underwear. But underneath it.

Beny stepped closer, he reached out with left arm, and jabbed it into the other's lower back. “AHHH!”

“Squeal you little!” Beny jabbed his voice, into the air, and his knife again into the other’s lower back leaving a hole in his shirt, and velvet colored cream pouring out onto the floor. The pressure—steady, insistent—digging into him cut deep. The floor seemed to absorb the moment, a quiet witness, the silence only broken by the faint drip that echoed in the stillness. Blood poured out over the floor.

“You have another thing coming other than breaking me,” sobbed back the man.

The man’s knees wobbled, and his breath caught as Beny’s knife pressed deeper into his back. Blood soaked through his shirt, dripping to the floor.

These moments passed as the ticking clock decided to continue moving its hands towards this man’s fate. Tick. Tock. The hands of the clock went. Tick. Tock, as cold steel bit icy cold into the man’s back, while he—the man—shuttered where he stood.

“You’re stubborn,” Beny growled, pulling the knife back and wiping it clean against his own sleeve. “I can appreciate that, but it won’t save her. So, tell us now. Where is your wife?”

The man didn’t answer. His lips quivered, but no sound came out. Sweat dripped down his face, he bit his tongue, the beat of each sting pulsed through his body. While the sting of each beat radiated through the wound, and still, he held his tongue.

“Fine,” Beny said, his voice low and dangerous. He stepped back and waved the blade lazily in the air. “I’ve got time. You’ve got nerve. Let’s see which one runs out first.”

Beny grabbed a chair from the small kitchen table and sat down, still clutching the knife in one hand and the gun in the other. He tilted his head, studying the man like he was some unsolvable riddle.

“Get out,” the man sharply urged.

“Look, I don’t even care about you,” Beny said. “It’s her I want. You think she’d do the same for you? Hmm? Take the pain, keep her mouth shut? Is she worth it?”

“She’s worth more than me,” he said softly.

Beny slammed the chair back against the wall, the crack of wood echoing through the room. “You’re an idiot! She’s not worth dying over! You don’t even know what I’ll do next.” He raised the gun and pointed it at the man’s leg, breath steadied. His lips parted.

The shot rang out, deafening in the small apartment. The man’s leg buckled, and he fell to the floor, clutching at the spreading crimson that soaked through his pant leg. His cry of pain was sharp but brief. He pushed himself upright, leaning heavily against the dresser. His breaths were ragged.

“I’ll kill you. You know that, right?” Beny spat. “This doesn’t end with you walking out of here. Tell me where she is, or I’ll make it worse!”

The man coughed. “Go ahead.”

Beny froze. His hand trembled slightly as he held the gun. “What the hell is wrong with you? You’re gonna die for her?”

“She’s my wife.”

Beny swore under his breath and slammed his fist against the wall. “Fine! I’ll do this the hard way.”

Beny stabbed the knife into the table, Beny marched forward, grabbed the man by the collar, and yanked him to his feet. The man grunted, his weight sagging against Beny’s grip. Beny stabbed the gun into his head.

“NOW!”

No answer, blood staining the man’s teeth.

“AHHH!” Beny threw the man against the dresser, “Talk!”

“No,” the man whispered, his voice hoarse but unyielding.

Beny slapped him with the back of his hand.

“NOW!”

No answer.

“TALK!”

No answer.

Beny wacked the man’s head using the but of the gun.

“Where is she?!”

No answer.

Beny’s sharp eyes flicked to the open dresser drawer, noticing the neatly folded underwear just beneath the man’s trembling hand. A grin spread across his face. He lowered the gun slightly, though the tension in the room didn’t ease.

“Well, well,” Beny said, his tone turning mocking. “What do we have here? You’re protecting her, huh? Must be quite a woman.” He gestured toward the drawer with a quick tilt of his chin. “Is that what keeps you going? The thought of her waiting for you? Her wearing something like... that?”

The man’s jaw locked shut, tightened, and not only did he not respond, but his hands clenched red, the weight of the moment crushing them together into fists.

Beny chuckled darkly, leaning against the dresser. His gun still pressed against the temple of the man’s head. “What’s it like, huh? Is she good to you? Keeps you warm at night? I bet she does. Women like her know exactly what they’re doing. Is that why you’re SO ready to throw your life away? Because you think you’re the only one she’s doing it for?”

The man flinched, his expression tightening with a flicker of anger.

“Oh, I see,” Beny sneered. “That’s it, isn’t it? You don’t just love her—you worship her. She’s got you wrapped around her little finger. That hourglass figure, that flowing hair. You probably sit here all day dreaming of her, don’t you? Thinking of what she’s like when she’s close—when she’s yours. But let me tell you something.” He leaned in closer, his voice a venomous hiss.

“She’s not yours. Not really. And if she knew what you were going through right now, she wouldn’t stick around. Women like that? They don’t deal with messes. They don’t wait for broken men.”

The man’s breathing grew heavier, his shoulders trembling, but he said nothing. His eyes darted to his dresser.

“Come on,” Beny pressed, growing more animated. “You don’t have to die for someone who wouldn’t even lift a finger to save you. She’s not worth this. You think she’s crying for you right now? You think she’s holding her breath, hoping you survive? Or is she already thinking about what comes next, after you’re gone? Huh? Tell me!”

Beny grabbed the man by the neck and held the gun to his head. The man’s head lifted, he was barely able to stand, he locked eyes with Beny, his voice barely above a whisper.

“She’s worth it.”

Beny recoiled, caught off guard by the firmness in the man’s voice. His sneer faltered, replaced by a flicker of something else—something unspoken and uneasy.

“You’re pathetic,” Beny muttered, shaking his head as he stepped back, though the frustration in his voice betrayed his own doubt. “Absolutely pathetic.”

But he wasn’t laughing anymore.

Silence in return.

“You know,” Beny began, his tone almost conversational, “I can see why you’d do all this for her. She’s... quite the catch.” He gestured lazily with his eyes, as if drawing an outline in the air. “That face—those lips, that body. It’s no wonder you’re so willing to bleed for her. I get it. I really do.”

The man’s fists clenched. Silence still. But his knuckles turned white.

“You think I haven’t met her? Oh, I’ve met her. She’s charming, isn’t she? Always knows the right thing to say. And let me tell you, she wasn’t exactly shy about it.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “She came onto me, you know. Sweet little smile, that coy laugh. She even said I wasn’t so bad-looking, for a guy in my line of work. Can you believe that? Your precious little wife, making me blush.”

The man just stared back.

Beny continued animatedly. “And those legs…”

The man took a deep breath but choked to let it out, but stayed silent. His face turned white from the loss of blood flow.

“Let’s just say she doesn’t need to try very hard to get a man’s attention.”

Silence stretched between them, thick with tension. Beny’s hand squished the neck of the man, and held it firmly there.

The man started shaking. The man’s composure finally cracked. “Shut…up,” he gasped, “and…g..o.”

Beny let go and the man shook and gasped. The man folded crying. Beny crouched down, grabbing the man by the hair and yanking his head back.

“—SHE AND I ARE GOING TO GET—-” he whispered, smiling, “very well acquainted, right before I put a bullet in her… Unless you give me what I want.”

Silence.

“So what’s it going to be? You give me what I want, or I make good on my promise?”

The man looked at Beny, narrowing his eyes. The husband’s voice was hoarse, but it didn’t waver. “You won’t touch her.”

Beny’s grin faltered, just for a moment, as he stared into the man’s unflinching gaze. Then he shoved him back to the floor with a frustrated growl. “Fine. Die here, then. I’ve got plenty of ways to find her without you.”

Slowly, he lowered the gun, its barrel tracing a deliberate path downward until it aimed squarely at the man’s groin.

“Let’s see how much she’s really worth to you,” Beny said, his voice slick with venom. “You willing to make this sacrifice too? Will you make us?

The man’s body stiffened, his breathing uneven but defiant. His hands, trembling from pain and rage, pressed against the blood-soaked floor in an effort to push himself upright.

“What’s the matter?” Beny taunted, taking an angry step closer. “Cat got your tongue? Or maybe you’re just imagining how this will play out. Let me paint you a picture: no wife, no future, and no… well, you get the idea.” He smirked at the torment in the man’s eyes.

“You’re sick,” the man replied, his voice dangerously low but steady.

“Oh, I’m sick? ” Beny barked a sharp laugh. “Buddy, you don’t even know the half of it. But let me tell you something—this?” He gestured with the gun, the motion sharp and deliberate. “This is me giving you an out. Do you not even fear death? You tell me where she is, and I don’t pull the trigger. Simple as that.”

Silence IN THE ROOM.

For the first time, Beny hesitated. He must not have been able to fathom really killing him. The hitman’s grip on the gun loosened slightly, his knuckles white from the tension.

“You know what I’m capable of—I will kill you,” Beny continued, his voice trembling with a mixture of anger and doubt.

The man stared back at him. There was no pity staring back.

“You know what I can do. You know I don’t want to—hell, I never wanted to do any of this. But you are making me. You’re making me be this... monster.”

The man continued staring back, his eyes gentle, his eyes not searching any more for that bit of humanity in Beny.

“Look at you,” Beny sneered, trying to bury the doubt in his voice with derision. “You’re not even begging. Not even begging! You’re standing there like you’re a hero or something—like this woman is worth your life. Is she?”

No answer. Silence IN THE ROOM.

“Shit!” Beny roared. “Tell me! Tell me where she is!” Beny screamed, his voice cracking with frustration.

“Last chance,” Beny said. His voice was quieter now, almost pleading. “Don’t make me do this.”

The man didn’t answer. Silence IN THE ROOM.

Benedict snarled, raising the gun once more to the head. “Damn you,” he muttered.

Quietly the man muttered, “Lord have mercy.”

The gun fired, and the man collapsed. The room fell silent except for the sharp, uneven breaths of the hitman. He stared at the body on the floor, his hand shaking so hard the gun slipped from his grasp and clattered onto the wooden boards.

Benedict stumbled back, the back of his knees hitting the edge of the chair. He sat down heavily, his face pale.

“They’re all going to be like this,” he whispered to no one in particular. “My boss will not like this,” he gulped, his face white as chalk.

Even in silence, love is a force that speaks volumes. For it is a deeper, truer purpose in his act than can be ever understood; it is a lasting peace he embraces forever.

Baby’s head dropped into his hands. He stayed like that for a long moment before standing abruptly, kicking the chair aside. Without a backward glance, he turned and walked out of the apartment, leaving the gun where it lay; the knife on the table.

“Eastern Orthodox Christian believers” he rasped.

The door swung shut behind him, and the apartment returned to stillness.

Regards from Daniel