The Protector


The door creaks as it swings open. The bed is lying on its face, with pillows strewn about the room. A desk chair resides against the wall and wooden pieces of what I assume to be my desk litter the floor. I shovel through the destruction to my hiding place in the wall. The safe hangs open in defeat. It has been found, and it is gone.








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Today, my name is John. Today, I am attending Harvard University and studying to be a lawyer. At least that is what it said in the note they gave me, along with my schedule for the next week, where I will be staying, and what to do to blend in. I’ve been on the run for about ten years now. I’ve been to so many places, they all seem to blur together. So many people, so many names, and so many lives I have had to live. They gave me the job to protect it, and every time someone found a trace of me, I’ve been moved, and forced to start over. I’ll never understand why they are having me protect it. I used to always ask Them why I was chosen to guard it, but I have grown used to the silence. All I know is that when The Men in the Black Coats ask you to do something, you do it. No questions asked, no answers given. Just do. That is what I have done the past ten years of my life. So today, my name is John and I will be attending Harvard University because I am studying to become a lawyer.

I follow the directions in the note and look up at the crumbling bricks of an apartment building, my new home. I walk inside and see the superintendent snoring in his desk chair. It takes me a couple minutes, but eventually I find my door. There is dust collecting on the doorknob and my keys jingle as I try them in the lock. It is sticky, so I struggle with the door until it pops open. I take in my surroundings: a single bed, bare; a desk in the corner, plain and wooden; a kitchen to my left, standard; and a bathroom around the corner. Basic. Nothing too special. Like usual.

Looking around, I decide where I should put my stuff. When this all started, They made me burn everything from my past. “Why keep anything when there is no one left to remember you, right?” They said. I sigh at the memory and shrug off my worn backpack, pulling out a journal, a pocket watch, my grandfather’s old hunting knife, and the item. I take a look at the note again, and just like it said, there is a safe hidden in the wall to left of the bed frame. Using the codes they gave me, I set the item gingerly inside and lock it tight. And just like that, the item is gone, almost as though it didn’t exist at all. Sometimes I think this life is insane, but I shake the thought from my head. No questions, no answers, just do. I check my new untraceable phone for the time; it’s only 7:05. Looks like I’ve got some time to kill. I close my door, making sure to lock it tight, and walk downstairs past the still snoring superintendent. I laugh to myself; I can already tell this place is going to be great. The air is crisp as I walk onto the sidewalk toward the campus hoping to find a coffee shop on my way to class. I wish they had given me an identity with a more fun life. Going to college for the fifth time is a bit of a drag.







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“A small coffee is ready at the bar,” a voice announces. I look up from my schoolbooks. Sitting in the back corner of the coffee shop, I can see everything. From the mixed matched tables and chairs, the strange patterned wall paintings, and the seemingly random items hanging from the walls, The Nook and Cranny is my favorite place on campus. Perhaps it is because nothing makes sense in here, nothing is normal. Or, maybe it is because it is hidden and secluded from prying eyes. It would look like a normal apartment building to anyone who didn’t know it was there, hence the name. I walk over to the barista bar to grab my coffee when another hand reaches for it at the exact same time, causing the cup to fall over, spilling the scalding liquid on my legs. I curse under my breath when I see my new coffee covered pants.

“I am so sorry! Oh, that was all my fault, I’m so stupid,” I hear a delicate voice say to me.

I look up and meet a pair of electric green eyes. With flecks of yellow, it’s almost like there are sunflowers in them. Those cannot be real, I think to myself. I am too mesmerized to say anything.

“Here, let me grab you some napkins.” She breaks from my gaze and I am flooded with… disappointment? I shake my head. No it couldn’t be disappointment. I gratefully take the napkins from her. Her hand brushes mine, and I jump. I look away, trying to clean the coffee stain off of my pants, and shake these foreign feelings from my head.

She sticks her hand out to me. “I’m Leslie.”

“John.” I feel my cheeks flush when I take her hand.








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“Hi, I have reservations for two. It should be under John?”

“Yes, right this way.” The waitress picks up two menus and leads me to a table in the back of the restaurant. I feel jittery as I take a seat, wiping my sweaty palms on my pants trying to calm myself down. I check my watch; it’s 6:50 pm, and I’m ten minutes early. I didn’t want to get here too early, making me seem desperate. But early is better than late right? I didn’t want to keep her waiting if she was already here. But she isn’t. Maybe she stood me up; maybe she doesn’t want to go on a date with a guy like me. Maybe she…

A black pair of stilettos crosses into my line of vision. Someone clears a throat, “John? Am I just going to stand here all night, or what?” My eyes trail upwards away from her shoes. Her blood-red dress is low cut, with just enough skin showing to be classy. Slowly, my eyes graze over her face. Her full cherry lips contrast with the olive skin, sprinkled with freckles, and her rich, brown hair cascades in waves over her shoulder. But then I got to those eyes, those sunflower eyes. I am so awestruck by the complexity of the patterns that I don’t realize I am staring. I blush and look away, standing up to be the gentleman I am and help her into her seat. What have I gotten myself into?








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“Where are you taking me?” I hear Leslie giggle in front of me. My hands are covering her face and I lead her into the kitchen.

“Just a few more steps.” I stop, slowly taking my hands off of her face. “Happy Birthday Leslie.”

I hear her gasp in front of me. Twenty-five flickering pink candles sit atop a strawberry cake with cream cheese frosting like her mother used to make: her favorite. Balloons hover around the room in a rainbow of colors, casting eerie shadows on the walls, making the room look almost magical. She sashays out of my grasp and makes her way around the room, taking it all in. “Leslie, is it all right?” I say hesitantly. There’s no reply. “I know it’s not the same as your parties back home, but…” I trail off.

I see her turn around. She suddenly leaps into my arms, wrapping her legs around my waist and burying her face into the crook of my neck, “No it’s not the same as back home, it’s better. It’s perfect.” I hug her back tightly, not wanting to let go.








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“Why do we always have to go to my place? Why not yours?” I peel my eyes away from the movie we were watching to look at her. It’s always the same question.

“I’ve told you,” I was running out of answers, “It’s messy, I’ve got boxes everywhere, I haven’t unpacked yet. It’s better if we just come here.” I look back at the TV screen, praying that she will leave the subject alone.

“I just,” she paused, “I just feel like you are hiding something from me. It’s been two months, John.” I turn my gaze back to her face. She’s biting her lip and refusing to look at me.

I let out a sigh. My mind is racing. Would it be so bad if I showed her my place? She won’t find the safe. She won’t find anything. It’ll be fine. “Leslie, if that’s what you really want, sure.” I pull her into my lap and kiss the top of her head.







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“That’s basically it.” I lead Leslie back into the kitchen of my plain apartment.

“I’m guessing you unpacked this morning for me?” She laughs and I nod, “You have literally nothing in this apartment.”

I shrug, “There is no need.”

“You don’t have any pictures of friends, family?”

“Nope,” I say bluntly.

“Nothing sentimental? No memories?”

“Nothing I want or would care to remember.” I look down and pretend to pick invisible lint off of my shirt, hoping she won’t ask questions. She scrunches up her nose, signaling her worry. “I guess I just need a woman’s touch?” I wink at her in my attempt to lighten the mood, which causes her to laugh.

“Wait, if you unpacked this morning, where’d all the boxes go?”

“Oh, I uh,” My mind was reeling for a lie, “I put them outside. Trash day.” I quickly turn her and lead her into my bedroom.

“Trash day is on Wednesday. It’s Friday.”

“Well, someone must have picked them up, because they obviously aren’t here,” I chuckle nervously, hoping she wouldn’t look into my little white lie. “Lets go watch a movie, okay?” I take her hand and drag her into my bedroom. I hop down on the soft mattress. She stands in front of my bed with her arms crossed, staring at me sternly. I pat the spot next to me, signaling her to join me. After a few seconds she reluctantly flops down next to me. I pick up my laptop and hastily press play on a new movie I had downloaded, wishing to distract her from asking any more questions that I couldn’t give answers to. I glance back to the spot in the wall where the item was hidden; I silently pray it’s locked tight. I notice that Leslie is staring at me and I quickly look back at the laptop screen. I stare at the movie and use the noise to down out my restless thoughts.








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I feel something tugging on my hair. “John, John!” My eyes slowly peel open. Leslie is staring at me.

“Well hello,” I croak out in my morning voice. I look back on the bed and my laptop is still open. We must have fallen asleep watching the movie.

I glance at the clock on the wall: its 9:30 am. I attempt to shake the sleep out of my head I take a better look at Leslie. “How long have you been up?”

“About an hour, I took a shower and everything.” She seems too perky. “And I got you this.” She hands me a cup of coffee. That explains it. “Now get your lazy butt out of bed so we can go grab some breakfast because somebody has nothing in their kitchen.”

“Fifteen minutes?”

“Ten.”

“Fine, I’ll be ready in ten.” I smile at her and walk into my bathroom.

I take a quick shower, feeling my drowsiness, along with my soap, wash away under the water. After getting out and drying myself off, I sing a little to myself, as I get ready for my day with Leslie. I stop suddenly. “Why’d you stop singing?” Leslie asks me, peeking her head into the bathroom.

I didn’t realize she was listening. I turn towards her. “I can’t remember the last time I sang.”

“You haven’t sung in such a long time, that you can’t remember?”

“No, I guess I haven’t.”

“Well, what does that mean?”

“It means I’m happy Leslie. Truly happy.” She giggles at me.

“Well hurry up so you don’t let your hunger ruin your happiness!” She hands me my keys and grabs my hand, pulling me out the door.

“Wait, I got to check something,” I yell, almost forgetting to check the safe.

“Oh no you don’t! I’m hungry and we are leaving!” At that, she slams the door and drags me out of the apartment building. I cross my fingers in hope that the item is safe.







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It’s 9:30 and I am walking back to my apartment building. Twelve full hours of Leslie today. The only thoughts running through my mind are ones of her eyes, her hair, and her laugh. I start singing to myself and open the door to my apartment building. My ears perk at the silence of the lobby. My palms begin to sweat when I hear the quietness of the lobby. Where is the superintendent? I peak my head around the corner to glance at his usual spot. His chair is turned over and there are papers strewn across the floor. I pull my hunting knife out of my pocket and creep up the stairs. I freeze. The door to my room is standing slightly ajar. It creaks as it swings open. The bed is lying on its face, with pillows strewn about the room. A desk chair resides against the wall and wooden pieces of what I assume to be my desk litter the floor. I shovel through the destruction to my hiding place in the wall. The safe hangs open in defeat. It has been found, and it is gone.

Disoriented by my fear, I stumble into the kitchen. Sitting neatly among the scattered pots and pans is a note. I tear it open, slicing my finger in haste. I barely notice the blood oozing as I read. “It was never yours to protect, I’m so sorry- L” The pounding of my heart echoes in my eardrums. I know that handwriting. I shake my head, “no, no, no, no!” This isn’t possible. She couldn’t have done this. She wouldn’t have. They are making this up. This has to be a test.

I slide my phone and dial the very familiar number of my girlfriend, “I’m sorry, this phone number you are trying to reach has been disconnected,” the automated voice says to me. I dial it again, again, and again. I slide down to the kitchen floor with my back resting against the fridge. I look down and see that my shirt is wet; I bring my hand to my face, its wet with tears. Not liking the foreign feeling, I cry harder. I can’t remember the last time I cried since becoming protector. The protector. I freeze. The item is gone. That means I failed.

My phone rings. I quickly glance at the caller ID. Unknown.

It’s Them. They know.

I stand up and walk out the kitchen to look out my window. A Man with a Black Coat waits on the street corner.

My palms are sweating. Hastily, I wipe my tear-streaked face, and attempt to walk into the chilling night air with some dignity.

As I near him, he slowly turns toward me.

“You’ve been found.”

I stare, “She works for Them doesn’t she, the ones who want the item? Who have it now?”

“You broke the rules.”

I just nod, knowing the answer to my question. The tears begin to fall again; I make no move to wipe them away.

“You have failed. Your service is over.”

Over? Can it really be over?

His hand reaches into his pocket and he pulls out something that is black.

“Your service is no longer needed.”

I see him raise the black object. I hear thunder crack. My ears ring. The ground shifts beneath me. My world grows fuzzy. My head hits the ground. My vision goes dark. I picture those eyes, those sunflower eyes.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

I am free.