Where's a broom when you need one?
Ella was practically dead on her feet by the time she stumbled into her apartment. Neither Matt nor the brothers had stopped by the store today– only a disgruntled mother of three, and a thirteen year old that had tried nab a candy bar. “Civilians…” Ella muttered under her breath, dropping her bag on the coffee table and moving to turn on lights in the living room. Just as her fingers ghosted over the switch, a voice spoke from behind her.
“Mr. Johnson–”
Ella let out an unholy shriek as she spun, flicking on the lights as she did so, and reaching for the baseball bat she kept in her main entryway. “What the fuck man!” she yelled, bat raised menacingly over her shoulder as she faced the intruder. He was well dressed, the suit obviously costing more than a year’s worth of her rent. Light blue eyes blinked at her rather owlishly from behind a pair of designer glasses.
“You’re not Mr. Johnson,” the man stated, and Ella could tell he was fighting to regain his previous composure. She gave him a deadpan look as he straightened out the front of his jacket.
“No shit. Last time I checked I wasn’t a man or a Johnson,” she spat, positively livid. She just wanted to make some Kraft Mac and Cheese and call it a day. Was that too much to ask? “Apparently,” Ella thought to herself.
“My apologies, Ms…?” he said, stepping forward, but freezing when Ella raised the bat a fraction of an inch higher.
“Like hell I’m telling you my name. Is that even part of the burglar protocol– you know what, never mind, just get out of my apartment,” she said, and the man raised his hands in what was supposed to be a ‘I-mean-no-harm’ gesture.
“Mr. Johnson is a…friend of mine, I was only waiting for him. I thought this was his apartment and the door was unlocked,” he said, the lie delivered with a flawless pokerface and unwavering voice. Ella knew full well that she had locked her door– she lived in Hell’s Kitchen, not Disney World. She humored him anyway.
“If you make it a habit of waiting for your ‘friends’ in dark apartments, standing menacingly in a corner, I think you should get help, dude,” she said, scrutinizing him as he shuffled toward the door, hands still raised. He smiled– it was closed lipped and stiff. There was no amusement or warmth to be seen– only mild panic. “Good,” Ella thought, “you should be panicking, ‘cause if you try anything this bat is going up your ass.”
“Is there anything I could do to make you forget this incident?” the man inquired, reaching up with one hand to smooth back his head of brown hair. Ella squinted at him.
“…Yeah,” she said after a moment of hesitation, and the man looked honestly relieved, “get out of my apartment and don’t go around lurking in dark rooms. Especially rooms that belong to me. I mean, what if I had a weak heart– you can't mess with people like that.” The man was honestly surprised at her request and mild outburst, probably expecting her to demand his spotless Oxfords. Or to break down into hysterics.
“I was thinking more along the lines of a…monetary compensation,” he said, his tone indicating that he fully expected Ella to accept. He even went as far as to glance around her matchbox of a flat with something close to disgust. But, Ella valued the simple things, and food and sleep were very high on her list right now.
“No thanks, and every minute you’re still in here, is one less minute I have to enjoy my dinner and get to bed before my morning shift. So, can you please leave, like I’ve asked, what, four times now?” Ella exclaimed. The intruder only nodded, finally exiting with a particularly insincere ‘enjoy your evening’. With a sigh, she sank down into her couch, bat held loosely in the hand that dangled over the edge. “I’m like a magnet for the threatening weirdos,” she groaned, throwing one arm over her eyes. After a few minutes her stomach grumbled in assent.
“Feed me, Seymour,” she mocked, laughing at her own joke, before heaving herself off of her heavenly piece of furniture. She changed quickly and efficiently into her flannel pajamas, because she couldn’t afford to keep the heat too high, and proceeded to make dinner. Although she managed to burn the boxed Mac and Cheese (falling asleep at the counter was admittedly not one of her finest moments), it was a pretty decent evening from there on out. Well, almost. She had just burrowed all of the way under the covers when there were a series of heinously loud knocks at the door. Ella groaned, debating on whether or not to just ignore whoever it was, before the knocks sounded again, impossibly louder, and very insistent. Ella wanted to cry. With a whine, she all but threw herself out of bed and trudged to the front door, not even attempting to tame her wild mess of hair, or straighten out her pajama top.
She swung open the door with a flourish, leveling a dangerously neutral expression onto the suited man before her. It wasn’t the intruder– this man was younger, if only by a few years, his suit the standard black and white, his hair more blonde than brown. Two other men stood behind him, all donning the same attire. Ella was always ready to admire a man in a suit, but not when said man interrupted her beauty sleep. She only wanted to admire the fluff of her pillow, at this point. “What?” she hissed, completely bypassing formalities. The men looked entirely taken aback, the first one stuttering out something that sounded like it could’ve been a question, but all ultimately remaining in stunned silence, looking at her like she had ten heads. “If you don’t speak up in the next five seconds–”
“Is Wesley here?” the first one asked, peering over her head and into the dark apartment. Ella fought the urge to outright snarl at him. Was there a rumor going around that she was a man?
“There’s no Wesley here, and there’s also no Johnson, because I’m assuming that’d be your next question,” she ground out, placing both palms against her eyes and letting out a long breath to keep from strangling the men before her. “Where’s my broom when I need it?” Ella thought.
“Francis!” Ella looked up as the intruder from before, who she now surmised was Wesley, strolled down the hallway, the man in front of her turning at the sound of the name– his name, apparently. “I’m so sorry, they were supposed to meet me at Mr. Johnson’s apartment, but I gave them this address– the wrong address,” he said, coming to stand to the right of Francis, and waving the other men away with a flick of his wrist.
“Uh huh,” Ella grunted, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorframe, “cool story, bro, really, I’m enthralled, but if you’re done showing up at my apartment during random hours of the night, I’m going to go sleep. As much as I love rocking my jammies in front of well-dressed strangers, it gets old.” Wesley stared at her for a few moments, sizing her up, and Ella reciprocated the look, standing up a bit straighter.
“Of course. I’m sorry for the inconvenience,” he said, and Ella noted just a tad bit more sincerity in his voice than before, his smile a degree warmer. Good thing, too, because Ella was ready to beat the sincerity into him if need be. She nodded, and was in the process of closing the door, when he spoke again. “Oh, and miss–”
“Yeah, yeah, the Men in Black were never here, got it,” she said, giving Wesley the most sarcastic thumbs up she could muster. He actually smiled then, pearly whites gleaming in the fluorescents, before turning and disappearing back down the hallway. “A weirdo magnet, I swear to god,” Ella muttered, before retreating to her bedroom for much needed rest. She couldn’t wait to tell Matt and the brothers of her encounter– maybe they even knew the guy? The Russians were criminals and Matt chased criminals, so it was probable, right? “Right,” Ella confirmed, before snuggling under her blanket, and succumbing to sleep.