Note: This is totally fiction. None of this is true. It's just the work of a bored quasi-stood up woman who likes to read lots of murder stories and when writing them, instead of seeing them from the lawful point of view, sees them the other way around... This said, I hope you enjoy the short story =)
She was dead. She was dead and it was raining. It was a terrible cliche. Every horror movie, every murder scene seems to comprise of a rainy night. It seems almost like a need-to-have in order to make the story more interesting and appealing. But this was no story, no movie. She was truly dead and by my hand.
My footsteps were hidden by the sound of the fat raindrops that fell as I walked away from the scene. My raincoat was soaked through and I was starting to feel uncomfortable.
Not the best weather to work tonight, I thought to myself. It had an advantage, though. It helped wash the blood away. And little evidence would be left after a rain like there was that night.
Half the work is cleaning after myself in order not to get caught. The killing is easy. I just think of them as the animals that they are and it's not so different as killing a chicken or a cow to eat. Of course, I don't eat my victims, but they do give me the cash for me to eat. So all in all, killing cows, killing people, it's all the same. It just provides food to my table.
So I couldn't help but smile. Most of the cleaning I would leave to the rain. I seemed like I had some free time that night. Tomorrow I'd get my paybill for this one. Tonight, I'd get ahead of schedule and get the other one.
The house wasn't very far away from my previous work. Just two or three blocks. It wasn't difficult to get inside it, either. I made sure I didn't make much noise. It wasn't easy with my rain soaked shoes, but it wasn't imposible.
He was sleeping. Like an angel. Sometimes it's hard, like when you have to put your favourite cat to sleep because of old age. He didn't seem to be more than five years old. What a pity. Such a young life. But then, I had been paid for this. I had to get the job done. I never asked for the motive behind the contract. It made it personal.
I saw no point in making him suffer. I kill for a living. It doesn't mean that I enjoy seeing them suffer. That's why as fast as I could I grabbed his head and broke his neck.
There. It was done. Tomorrow I'd collect the pay check for this one too.
As I got out of the house and walked the few blocks to take the bus heading for the airport, I wondered briefly why I had been paid to kill the little boy. Never mind, not my business, I thought. I wasn't paid to think, just to do the job.
I wondered then who my next contract would be. It could be anyone. I don't need more than a reason to kill: I just need a big fat check. That's the only reason I need. So again, I wondered who would pay me next and who would I need to kill.
It really could be anyone. It could be another child sleeping peacefully, unconcious of the dirty dealings his parents were doing. It could be a rich bank manager for all I knew...
Or It could be you. Have you thought of it? You, who have been reading my recount of a night's work. Did you really think that just because you are on the other side of this written work that you would be safe? That you could be the annonimous reader who just observes and doesn't participate?
There could be someone who wants you out of the way and I'd be the happy man to make their wish come true, a big fat load of money in the way, of course. A few days from now I could be around the corner, waiting patiently for the opportunity to dispose of you.
It all depends on who is willing to pay. Nobody is truly safe. Have you thought of it? I just thought to warn you.
Beware of the shadows that surround you. I could be waiting there.
But of course, if you're my target, you won't see me coming...
==>Remake of a story I wrote quite a while ago. It was called "My perfect crime"...