Tree branches violently pounded against the window panes, responding to the rising storm. While clouds once white swirled with the black of a thunderous background, the winds rose dust into the air and uprooted newly planted crops. The shutters of a small gray home held on to their hinges by fragments of wood. Rain soaked the thirsty fields and washed the countryside. The temperature fell creating a chill, this was the muffler for a heinous crime.
A man clad in sin slowly covered his hands with the gloves that would shield his identity. Black, worn and sacred these were his favorite pair. Always in his pocket, they never left his side. These gloves carried his indiscretions. He walked up the cement stairs passing through an unlocked doorway making his way toward his sleeping victims. This had become his routine. Cold steel clung to his hip awaiting its one and only purpose. This man was no stranger to destruction, he reveled in it. Doing what he had been taught, he placed the edge of the pistol to her head. Who she was, was irrelevant but what her child was had brought about her untimely fate as well as the dreaming man's beside her. Without blinking, he tapped on the trigger that was all it took to steal a life. Shots never rang out, never pierced silence nor did they cause alarm among the neighbors. Instead they pierced the skin of two innocents, leaving crimson trails of evidence that the rain would soon rinse from being. He made his way to the child's room to claim the treasure he had been sent to secure.
The creek of the door did little to faze him. When he reached the child's bed he was distraught to find nothing but pillows. He had seen the child enter the house earlier that evening. He knew that the boy had never left the premises yet there was no sign of him in sight. Had the boy heard him enter, heard him kill his parents or had someone interfered with his plans. Enraged he threw the nearest lamp against the wall, creating a shrill crash. He reached for his phone, dreading the wrath he would encounter on the other line.
"He's not here."
"You better damn well find him; he is the key to all of our plans. Your life depends on it." The conversation ended with a click. The man's voice on the other line had been harsh and far from pleasant. It was edged with a rasp and deepened when angered.
Suddenly a siren could be heard in the distance. Apparently the lamps crash has been enough to startle the neighbors. The killer made his way out of the bedroom window and out onto the roof. He jumped barely landing on his feet and ran into the drenched night.