Take no prisoners.
Kill all your associates.
Leave no survivors.
All the old sayings ran through my head. I could have never gotten into this, but I did. And now I'm paying for the ultimate mistake.
What is it? I made myself a trained killer. Well technically my father did, but I let him and there is no time for technicalities in contract killing. Nor is their tolerance or acceptance.
How many people have I killed? 457. Not counting the unborn and half-deads I put out of their misery.
The life of a killer is lonely. So? I'm setting up a new identity. I'm getting out of the game. It's never easy to get out, and it's a scarring process. The whole thing is actually.
I already have four off shore bank accounts, a small house in Virginia, and enough money to last me until I die.
What I don't like about it? I don't like those stupid police men underestimating me; and the other officials, too. They never guess me, but they have no reason. I'm just a shadow, and I leave no trace.
I also don't like being called cold-blooded and seeing the evil innocence I harbor deep within.
I'm only seventeen. I have wide blue eyes, and a pretty small face. My skin is fair and my hair is light blonde as I'm often in the sun.
What do I like about my job? Working my way into people's lives, disguising myself, and traveling all over this Earth.
My personal favorite place on this Earth that I've been? Mine would have to be Amsterdam, such beautiful city so close to a killing facility. And Antarctica was nice. Cold, though.
My favorite moments? Oh definitely the merciful pleading. All the: "Why are you doing this? You won't get away with this. Who made you do this? We can get you help." Because no one but myself can help me and I always get away with it.
I sat in a sterile room, all white. There was a silver desk in front of me and I sat in front of it.
"Stella, please let in the next client." I stood up and smoothed out my black skirt. My hair was in a knot on my head. I was wearing a grey shirt with ruffles down the front and black heels.
Stella is my office assistant.
She doesn't know what goes on, she just schedules things for me and finances my affairs. She barely knows what I look like.
I tapped the intercom speaker on my phone and reopened the sleek MacBook Air.
I swiped my bangs to the right of my face and examined the pristine room.
"Stella, send in Mr. Waters." I said graciously. I let go of the button and went over to the door. I stood next to it, ready.
A young man, about 18 walked in. he had blonde hair and turquoise eyes. What a shame. I grabbed his arms and twisted them into a position where he couldn't move.
"Where's the money?" I said.
"I had it wired into your bank account Thursday." He ground out.
"And the other half?" I twisted a little harder.
"Next Thursday, when it's done." He said in pain.
"Good." I released him.
"So, you know your target right?" He asked.
"Yes."
"Well, he walks down this alley every day after he gets out of school at two: forty-five." He said pointing out an alley.
I think I'd get him elsewhere though. The past week this gang member had taken sketchy routes. Some make it so easy.
"How do you want it done?"
"Slowly. Preferably some fine knife work. That'll put me out of the question if they ever do look for me."
"That'll cost you another k." I know how to make a living.
"Fine, but only because I need it done so fast." He grumbled.
You can't turn on contract killers.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Why don't you do it yourself?"
"Can't get my hands into stuff like that. Politics when I'm older." He answered tersely.
I nodded and made a note on my Mac Book. The sleek silver screen's pixels all perfectly lit.
"Good day Mr. Waters. I'll be in touch."
"Yeah, yeah." He shook his head and left.
I really wouldn't mind contracting him. Holding a bond over his head. Some people just do not belong in society. I am indeed, so do not even attempt to tell me.
I checked my emails.
One call request, another call request, spam, call request, encrypted e-mail, call request, note from Stella, bank note from my low amount bank account, a college letter for a class reunion.
I graduated at the young age of twelve, my father started homeschooling me at the age of two and when he put me in real school I skipped grades continuously.
I never once made a friend. Guys really liked to talk to me; I didn't care much for them. They are nuisances and my main target demographic.
I made several calls before I sent Stella on her lunch break.
That's when I made my way out to the alleyway where "Brian Rogers" passes through.
I had changed into street clothes and put in green colored contacts. I wrapped my head in a scarf and styled the exposed hair so I would not look the same.
"Hello Brian." I spoke softly, stepping out of the shadows.
"…" a look of panic and terror crossed his face before I saw him relax and step closer.
"You know, not answering is rude." I had my eyes opened wide with innocence and tilted my head to the side.
"Hey Steffi." He grinned.
"I hope you realize my name is Charmina." I stepped closer, slowly moving my hand to my back pocket.
"You know, alleys are dangerous. I wouldn't want someone as pretty as you to get…hurt." He was smug.
In one swift motion I kicked his shoulder next to his neck and unwrapped the scarf.
I wrapped it around his neck. My knee was in his back and I was holding his arms. My face pressed up next to his.
"Listen here. I'm a killer for hire. You want to say that again?" I said innocent still.
"No." he choked out.
"Good, now. Back to business. If you give me six thousand, I'll kill your killer. I really don't want to hurt you. I hate your murderer though. I think, if we can put this past us, I could use you on my team." I lied. You know how serial killers have schizophrenia and paranoia and pathological lying skills? I have them all, under control.
I am in perfect mental condition.
"Okay, I'll scrounge it up for you." He said.
"Have it in cash, by Monday or I can't help you unless you sell me your soul." I said eerily and with an unbeatable speed I drew back into the shadows. I was already gone as he stood back up.
I was making my way to the dinner near sixty-Third Street.
I sat down and ordered a coffee.
I was waiting for my employer to meet me.
A tall man in a black trench coat took it off and came and sat at the table adjacent to my own. I inconspicuously flipped my hair over the left shoulder.
Nope. Not him. In fact, not even close.
The man that came next was a man taller than any basketball player I had been close to.
He had brown eyes, hair, skin and a black coat.
"Ahh. Yes. I have something for you." He said handing me a newspaper. I folded it and slipped it inside my coat.
"How's Linda?" I asked faking interest.
"She's good and the boy is coming along nicely."
"Oh it's a boy? That's great news! Congrats!" I said.
"Yes, isn't it wonderful? Life is such a beautiful thing."
"That's great, send my regards." I said giving him a hug before paying for my coffee and rushing out. I had to be careful with all the cameras around.
I jumped into my car of the day, a Nissan Rogue.
I zipped through the streets to get to my next victim. This time I would not hesitate to kill him. Or her in this case.
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