"So many lives have fallen before this. Mine is not the first, nor will it be the last. I do hope you understand. I wouldn't have it any other way."
At the bottom of the note, I shakily wrote a name that was not by own, and placed the forged suicide note on the top of the body I had just slain.
I had emotionlessly killed many people before. They were just stick figures. Nothing. Why did this murder feel so different?
It's because of who the victim is. Look into his dead eyes and honestly say you can feel no regret. You grew up with the man, for God's sake.
I shook. That dreadful voice echoed in my head once again. It only spoke after I had killed. This time, though, it was louder than all the others.
"G-G-Go away…" I whispered aloud.
I can't, B. I am you. You can't tear yourself in two.
"You shouldn't talk to me like that…"
I'm just speaking the truth.
I crouched in a small corner and placed my hands over my head, as if that could muffle the echo of myself sounding in my brain.
Look up. I did as I had ordered myself. I saw a vision of a man torn in two, frenzied in pain. I saw into the mental anguish ripping him up by staring into his wild, crimson eyes. I pitied the poor, ruined soul. I blinked and realized I was literally looking into a mirror.
I screamed. The room I was in was mirrorless when I had entered. I had specifically checked. I don't like mirrors being around when I'm performing my sacred art of killing.
I blinked again and the mirror was gone. It must have been a hallucination.
Beyond, I just showed you yourself. Did you see any hope left? If you're unsure, I can show you again…
"NO!!" I screamed. "I saw…there was none." I looked again to the fresh corpse lying a few feet away. The blood wasn't completely dry yet.
You know what to do… The voice faded, echoing emptily.
I did. I kicked the knife away from the palm of my victim, placed there after I used it so it'd look like a suicide. I couldn't bear to even brush the flesh of the body with my own. After it was dislodged from his hand, I picked it up and held it, knuckles white.
I looked at the dead body of my mentor, the great detective, L. Dead by my hand. Already the reasons why I had done such a rash thing were a blur of emotion and mental instability, if not simply pushed from my mind, an unwanted memory I had decided to forget. The first clear memory I had was seeing his chest wrapped around the glistening blade. He had looked into my eyes with not anger, nor grief or fear, but calm acceptance. After that, I had painstakingly torn the knife from his weakening body. He had immediately fell to the ground and just…died. Even if I had wanted to or tried to save him, I wouldn't have been able to.
Basically, after I had killed him, I freaked and for the first time, tried to hide the fact that my victim had, in fact, been murdered. That's where the suicide note had come in…
I shook my head clear. I had to focus if I wanted to do this properly.
I tore my eyes away from L, allowing my first tears ever to fall, and closed them, shaking like a leaf. I held the blade to my chest, directly above my broken heart.