The Assassin
Disclaimer: I own nothing
A/N: A friend gave me a wonderful idea, and for helping to keep the mystery and suspense of the killer, letting you try to identify them, I will write the assassin's chapters in first person. Though that means they will be a bit darker, this is perhaps the darkest tale I will do. Enjoy it.
Chapter 2 (Silent Killer)
My hand tightens on my sword, my normal stillness replaced with a shakiness as I await my orders. Though not typically surprised, this victim threw me off. He's high in power, a diversion to make the police focus on the victims connected by association with our true targets. Still, it would set the entire community on high alert, and that could very well pose a problem.
The velvet curtains that frame the open window feel like silk as they caress and tug on my body, as if attempting to remove me from the darkened home. I can hear sounds of the ocean coming from the other room, and with it, the recording songs of a dolphin fills the air. "You're one of those sleepers, Eikner?" A tightness fills my chest as I pull my foot away from the curtains. "Seriously?"
The Principal of Hollywood Arts lived in a home perched atop a hill overlooking the city. He was heavily into politics and it was no secret he wanted to leave his job to enter the next race for mayor. I would prefer to wait until much later to take this man out, but I will follow the orders I have been given.
"Someone should teach you not to leave your windows cracked, you don't know what will enter." The heat drew sweat from my skin, clinging to my dark jumpsuit. I learned from scouting the home earlier that the air conditioner was out, so finding an open window was an easy task.
The sound of my blades as I remove them from their sheaths pleases me, and the gleam of the moonlight spilling onto the metal is a treat for my eyes. As I stop to admire them, the personalized inscription on each sword reminds me of my purpose, and the reason this man's life must end tonight.
In my right hand, I grip the katana, a blade intended for two handed use. Inscribed on it is the word vengeance, meant to slice easily into the prey that fills my heart with the most anger and hate. In my left is a shorter one handed blade, often paired with the katana, a wakizashi. It shoots out to two feet and upon it I have inscribed the word justice, and is a piece I use for the most immoral, such as the detective's brother.
Hugging the wall, I peer around to scan the living room. It's large and empty, with a brown sectional on one side of the room and a giant flat screen attached on a high point of a wall straight across from the couch. The room is otherwise neat and tidy, as if cleaned just this day.
Eikner may have a maid that has recently cleaned the place, so it is necessary to make a mental note of any potential witnesses living within the home. I find no fault with those that do not deserve death at one of my blades.
Sensing nothing in the next room, I slide around the wall and plunge myself into the nearest shadow that I can find. The music is coming from a hallway across the way, so I move in stealth towards it, listening as it becomes louder.
The music swells within my eardrum and I can feel my muscles relaxing as a sense of calmness washes through me. Carefully I plunge my katana back into my sheath, bearing no immediate hatred for Eikner myself.
The caller bears hatred for any and all associated with Hollywood Arts, and the caller is the one that demands their heads to be severed from the body; and that is what I shall use my katana for. It awaits the taste of more personal blood.
As I near the bedroom door, I feel the weight of the wakizashi growing heavy in my hand. The door is ajar and inside, the man's snore can be heard faint beneath the music. It would be all too easy to pierce his heart as he sleeps in the warm safety of his bed, but simple is not what the caller desires.
The caller wishes him to feel the pain of death coming for him; to beg for the sweet release of life.
The bedroom door feels firm beneath my hand, and my gloved fingers seem to treat the dark oak as if they were spilling their darkness onto it. A peculiar musk stings my nostrils upon entering the room, but nothing around the area tells me where the perverting scent is coming from.
"Smells like you haven't bathed in weeks. Jesus." Near the bed was a window cracked open; it would provide me with an easy escape. The drapes around it were swaying violently against the wind outside, and the vicious howls only distorted the sounds of the ocean.
At first thought, I wasn't sure if I should let him see his attacker. It would be easy to rouse him from his sleep and cut him with my blade while remaining unseen. If he saw me, then there would be a chance he could fight back. It is never difficult when they struggle, but it can be exhausting and time consuming, not to mention unpredictable.
Coming out of this with any injuries would be a bad idea, so pure stealth as always was my method of choice.
Unlike the caller, I do not kill for pleasure or enjoyment, but because these people must die. There is cause for their death, a death which fills a void long since diminished. I have nothing left to lose, my life has ended and so must theirs.
Let my prey be witness to my pain, let my suffering become theirs.
These are my final thoughts as I sink my blade into the left side of Eikner's hip. The man's eyes fly open and a powerful scream echoes into the air. This scream is laced with such pain that resonates within my heart.
I can feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins as I removed the blade from his wound. Blood spews out like a fountain, and Eikner's hands fly over it to stop the bleeding. I fall into the shadows behind him, giving the man very little time to spot me.
"Who's there?" His voice quivers with anguish, breaking apart into quick gasps. Eikner looks down at the blood gushing through his fingertips and begins to shake and whimper. "Oh god, I've been stabbed. I've been stabbed."
As his voice rises to a panic, a lunge forward, sweeping the wakizashi across his upper back, delivering a gash from his left shoulder to his right. Eikner lurches forward, throwing his weight against the foot of the bed as his blood splatters across the headboard and wall behind him.
Just as he turns his head, I drop to the floor. My sword falls beside me as I rest my palms on the ground, holding myself just an inch from it. "I'm calling the police. Whoever you are, wherever you are, I'm calling the police."
The phone rested on a desk across the room, so there was no reason to fear this outcome. So long as he had no cell on his body at the moment, then the chances of him getting the police before I get to him is slim.
I can see his blood drenched hand trembling above me, reaching for his glasses beside the lamp. My hand clutches the handle of my sword tight, and I push up, stabbing him through the palm.
Blood splashes out onto my body as the man tears his hand through my sword and grabs it. His cry is broken between sobs. It is the confusion that I enjoy, the sense of the unknown. When my victims can't detect the thing ending their life, then I am nothing but a monster to them.
I have that power over them, and with that power is the sense of knowing that I am the one in control.
"Stop. I beg of you." His pleas fall onto deaf ears as I rise from the shadows and without a single word swipe my sword across his abdomen. The slice opens his stomach and with blood comes his inner organs. Holding back my disgusted retching, I avert my eyes and ignore the nauseating smell I have yet to grow accustomed to.
In the final moments, I leap above him, slamming him down onto the mattress. My knees straddle his waist and with my left hand I clamp his throat and watch as he begins his struggle to breathe.
Eikner's pale blue eyes gaze up into mine and his tears reflect the moonlight shining in through the window. "Why?" He gasps. My hand tightens around his throat and he begins to choke.
His wounds have rendered him weak and powerless against me, so there is little chance of a struggle. To give him an answer to his question would be to soothe his suffering, as if breathing mercy into him.
My right hand raises high above him, with the wakizashi pointing its deadly tip towards his chest. Eikner grabs my left wrist with his unwounded hand and stares up at the sword.
For a moment the fear in his eyes turns to anger, and then to hate. As I turn into his grim reaper, I relish in the fleeting glimpse of hope in his eyes. The fight remains until the end.
My sword rips through his chest, sliding between his ribs and into his heart. I can feel his body jerk beneath me and his eyes start to dilate. It will take some time before he loses life completely, so I remove myself and watch as the essence flees his body.
His body continues to twist and jump and his hands clutch the blanket as if doing so will save him. Eikner gazes at the ceiling above him, holding his mouth open in a silent wail while his blood oozes from his chest cavity.
As I listen to his dying gasps, I clean the blood from my sword with a rag that I will burn. There are to be no traces left of me, nor anything to suggest the type of weapon being used besides the slashes of a knife.
Eikner's body has stopped moving and he lies with an expression of terror frozen upon his face. As a final act, by order of the caller, I carefully remove my katana and return the wakizashi to it's sheath.
My hands grasp the handle firmly and I raise the blade high above Eikner's head. "Forgive me, but this final act must be carried out…" The weight of the katana sinks through his neck like butter with every ounce of strength I give to aid the sword.
The head splits away, rolling onto the pillow beside it, and blood begins to dampen the sheets. I clean off the katana and turn my back to the body. My work is complete, there is no further reason to remain in the presence of the dead.
I sheathe my blade and carefully slide out the window. It will take a matter of cleaning up to ensure my outfit has little trace evidence upon it, but that is not a matter that worries me.
Several hours later I've returned to the scene of the murder, hiding amongst the treetops. The morning sun has yet to break in the sky, and dark clouds create shadows that continue to cloak me in their security.
A car pulls up to the house, and a well-rounded woman with a soft and aged face approaches the front door.
The maid, no doubt.
My heart flutters momentarily as silence looms in the air. It feels like an hour is passing me by, but I wait until the body is discovered. Soon my patience is satiated, and the silence around me is broken by a shrill scream echoing out to me.
I'm satisfied the body has been discovered, and soon the police will arrive. The real comfort will be learning of the detective's confusion. It will be much harder to take out other targets with the alertness this murder will cause, but I can do nothing about that now other than making myself more alert and more hidden.
I am curious just how well the police will be in their pursuit of me. Detective Vega is a powerful and resourceful officer, there is no doubt about that, but his weakness lies with his family. He will do everything in his power to protect them, getting too close can mean one of two things: Either he will pursue with more vigor if I threaten his family, or he will fall back with cowardice.
It will be fun to watch the reaction.
Hmm my first attempt at first person, not too shabby. Listening to stealth music while writing this caused my hair to stand on end...What are your thoughts here? It's our first glimpse into the mind of the serial killer, and you see they aren't acting alone. It'll be interesting to see you try to figure out who both the assassin and the caller are. The assassin will slowly be identified through subtle clues until identified later-for the reader-but the caller won't be identified until close to the end.