N-7: The Dead of the Night
The door slid open with a soft whisper, allowing him entry.
His feet fell like shadows, silently on plush carpet, the only sound the gentle hum of appliances as they dozed. He glanced briefly around the gloom, not needing to know what kind of person she was, but curious. It was a waste of his memory; the place was no different from every other apartment in this sector. She was just another one of them. Just another rich girl, just another target. Her home was as anonymous as the faces on the street that never glanced twice.
Just another merlie in the herd.
He made his way across the sea of purple – or blue, perhaps it was blue in the light, though it didn't really matter – and took a moment to listen at her door, waiting. He knew the sound of her sleep, the gentle breaths that murmured across the pillow. He couldn't hear it through the wall, but she was asleep, he knew that much. The silence of the room was holding its breath.
Another door yielded silently and his heartbeat grew quicker with anticipation. It was darker in here, the blinds shuttered against the garish city lights. He understood the necessity. In the rectangle of dim light the door let pour through, he could just make out her face, half hidden by his shadow. He moved closer, to the side of the bed. Close enough to touch her.
Looking down on her was just as he remembered; though the circle of his arms was absent from the frame tonight, as was the reflection of his eyes in hers. Closed in sleep, she would never know what was coming.
She'd been sleeping in his bed last night, in his arms.
They said that in sleep, you were closest to death.
His hands felt under his coat for the cool grip of the blaster and his thumb stroked it for a moment, almost as if hesitating. But as he always did, he drew it from his coat with a slither of leather and clicked the safety off.
He settled his fingers in the familiar grooves and looked down at her face one more time. His heart leapt for a moment as she stirred, mumbling something that could – might have been his name.
Or the one he'd given her.
A slight whirring sound as the blaster thrummed; a familiar lurch in the pit of his stomach, and then it settled cool and hard and clear.
A flash of blinding light, and a burn mark on her pillow. The silence breathed.
After a pause, in which he almost regretted it, he turned and walked away.
Finis
I'm alive! Heh.
A second piece to show the darker side of the Nulls' work during the Clone Wars, this time with Mereel. I have one for each of the Nulls planned, so stay tuned for more. :)
Massive thanks to laloga for beta'ing! Your words were inspiring.
I hope you enjoyed! Please let me know what you thought.