"Haunt Me" - one character watching over another [as a ghost, watching from a distance]
She kept careful tabs on his blond head through her scope. She had spent the last week and a half watching him, studying his schedule, his life. That was her job; she was a professional hitman, paid to observe and kill from a distance. Unemotional, detached, passionless—it was an easy life for such good pay.
It was always the elite that came to her. They wanted a rival out of the way, a lover silenced, but this contract was a tad unique. Someone wanted their son out of the picture. The man wanted an "accidental" scene. She didn't do accidental. She preferred clean and professional. One bullet was all it ever took.
The blond moved among the crowd, oblivious to the crosshairs trained on him. He smiled and schmoozed, shook hands, laughed. He didn't look as if he particularly enjoyed doing this; it was all a farce. She didn't care about his motivation, only his proximity to others. If she wasn't careful, she could ruin a nice ten-thousand dollar suit or dress, and wouldn't that just be a shame.
He stood alone at the buffet table and she knew this was her chance. She stared through her scope, mind and body going still. She inhaled as her finger closed over the trigger. His forehead was in the middle of her crosshairs; she could see individual strands of his hair, the startling blue of his eyes. There was no one to block her shot and no wind—the perfect execution. Slowly, barely loosing the air from her lungs, she exhaled and squeezed the trigger.
In a blink, his head snapped back and exploded into fine red chunks with a sickening crack. It took one heartbeat for the body to fall and two more for the first scream to pierce the air. Chaos erupted in their little party.
She began to dismantle her rifle, calm and sure as she ever was after a kill. They weren't personal, just business, even if she kind of liked Damon Baird.
Bernie woke with a strangled scream. She had been barely conscious when her hands covered her mouth, always vigilant of the other men trying to sleep in the barracks. It had only been a dream. She was shaking and she felt sick, but it was only an awful nightmare.
She took a moment to compose herself then rolled to the right to see Baird sound asleep on his cot, his usual grimace lining his face even in sleep. She sighed. She never dreamed so realistically. Damon Baird was just that much of an ass, that egotistical, that he would demand a starring role in her subconscious. She reached across the small gap and stroked his cheek with motherly affection.
She wondered how he slept so soundly.