Candlelight
Unknown POV
The city is never asleep. Nor do I. We made a silent agreement long ago between my soul and the concrete.
I really don't like alleyways that much but ike a ghost inside its machine I breathe along with it as it lets out its exhaust-filled sighs.
I can still detect a slight coppery and sharp blood odor on my leather gloves.
I should take them off and throw them away but not just yet. I need some time to let the sensation seep into my pores and enjoy it.
When you know exactly where to hit, you get that almost electric feeling of power as life finally leaves a body and that is what I feel hours ago. Few people can truly appreciate the art of it, the terrible beauty of precision.
I take my time walking so I don't scratch my soles on the uneven surface. There's no hurry right now. Though only I can currently read it, the action has been completed and the message sent.
And that's sll. For now.
Now that the streets have been cleared of one more stain they are once again mine. The work done tonight was tidy and efficient. Although he should have, he failed to see it coming.
Never do they. All of them that I have help send to the afterlife.
They go about their lives in blissful ignorance thinking that their wealth, status and doors will keep them safe. He was once a well-known realtor, devoted husband and devoted father of two but drugs couldn't let him sit still.
He gave me that same recognizable wide-eyed astonishment. It's a look I've come to associate with so many faces—a mask of incredulity.
Greta and everyone else looked the same in that last illuminating moment. It is a look of someone who finds it hard to comprehend how abruptly and intimately death the great and final equalizer could find them.
I let out a little dry laugh but the sound is muffled by the wet walls of the alley. He appealed. Of course he did. In their final moments, their composure breaks like cheap glass and they all beg. They make promises, offer cash or anything else. Words they all believe can buy them another hour, another day, another breath. However time is my currency which I can give and withhold.
I refused to give him any. His cries were nothing more than the last pointless sighs of a machine that was permanently shutting down.
Well, he should have mind his own business.
I turn a corner and come out onto a street that is quieter with the distant drone of the city. The moment has come. With the leather still soft and slightly warm I remove my gloves. I carefully fold them from crease to crease and then stuff them into my coat pocket.
I continue to walk these streets because they are all blind.
The cops I mean. When I'm just a stone throw away and they are searching for what isn't there
The Big Ray. Poor pitiful idiot. The entire city believes he is guilty as he sits in a concrete cell and stares at the walls. His name is now written in the papers which depict him as a vicious man who preys on the defenseless and killed his wife.
But he is nothing, a victim of blame. A clumsy handy diversion. They all should know that he was too clumsy to murder Greta. He can't.
He lacks the accuracy of a surgeons scalpel and he is just a stupid drunk.
He lacks the patience for the long haul and the mentality for it. No, that was me. I planned every detail of Greta's last day including the placement of all the fabricated evidence that led to Big Rays door.
I tilt my head back and allow the refreshing night air to caress my face. Greta was unique.
All of the other women too.
Well, she's gone.
Good riddance .
Next.
There's Ruthie as well. Ruthie, sweet, beautiful and naive. I have seen her more times than I can remember. I am familiar with her daily routine but should I say beneath that sweetness is a whole lot of stupidity.
I tsk tsk, removing the last bit of meat stuck in between my teeth
I have to move farther into a doorway’s shadow as a cab passes by, its headlights sweeping across the sidewalk. It is instinct rather than necessity.
However I enjoy being in the shadows here. The dark is truthful. It doesn't make an effort to be something it's not.
The stupid old man comes to my thoughts.
His shaky desperate voice echoes in my ears, breaking on the final word.
“Please I have family. . .”
Families. They act as impenetrable shields and everyone hides behind them. Shields however can be destroyed. I made sure of it this evening. No one will link their personal tragedy to me and his wife and two grown up kids will wake up to a cold and broken world tomorrow.
Will they ?
I guess they might thank me. He's a deadbeat father anyways.
With so many of them in the city it will be just another senseless act of violence. There is now another name on the increasing list of unresolved cases.
The media will gorge themselves on it for days. After being outwitted and exhausted the detectives will pursue their leads. And maybe from a coffee shop across the street, grinning behind my newspaper I'll watch it all.
Another lawyer on my list . Now there are four I think. Each one is a thoughtfully selected link in a chain that they helped create years ago.
The police haven't even started to suspect the connections between them. Everywhere in the world there are patterns but you have to be able to see them. I make them not merely observe them.
I bring out a small case and pull out a cigarette and light it. I released the smoke into the wide uncaring night from my lungs.
The nicotine acts as a familiar catalyst and my mind becomes more focused. I pull out a small journal and flip through it.
An address, a method and a name. An additional attorney whose life will be mine soon.
Over the coming days I'll lay out every step, every possibility and every detail. Nothing hasty or careless.
Nevertheless my mind keeps returning to Ruthie. Shes not an attorney.
However I find her fascinating. Perhaps this is because she is close to Aiden and despite his inability to prove it, Aiden is the only one who seems to really sense me.
I'll give him that he's good. He's not good enough though. Not yet. Although he witnesses the bodies, but he can't decipher the narrative they convey. Right now I picture Ruthie in her apartment with the curtains drawn and the lights off. I once got a good look at her through the window,a silhouette walking through her kitchen while humming a quiet anonymous song to herself.
She is unaware of how flimsy the boundaries between our worlds are. She doesn't realize that the predator who has been watching her sleep is the same one she reads about in the morning paper. After a final drag, I reluctantly threw it into the river before me and the black water engulfes it and it's gone.
Just like Harold tonight, just like Greta, like each and every one of them.
The announcement will be made tomorrow. Harold King dead. Once more the city will be in a panic. The mayor will scream while standing at a podium and vowing to bring about justice. Furthermore Keith, his foolish son will continue to host extravagant parties while acting dangerous even though he is nothing more than a pampered brat with too much money and no common sense.
Let everyone continue to believe that Keith is the monster that is hiding in their city. I find it funny. For me his antics make the ideal mask and for the detectives they are a convenient sideshow.
With my fingers grazing the cool smooth handle of my knife I slide my hand into my coat pocket. It is a custom piece that is precisely balanced for my hand. It's the only friend I can really rely on and the only voice I hear when the city's hypocrisy and lies become too loud.
I take better care of it than most people do of one another—I clean, I sharpen it. It now extends my will and is a part of who I am. My fingernail still has a dark stain underneath it, a remnant of Harold's blood.
Soon I'll carefully scrub it off but not just yet. Not until I give the night's memory time to fade. Not until I've seen that expression in his eyes again, keeping it in the gallery of my thoughts next to Greta's.
The heavy bell of the distant city clock echoes down the deserted streets as midnight approaches. A fresh day starts. I turn and make my way to the bustling city. Sounds of stupid music hitting my eardrums.
Sure Keith's party. He laughs, plays the fool and drinks. I just want to let him. The attention that is focused on him only makes the darkness where I live deeper and the plan becomes crystal clear in my mind.
I'm already aware of who the next person is. One more attorney. One more link in the chain. They won't notice it until it's too late.
By then I will be gone, their blood will be dry and their body will be cold. I sigh as I almost bumped into a drunk slut, her clothing reveal too. I let her cuss and rave.
Whatever. I'm thinking of something important.
B, I, P, U
Which lette
r should I give Marjorie Philips?
Ahh, I get it now. The letters, they have to follow a pattern and I got one already.