Hers ~ Camren

Chapter 2

Attention sensitive souls! Mention of torture.

Lauren

I just arrived at the fourth floor and pass by the man I will kill later. His cologne is horribly overwhelming; I can feel it when I pass behind him, as well as a row of books further away. The shadow came with me, pushing me to do it. I push it back. Patience. Yes. We must be patient. But as I walk down the aisle, I think maybe I could kill him a week earlier. He makes exactly the same movements, as they had done the previous week and the week before. Maybe an early death. If the parking lot was clear. If I have the opportunity. I smile, fortunately I thought about bringing the syringe with me. I tried to follow all the steps as much as possible as if it were the real time. Preparation. Yes. This is what separated the good kill from the best. I choose a book at random and open it from above, holding it in front of me without looking at the words. The man drags his feet and gets up, undecided in front of the shelves.

Choose one, I thought. You won't be able to read it anyway. The smell of the book in my hands is an old smell, the smell of rotten paper. Libraries remained houses for all books to die. Dead books, dead author. Incredible that characters could live much longer than the people who wrote them. A person in a book can live forever, as long as there was someone to read it and remember him.

We, however, are mortal, and I did not expect anyone to remember me. And certainly, no one will remember him.

The man took a book on the shelf and I am carefully, taking the stairs on the opposite side. I didn't want to see the girl again because she could remember me. The girl who kissed me. I only remember her eyes. They were brown and sad. I can't tell you anything else about her however. She came and went like any other woman in my life, and left before I could take care to remember it. My thoughts were turned only on the syringe in my pocket and the man whose life I will steal before he can hurt more people than he has already done. Maybe his wife will remember him I thought. I smile. I think of myself as a kind of good murderer the one who works for free. A volunteer hired killer. Charity work, no murder.. We were down the stairs. I am up to the counter and at the door. He has the book in his hands. He will never have the chance to read it. Poor characters in the book. They were going to die too, being left unread. He crosses the parking lot and so am. I control the surroundings of the library. There is no one. I could do it tonight, yes. Preparations were almost done. Why not? I deserved a little respite from the shadows.

Sometimes the world is right. The wind blows in a certain way. People walk with puppet chains attached to their members and I feel like the master of the puppet. That was the way he walked, in front of the parking lot to where I would take him. I had made my decision. I will do it tonight, a week earlier. It was the perfect opportunity, and I wouldn't let it pass.

He is in his car and I am also in my car, next to him where I left him, the trunk unlocked. Before he can open the door, I speak aloud, angry.

"Have you seen who was parked on the other side of me? A certain asshole hit the door of my car."

The man raised his eyebrows and went around to come to my side of the car. He is curious. Perfect.

We are all looking forward to seeing destruction, of course. We all want to look at the damage someone else has caused. I am more honest than everyone else. I don't wait for the damage to come to me. I go out and find them. Oh, man. Yes. Him. An injection of the syringe is all it needed, and it was already unconscious. It took me only a second more to throw it into the trunk. The book is placed above his inanimate body. Patience had gone out of the window. I'm so lucky to have had a quick blow and the adrenaline rushing through me when I took it is like nothing else.

The excitement pumps through my veins when I'm in the car and I start driving away, my body in the trunk. Tonight, I will cut off his abusive hands and cut his skin deeply with my knife until the tendons loose. I think he's going to cry. Most of them do it. I think he will pray for mercy. The shadow would withdraw with the sounds of his cries. I'm going to hurt him for myself, and for the people he has hurt. He will beg me to let him live. And then, later, he would beg me to kill him.