Escaping Death

Prologue

Please don't waste your breath on the things I don't regret

Baby, I'm just here for the ride

See my silhouette. Please don't ever ask me why

Every time I'll tell you, darling I-

I'm just killing time

Killing time - Jordan Fiction

— — — — —

Nightshade

Three slips. Three names.

It'll be a busy week.

If you give me a name then you already know my price...and you know these things cannot be undone.

The names that come to me are not those of the neighbor with the loud dog that you've complained to the police about at least five times and they've done nothing about it. They're not those of common criminals, members of rival gangs, or people who owe you money. They're not even those of that boss you had one summer that got a little too close, a little too friendly. The boss that would make you stay after hours and hover over your desk chair pretending to look at your computer screen when in reality he's staring down your blouse.

They're on someone's list, rest assured.

But not mine.

The names that I take are the ones that keep you up at night. The ones that have wronged you so egregiously that your teeth hurt just thinking about them. They're the ones that slip through the judicial cracks, the untouchables. Maybe they're supernatural, maybe they're not. Makes no difference to me. I don't care why you gave me their name.

Because everyone's got a name.

Everyone.

The only difference is that now you're ready. You're ready to pay any price to see that they're punished, to see that they're wiped clean from existence. Some people even make special requests. They want the name they give me whipped, strangled, decapitated. Whatever gets their rocks off.

But not you. You've given me artistic license to take out your name as I please.

That simple fact tells me more about this name than you'd think. Either you truly don't care how this person meets their end, so long as they do. Or, they've hurt you so badly, so irreparably, that even picturing their face as they die a death of your choosing is too painful.

With my prices I'm inclined to believe the latter.

Again, not my business. What is my business is Collin Driscoll, the name you gave me five days ago. In two days you'll be back to the bar to settle your proverbial tab — so tonight is the night.

Collin is a real charmer. I mean that sarcastically.

He wakes up around ten in the morning and rolls out of bed like the sun itself owes him something. He's late to work everyday because of it, not that anyone calls him out on it. No, he walks around like he owns the place which is particularly amusing since he's the newest intern and therefore the lowest paid person in that building.

There's nothing remarkable about him physically. He's an average six feet tall, he's athletic but spongy with no muscle definition. He has somewhat longer sandy colored hair that he styles back like your stereotypical ivy league frat boy.