My gaze lingered on his pale face as I watched how his soul slowly departed from his body till his eyes were all matted.
Soulless.
Just a corpse.
Laying in crimson evidence.
My crimson evidence.
My chest heaved as I glanced at the lifeless man lying in the pile of his own warm blood. His ridiculously expensive clothes soaked in the red liquid as if the blood could sink back into his body, giving him a second chance in this world.
Some people didn't deserve a second chance.
Some didn't even deserve their first chance.
And they died without daring to take it.
The girls I grew up with.
My mother.
Any next victim that fell in their prayers.
Anyone at the wrong place at the wrong time.
Me?
I may have my chance.
Maybe I already had my chance.
I will never know.
With a click of my tongue, strangely dissatisfied by the mess displayed in front of me, the mess that I had caused, I threw the bloody knife into my plastic bag before stuffing the evidence away in my little purse.
Rule Number 1:
Take the evidence with you
Then I kneeled next to his body, dipping my hands into the blood, the feeling of the warm liquid on my hands and knees sending shivers down my spine. I wouldn't say I liked it. Or enjoyed it. But I didn't dislike it either. The blood was rather the confirmation of what I had achieved. The warm blood on my skin, contrary to the chills in my blood pulsing in my veins.
I deserved to live on. Not them. Even if I wanted to die every single day, wherever I might go after this life, it couldn't be worse than what I was brought into.
With every soul that I have taken, the murders became less mentally exhausting. With each kill, it was easier to go to sleep at night. With every person I had got rid of, my practice and experience broadened. Improved. Brought me more satisfaction. A victory.
And I hated myself for it.
Killing the bad guys didn't make me good.
It just made me one of them.
Taking in a deep breath, I gave the body a shake. Fatal injury or not, you had to be sure that the corpse in front of you indeed was a corpse. In battle, soldiers will strike the body another time for the insurance that the enemy is dead. Holding my hand carefully over his nose to check while trying to ensure no drop of blood ran down and tinted his face, I confirmed the death. Maybe I should have waited until I had dipped my hands into his blood. What a fucking mistake.
I felt no breath tingling my skin. Good. Everything is according to plan; I thought before I let out a screech. Beginning the less enjoyable part of tonight. The acting.
"HELP! Somebody help!"
Then I stood still, my chest heaving harder while I waited to hear a rumbling in the hallway, footsteps approaching the barely lit room.
The halfway-closed door flew open, and the head of security, Edwan, burst into the room. All is according to plan. A ridiculous plan.
"Isabelle? Get away from him!" he grabbed my arms, firm enough to leave a bruise and pulled me away from the corpse lying on the ground. Letting the tears wet my cheeks as other security guards rushed into the room, taking in the display ahead of us, I watched the scene unfold.
"What happened?", Edwan's voice went through the room, waiting for a response from me as another guard checked the man's pulse on the ground. Barely noticeable, he gave Edwan a nod, confirming the death.
"I-I don't know! He turned to me to turn around and face the wall after he was... after he was done, c-claiming he needed privacy. Forced me not to look at him- and I-I was putting my clothes back on, and all I heard was his head colliding with the floor. And a black shadow rushing out of the door, that's all I saw," I stuttered the words out with a weak trembling voice, my hands shaking as I gripped the handkerchief one of the guards handed me. Knuckles turning white.
