Still: Prologue

Part One- one

Slipping on my favorite black half- gloves, I was finally ready.

My last assignment of the year.

First of all, I’d like to establish that I know that you’re reading this. Creepy, but I have no one else to talk to. Keep in touch, alright? Wink.

I’m walking down the street, cap on. It’s midnight, and just before anyone can spot me, I’m out of their sight.

Gotta keep quiet like that black cat.

Look cute, briskly cross the street. My hands graze over my leather tight pants. Most suitable for the occasion.

I’ll tell you now. I’m not a stalker and certainly not a creeper, or anything like that. I walk my own path.

I listen to no one.

I follow only the orders from the boss. And it isn’t the government. I don’t do CIA, FBI any crap like that. It’s the dark underhand that I work for. We track. We follow. And we kill.

Formulate a gang and attempt to hurt civilians, we kill you.

Getting back to my mission, I’m already smiling from the win I will be getting tonight. Unlocking the door to my victim’s apartment, I immediately turn off the sound alarm.

I slowly cross over the trip wire attached. I count, one, two…. And just as I’m free, three.

Three traps in front of the main door. Not bad.

I look around the dark room. A normal setting, but I could definitely tell something was a miss.

Papers, stacked all around, but not normal newspapers you’d see in a house. With my flashlight, I find tons and tons of pictures of kids, times, places, circled with red ink and underlined.

Talk about the most desperate serial killer ever.

I didn’t think it would be this easy, but it was. You see, looking into the other rooms, proof was written all over. All the plans, and even some weapons lying freely on the floor.

Entering the single bedroom, I see an old desktop computer lying on the desk. I turn it on.

A password request pops up on the blue screen.

I chuckle. How could I have forgotten?

I leave the room, gathering the evidence. “Candace, Candace, Candace,” I say out loud in the apartment.

I turn on all the lights and begin to pick up evidence. She wouldn’t be home for another fifteen minutes.

Click. Click. Coding resolved. Ha. Cracked the computer.

I save all that she has onto a floppy disk. Slow computer, but hey, I’ve got five minutes to spare.

Then I bug the computer. No one will ever know anything about this. Even in if the cops come, they won’t be able to find out what’s up.

The door clicks. I smile, and get up from the couch. I crouch next to the opening of the kitchen, waiting for her to enter. I see the silhouette of the woman, quietly hopping over the three traps.

She comes closer to the living room. It seems as if she hasn’t noticed anything, so I’m still safe. Five steps, four…. One.

I lash out, hitting her smack in the neck, and she goes down.

I tie her up- it seems like forever until she wakes up. I cock my gun.

“Morning, sweetheart.”

Her eyes widen in horror.

“Wh-What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry, but do you know me?”

“You- you’re one of them.”

I stomp my foot. She moves back about an inch. Tied up tightly, she’d never be able to get out.

I speak with a cool tone, dipping my each of my words and weighing them into her head.

“Candace Sui. Ex- gang member of the Rosen. Did you like it there? I guess not. You lived in shambles. And now, you’re known as the most feared serial killer in this town. What, do you like kidnapping children? Killing them? Your job: A librarian at Westington. A beautiful job, surely you won’t be able to go back anymore. You have a divorced husband who’s made his way off to London. Your son, who’s doing well in college, yet won’t ever see you. No friends, nothing. Just pure hatred for children. Am I right?”

She continued to stare at me and refused to speak.

I stood up and crouched in front of her. I threw a bunch of photos in front of her legs.

“Do you know who these people are?”

She turned away.

I grabbed her dirty blonde head and forcefully aimed it towards the photographs.

“Look at them. They’re the families you’ve killed. The lives, the unhappiness. Your craziness.”

I finally released her head. Tears streamed down her face.

I went back to the foldable chair and leaned back.

“P-Please, let me go.”

“Tell me who your boss is.”

“I c-can’t.” Her voice was muffled by her crying.

“What did you say? Speak up.”

She just kept crying.

“Alright then. Die.”

I could already picture a week later, with news about a woman who died of an unknown cause one morning.

I walked out of the apartment, duffel bag full of papers. I’d sort them out tomorrow. I pulled off my gloves and black cap. I lit a cigarette and slowly walked on the wet street. I wonder when it had rained.

Then my phone vibrated in my pocket. I took it out and glanced at the number.

-Unknown-

The conversation lasted for one minute.

I dropped my phone and cigarette unconsciously.