Heart Like A Stallion

Where the Hell's All the Sanity At?

"You can do this," I told myself, "don't psych yourself out."

"Too late," I replied scornfully, hating myself for getting cold feet. I'd done it before and really effed up my mission. That was because my target was my first woman. But this time. This time was different. This time was hella different, damn it, and I was seriously having second thoughts. "You are so not going to try rethinking this, Kyle; you know the boss won't let you back out unless you were to die right now. But you don't want to die, do you, coward? No, you don't; don't try to fool me by wishing otherwise."

It always went something like this, but never quite like this. Under usual circumstances, I would be walking myself through the steps of success. Now I was counseling myself. Guiding myself through the next fifteen minutes, five minutes at a time. I didn't want to do it; in fact, it was the last thing I ever wanted to do in my life. My legs were beginning to ache from my crouch and the cold. The frosty air bit at my bare face. Pulling my beanie farther down over my ears, I awkwardly shifted my weight.

God, please, I begged silently, let this be over quickly. Send him this way soon. Too much longer and I'll lose my nerve. I never really believed in God. I do now, but how I found Him is another story. But I asked just in case there was one. I don't know if he heard me though. If He did, I wouldn't blame him for ignoring a cowardly bastard like myself. Lord knows I've never in my life deserved anything of the sort, really.

Dropping forward onto my knees, I peered over the edge of the building at the snow-covered street below. Looking both ways, I saw nothing. Damn that little street. It was so still and quiet, like a graveyard on a moonless night. I sat back on my heels, not quite ready to return to the uncomfortable yet necessary crouch. Beneath my gloves, my fingers were cold and stiff, as well as a little painful. I checked the street again, but nothing still. My hands shook some as I pulled them from my gloves and rubbed the together vigorously. Slipping my hands back into my gloves, I looked down at the street, then at my watch. I cussed under my breath. If he didn't come soon, I was selling out. Once I lost my nerve, I could and would spend the rest of my life running away from the company and die on the run. Anything would've been better than this damn job.

I looked at my watch again. He was going to be late. According to his girlfriend, he would be coming by in less than two minutes. I was giving him ten. God knows we all get delayed; maybe he wants to give Ced a chance. I wish I were in His place. What wouldn't I give? Nothing. Damn, I'm just one of those 'all-or-nothing' people. Most often it's the latter; the situations I get myself into, I swear.

Fate is a twisted thing. We all know it. What I don't like is when I bring about someone's fated demise. It's just not right. Hell, after everyone I've done, I'm as good as dead myself. I would have loved to give those people a chance to live until they were ready to go. But oh, no! Course my boss is all about getting the job done. To him, though, that means annihilation. If I go through with this job, I told myself, I am either going to persuade the boss to be a bit more diplomatic or shoot myself! Kind of funny, actually. Me, a killer, kill myself. I'd just be replaced by five more agents.

Groaning, I straightened up. Checking my watch, I saw that four minutes had passed. Looking down into the street, I saw that still no one was coming yet.

If Ced doesn't come in six minutes, screw this and he wasn't alone, I promised myself, unconvinced. I hefted my rifle with a grunt, sighting through the scopes at a bird on a neighboring roof. Sighing, I laid the gun on the rooftop next to me and rubbed my temples. Could I do it? Could I really hope to do it? I wouldn't let myself answer, because I already knew the answer. Because I knew it was the wrong answer.

It was when I looked down the street three minutes later that I saw him. Cedric Hansford was a popular man. He had many friends and befriended many people who couldn't make friends on their own without experienced help. I was one of those people. There was one difference between me and these other people, and it was this: Ced and I had grown up together. We were inseparable. Every one of my childhood memories included Cedric. When my family had trouble and I ran away, Ced was there for me, and I stayed with him at his house. If I was ever in any sort of trouble, guess who was always there to get me out of it.

Yeah, that's right. Cedric Hansford.

So this was how I was repaying him: by shooting him down in an empty street on his way home to dinner. All for a job. All to save my own skin. Sacrifice is all it could be . Sacrifice of the greatest person who would ever come into my life. Grimly I lifted my rifle and settled it. I had Ced's right temple in my crosshairs, and I was struggling to keep my hands steady. Ced stopped to read a new poster on the side of the building, giving me a clean shot. I inhaled deeply, closed my eyes, and squeezed the trigger. He was dead before he hit the snow splattered with his own blood.

Seconds later, the reality of what I had really done hit me. I despaired. The rifle slipped off of the roof and thudded unnoticed on the frozen street. For the first time since my mother died, I felt the tears come. I let them come, and they froze on my cheeks. Rising, I looked down at the still body of my best friend, my vision blurred. Taking my handgun from under my coat, I miserably pressed the cold muzzle to my temple and squeezed that trigger.

I felt an instantaneous falling sensation as I toppled from the roof, but I was gone before I'd fallen a quarter of the way. I felt myself rising up. "So this is it," I said, somehow feeling immensely relieved. "I am finally free to apologize for everything." Then thinking of Cedric, "Free to explain."