Did you know that, when you kill somebody, their body doesn't just shut down the minute your blade makes contact with their skin?
I didn't.
The sharp edge penetrated the flesh, but it wasn't easy. It doesn't just glide in like it does on TV. You have to push it in; to use force to make sure it slips in as deeply as possible. You can't risk your victim not dying. If they don't die, they'll know who you are, because you make mistakes. In those last seconds of somebody's life, you slip up. You speak to them, or you let them see your face, because you know they'll die. But what if they don't? What if you mess up to the point where they don't die, you're forced to flee, and they remember everything?
That's why I plan everything carefully.
I've been watching him for months. I know everything about him and yet it feels like I know nothing at all, but none of that matters in his last moments. Right now he is Jake Fitzgerald, and he has dark hair and similarly dark eyes, his muscles hidden by the loose grey hoodie he wears over a plain white t-shirt. There is a smirk on his face and he hides the pain he feels at knowing he hurt his girlfriend yet again. The inevitable break-up will follow, and then a week later they'll be together again, lost in sheets and whispers in the darkness of numerous hotel rooms. But that was then, and this is now. Right now, he is Jake Fitzgerald and he is hurt because he knows he has hurt his girlfriend, Brooke Maddox. Tomorrow, he will be Jake Fitzgerald, and he will be sliced beyond recognition.
He passes me and I give a smile, because it's time. It's time I make my move and I have to be friendly because people don't trust you when you're hostile. He scoffs, rolls his eyes and mutters something under his breath. I don't reply - I just follow him in.
Once we're inside it's easy to dispose of him because this place does not exist. Nobody can find him, nobody can hear him scream, and nobody can hear my heavy breathing as I struggle to balance myself and not drop the knife. It's okay, I'm new at this so I try to do exactly what my sister has taught me. Elbows on the ground, try and control the muscles in your arm so you're not trembling. Take deep breaths. Plunge it into his chest, make sure it punctures his heart. He gurgles as he chokes on his deep crimson blood and I watch, captivated by the way life slips away so slowly from somebody who was very much alive only moments before.
"He's dead." Her voice is too loud in the silent cafe and I flinch because I don't expect it. "Stop staring and help me move the body."
"I've done enough. You get rid of it." I don't feel bad - there is not even a tiny sliver of remorse in my body, but I find the process exhausting. She smiles like she understands, and steps up as if she is about to envelop me in a hug, but stops herself. She has never shown any affection towards me and I've always been fine with that. You can't want and can't long for what you've never had.
"Go. Get some rest. You've got a big day ahead of you tomorrow."
I nod at her words and turn to leave. I don't know what she's going to do with the body, and I don't care, but I do know that my first kill wasn't as thrilling as it should have been. It's not enough. I need more.
