Chasing Shadows

Prologue

"2 a.m., Day of the First Murder"

The thin but intricately crafted door violently flung open, narrowly missing Steven's face. He quickly lost his balance and fell backwards on the carpet of his study. The soft landing gave little comfort to the terrified Steven, who desperately tried to distance himself from the unknown attacker standing in the doorway of his study. Steven furiously crab walked on his palms backwards, mouth agape and eyes wide open in fear and desperation. In his haste, he failed to notice the book shelf behind him and slammed his head against its side. The pain didn't even register though as his attention was funneled onto the man that was now moving towards him. The man was wearing all black, a ski mask and held in his hand a silver gun with a large grey silencer aimed towards the ground.

'Oh God' he thought, 'a silencer?! I didn't even think those were real! I thought they only existed in movies. What the hell is going on? Why me?!'

The assassin was not particularly large or imposing but he moved with purpose, as if every step and motion was intentional towards a final goal, which appeared to be Steven at this moment. Steven's movements were also towards a final goal, which was to get to his revolver he kept in his desk drawer, but his movements were clumsy and uncoordinated, paralyzed with fear. The assassin didn't move and Steven held an irrational fear that the assassin could read his thoughts so he didn't dare move a muscle either. Neither he nor the assassin made a sound as the thunderstorm outside continued to pound heavy drops of rain against the house and the study's windows. No more than a few seconds passed, but it felt like an eternity to Steven whose mind was racing a million miles a minute. Flashes of images came across his mind; his childhood, his wife and children, his job.

Then nothing. A flash of lightning and the almost immediate roar of thunder interrupted the dead space in his mind, wiping Steven's mind clear of all conscious thought. That's when Steven decided to make his move. He twisted his torso and stood up in one motion. He heard the click, and felt the sharp pain tearing through his leg. It was as if someone swung a hammer at his calf. He fell back down to the rug just in front of his desk and received several more bullets while he laid there. It felt like more, but it was only five more rounds; one more into the thigh of his right leg and three into his left. He screamed a long and deep throaty noise that was incomprehensible and piercing to his own ears. Then without any further warning he felt cold leather tighten quickly around his neck. He suddenly forgot all about the holes in his legs and instinctively pulled at the belt wrapped around his neck. It was thin, and felt like it would cut his head clean off if not for the buckle. He clawed at his throat, attempting desperately to dig into his own skin to make some space for the precious air he needed so badly. His eyes burned and protruded from his skull as the desperation overwhelmed his emotions far greater than any person ever could. He even tried reaching up at the assassin's face but as he raised his arms he had barely enough energy to lightly slap the fabric of his mask. It would soon be over. The pain was the first thing he felt leave. Then his hearing, then his feeling in his arms. Still the assassin pulled at the belt as he pushed off Steven's shoulder with his foot for what also seemed unnecessarily long. Eventually, he did release him, and Steven's lifeless body fell with an unrestrained and heavy thud. Maybe it was the fear, or the hit of his head on the floor, but Steven thought he was still alive. His brain was still processing what he is eyes saw at any rate. His final sight was the corner of his glass desk and the handle to the drawer where his revolver remained secure and unfired. But that was only temporary, or maybe even his imagination. Because there was no more Steven Crane, the assassin made sure of that. And if all went according to plan Steven would be only the first.