Chapter 1
It was far too easy. Thomas Whittier lived alone in a huge manor at the edge of a small town, he was in his late fifties and he was my target. I didn't know why he was my target but it wasn't my job to ask questions. Hidden in the trees at the end of his garden, I checked my watch. 11pm. I watched as the living room light flicked off and then a few seconds later the study light upstairs flickered on. Perfect. After a few days of close observation, I knew that every week night at 11pm precisely, he headed upstairs alone to finish some work. He always worked late. 'Late' was soon going to become a very appropriate word for his situation. 5 minutes later, I ran to his back door, following the trees lining his garden. One thing that I had learnt was that, as a killer, it was to stay by trees. They prove to be good protection and great places to hide. Luckily, his garden had plenty of them. At the back door, I pushed down on the door handle, shook the door and pushed it open. I chuckled to myself; this was my easiest assignment yet. He'd even left the door open for me, how kind.
I slipped into his house silently on that warm Sunday night feeling mildly optimistic. It wasn't my first kill and it certainly wouldn't have been my last. I crept through the kitchen, up the stairs, careful to miss out the second step that always creaked and stopped outside his study door. The window of his study was wide open, the curtains billowing in the summer breeze. Mr Whittier sat in a brown leather arm chair with his back towards the door and when I entered he didn't turn. I could just see the top of his greying head over the top of the chair back. Without hesitation I drew the knife from the holster at my thigh and crossed the room. With one swift movement I pulled the knife across his throat. He gripped my arm as warm crimson blood began to pour from his neck and I struggled against the man's tight grasp. Blood filled his mouth and his voice came out rasping, uttering futile syllables and meaningless words. His beady blue eyes stared at me accusingly as he breathed his final breath. I thrust his body forward in disgust. His blood was literally on my hands and it was splattered on my clothes as well. As his limp body slid to the floor I felt a sick sense of satisfaction. It sounds wrong I know but, it's an adrenalin rush that's incredibly addictive. With his neck now slit, my job was almost complete. Beside him on a round wooden table was a half empty glass of whisky and an almost full bottle of the same stuff. It was the expensive kind that was incredibly strong, no wonder he was such an easy mark. I picked up the bottle and doused his body in it. There wasn't enough alcohol left to cover his large form so I picked up a bottle of brandy from the sideboard to the left of me and chucked that over him too. Then I took a few steps back and lit the match. It flew through the air beautifully and then the flames erupted with an expanse of heat the flickering tongues of blue and amber were even more beautiful. Then I slipped out of the study window as inconspicuously as I came.
The funny thing about blood is that it's the hardest thing to get rid of, in my experience anyway. I stood there that evening beside my bathroom sink, the water running red. This was a sloppy kill. I didn't usually have to start an inferno to get the mess cleaned up. I didn't know what was wrong with me. I took the nail brush from the side of the sink and began to scour away the blood under my nails. By the time I was finished my skin was red raw and it was extremely late or rather it was extremely early as it was 2am. I removed my Kevlar vest and then peeled away my blood soaked t-shirt and jeans. I showered until all traces of Mr Whittier demise were washed down the drain and then wrapped myself in a clean white towel. The jeans and t-shirt were black and the blood didn't show up too much, so I chucked them in the laundry basket. I picked the Kevlar vest up off the floor and opened the bathroom door. After checking that the hallway was clear, I retreated to my bedroom and closed the door behind me.
