Unidentified

Prologue

          The rain was pelting the windows of the small, rundown house, and the humidity outside was nearly suffocating as the heavy storm clouds coated the already pitch-black night sky. The electricity had gone out a few hours earlier, meaning that none of the street lights were operational (not that anyone should've needed them in this violent storm anyway). The only light illuminating the usually peaceful neighborhood were the blindingly bright bolts of lightning appearing through the dark, gray mass of clouds every so often. Well, that and the flashlight held by the tall man in a black trench coat getting soaked. He wore a hood that cast a shadow over his face, making him impossible to identify as he slowly creeped his way into the backyard of that little house. He wore a large pair of work boots which became coated in mud the second he stepped off the pavement and into the sparse, dying grass. He knew he would have to take them off before entering the house so as not to leave an obvious trail of grime across the floor. Taking his shoes off would also help to eliminate any unwanted noise he might create with heavy footfalls, so he wasn't too bothered by the necessity.

          The burly man circled his way around the house, glancing carefully through each of the rain-soaked windows to search for anyone who might be inside. With the electricity being out, there were candles scattered about what appeared to be the living room and the kitchen. If it weren't for those candles, he would have believed that no one was home, but only idiots would leave lit candles unattended, and the people who lived here were most certainly not idiots. Taking a few steps to his left, the man peered through another window only to immediately throw his back up against the side of the house with a splash. The rain continued to pour down on him. With his heart beating in his ears, he slowly (and more cautiously this time) peaked through the window again to confirm what he had previously seen. Inside the room was a young girl sitting on a neatly made bed with her back resting up against the headboard and her eyes closed. She was linked up through bulky headphones to the nearby phone, whose dull shine was the only light in the room. She was presumably listening to music, and hopefully loudly because it would help mask any noise he might make once he found his way inside the house.

          A few more minutes of skulking about in the pouring rain had passed before the man had found the perfect entrance; the front door. Since there was evidently no one else in the house aside from the young girl, he could have easily broken any window in a room other than hers with the screw driver he had stashed in a coat pocket for that exact purpose, but his shoulders were far too bulky to fit through any of them. Despite previously explaining how the people living in this house were not idiots, the man had slipped his shoes off, leaving them in the grass, and walked up the set of steps to find the front door surprisingly unlocked. Okay, so maybe these people were smart in... other ways.

          After clicking off his flashlight and clipping it to his belt, he slowly turned the door knob (wearing a pair of leather gloves so as not to leave fingerprints) and cautiously glanced around the interior of the shabby-looking house. He pulled off his soaked socks and took a step inside, shutting the door as quietly as humanly possible behind him. While allowing his eyes to adjust to his surroundings, the glowing candle light specifically, he reached backwards to pull out the glock he had holstered to his waist. Making his way through the main entrance into the living room, the man remained alert with the pistol by his side, checking every room in the house before he would head down to the room where he saw the girl. No one in the dingy bathroom, only a cracked mirror in which he saw his own shadowy reflection. No one in the adjacent bedroom either, which he presumed to be the bedroom of his real target considering the only room left unchecked was the one occupied by the girl. If the original target that the large man was looking for wasn't here, then the girl would have to do for now.

          Knowing that he would have to make a quick escape through the front door to grab his shoes later, the man decided to open all of the windows before the "accident" would happen to help throw the police off his trail. As he was making his way to the last window in the living room, the thunder crashed, lighting up the house and covering up the noise made by the girl opening her bedroom door. She held an empty glass in her hand (probably planned to refill it), and it immediately clattered to the floor and broke as soon as she saw the stranger standing in her candle-lit house. The man's heart skipped what seemed like five whole beats as he whipped around, tail end of his trench coat flying. They made eye contact. It felt like time had frozen. Neither one knew what to do. A bead of sweat dropped from the man's forehead. They were at a stand still.

          A heartbeat.

                   A breath.

                               A crash of thunder.

          The girl's eyes faltered for a moment, knowing that she had left her only hope, her phone, back on her bed. The intruder took this opportunity and raised his arms, aiming the gun directly at her. She made a dash with her heart beating faster than the bullet flying at her. The man had fired the gun, missing completely as the girl ducked behind the kitchen table then scrambled to her feet, knocking over one of the wooden chairs. A few more shots. One missed and hit the nearest wall. The next just barely clipped the girl's loose hair as she rounded the corner to the safety of her bedroom. The third bullet went straight through the slammed door. With exasperated breaths, the girl ran to her window, attempting to unlock it, but her hands were far too shaky for that level of control. She instead reached for the pair of scissors she had sitting in a pen mug on the desk next to her bed, knocking over the mug and allowing the pens to clatter onto the carpet. With the scissors she began to hit the window pane as hard as she could, desperate to get out. The glass shattered at the same moment that the door opened. She hoisted herself up onto the tiny window's ledge and onto the shards of broken glass, immediately feeling the stinging in her hands as the rain ruthlessly poured in. And that was the last thing she felt. 

          She didn't feel the bullet enter her brain from behind as her limp body tumbled out the broken window and into the mud. She didn't feel her neck snap from the impact with the ground. She didn't feel the blood flowing from the wounds in her warm body, nor the needle-like rain washing it away. The last thing she felt were the glass shards digging into her palms, and the last thing she heard was the gunshot that killed her.

          Her murderer ran to the windowsill to make sure the job was done, forgetting the glass scattered on the ground that suddenly cut his bare feet. He peered over the ledge, saw her dead body, and instantly took off running. He flung open the front door, shoved his bleeding feet into his rain-soaked boots and rushed to the backyard where the girl lay. The man put his gun back in its holster and unclipped his heavy duty flashlight from his belt, turning it on and proceeding to shine it in the girl's lifeless face. The light reflected on her dull, emotionless eyes. With his leather gloves still on and his heart beating one hundred miles a minute, he took out the screw driver that he had planned to use earlier and a prewritten note on a piece of lined paper. The note was intended for a different victim, but the message would still work. In fact, maybe it would work better in these circumstances.

           Hearing the sirens suddenly start up (the neighbors must have heard the gunshots), he hastily shoved the paper into the mouth of the dead body and thrust the screw driver through its forehead, staying only long enough to watch the still-warm blood begin to trickle out before he took off running.