The Notebook

Prologue

A man in his mid-thirties smiled as he listened to the person speaking on the other line. He leaned comfortably on his office table and nodded his head in appreciation. He uttered a brief thank you and ended the call.

Sighing to himself, he pulled out his drawer and took a small notebook. Taking note of the date and time, he scribbled a few words on it and tucked it safely in the pocket of his black office suit.

The good news lit his gloomy day and he rewarded himself by retiring to his house earlier than before. He wouldn't need to work overtime by now; not anymore when everything he wanted was going on as planned.

However, by the time he reached his car, something quite unnatural caught his eyes. A dark silhouette of a man inside a black car, parked two blocks away from his, was unbelievably disturbing. He had been seeing the very same car for about two weeks now. He stared curiously at the direction of the car and scanned it for any unfriendly signs.

Seeing nothing peculiar, except for the fact that the man seated on the driver seat seemed to be staring back at him, he decided to ignore the growing paranoia and anxiety in his heart. He opened the door of his car, sat, buckled up and drove off.

The moment he reached his house, he immediately jumped off the car and hurried his way to the door.

His unsettling feeling was confirmed.

Brushing his right hand against his hip, his cold fingers skimmed past the heavy metal gun tucked in a holster attached to his belt. The lights in his mansion were turned off except the one in the masters bedroom in the second floor. He tried to swallow the worry gnawing at him but to no avail.

Undeniably, this was the most dangerous gamble of his life but he could not let his family suffer the consequences of his actions. He had no spare time to think about who had betrayed his trust. Right now, he had a family to rescue.

But before he could even make a move to push the front door open, a crippling pain stabbed his right leg, and another shot at his lower back. The muffled sound of the gunshot reverberated in the dark night as he fell helplessly on the moist ground.

Earlier the evening, he thought he had already won the game. And now, by the way the situation was asserted, it looked like he had assessed the state of things wrongly.

He stared at the man whose gun was pointed at his chest, directly over his heart. Through the look in the man's eyes, he knew that he didn't want to do what he had done and was about to do. Nevertheless, he knew that the final judgement regarding the length of his life was not for the gun-armed man to make.

He looked sympathetically at the assassin. Reaching out a hand, he slipped it inside his coat. The coarse metal pressed against his chest harder.

"Don't move!" a strong, authoritative voice commanded.

He didn't listen. He continued his way while staring boldly at the wide eyes of his would-be killer. Coughing out the pressure in his chest, he tasted the bitter, metallic taste of his own blood.

"I know that you have no choice but to kill me," he said, his breathing laboured.

He took out a small notebook, reached out, and handed it over to the wide-eyed guy. With trembling hands, the other guy snatched the notebook away; his other hand gripped the gun tighter.

"I know you can't kill a child," the blooded man whispered with much difficulty.

He tried to catch his breath as his vision began to darken. Holding his chest as he fought for air, he whispered something barely audible before gripping the gun. The other man's eyes widen even more in surprise as his target pulled the trigger himself.

A soft sigh pronounced his passing and the other guy lost his grip of the gun. It fell on the ground with a soft thud. Staring at the notebook the guy, now dead, had given him, his mind turned blank.

He was a murderer.

AUTHOR’S NOTES:

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