STRANGULATE | Markicest

2 | JUGULAR

"Thanks for joining me for dinner," said Mark as he put away the dishes, briefly rinsing them before drying his hands and turning towards Ethan.

"Of course," he said. "It was great as usual."

Mark led him towards the door, hand hovering behind Ethan's back. "You're sure you don't want to kill with me tomorrow?"

Ethan chuckled, turning towards Mark as they stood in front of the door. "Next time," he said. "I'll come over when your methods are a little less violent."

"Mm, poison's no fun, though," teased Mark, and Ethan only rolled his eyes, smiling at the other.

"No poison and I'm not joining," he said, opening the door. Once he was half-way out the door, he stopped, looking over his shoulder and staring evenly at Mark.

"Don't go for the Tear Stealer," he warned, eyes stern. "Going after him is nothing but trouble."

Mark rolled his eyes and shooed Ethan out the door. "Yeah, yeah," he said. "I'll call you when I'm ready for you."

Ethan huffed through his nose, and he sighed aloud. "See you next time, Mark."

"Buh-bye," he mumbled, watching him exit onto the calm, desolate sidewalk. Once Ethan faded from view, he closed the door and turned around, rubbing his hands together.

"Now, who should I kill next?" Mark muttered to himself, heading back into the kitchen. His eyes swept the room, landing on the wet, gleaming blade from dinner.

His eyes gleamed, and a toothy smile stretched across his lips.

"Perfect," he breathed.

———

Mark slipped past the bodyguards and into the bathroom, lingering behind the celebrity at the urinal. He stayed still, eyeing both him and the door, and waited for him to finish his business.

"Calvin Clyde," he said once he heard the sound of a zipper. Calvin whirled around with wide eyes, raising a hand to his chest.

"Jesus!" he cursed. "Uhm—why are you here?"

"Public restroom," said Mark. "I know this is a weird place to confront you about this—" He walked closer to Calvin, left hand sliding down to the knife in his pocket "—but I wanted to congratulate you for winning the reward. You deserve it—what with all your hard work and dedication."

Calvin fidgeted in his spot, distracted and confounded by Mark. "I—thank you—"

Mark forced his hand over Calvin's mouth and slammed him against the tiled wall. Blood smeared on the tile. Calvin's eyes widened. Nostrils flared. Panic scrabbled from his throat.

Adrenaline spiked through Mark. Exciting, delightful, invigorating. His focus zoned in on the flailing celebrity, and he held onto his mouth with vice-like grip.

Mark dragged him into the stall, using his body weight to force him onto his knees. Calvin gave a muffled cry. Tears slipped from his eyes and into Mark's hand.

Mark slipped out his knife and pressed it against his throat. Calvin flailed. He dug it into his skin. Sliding, thick, sharp.

He ripped the blade across his throat in a clean arch. Calvin gasped and gurgled. Choking on blood. Mark watched with fascination as blood sprayed all over the tile and floor.

Calvin slumped onto the toilet bowl, his jugular gushing blood into the water until it became a deep, dark red. Mark licked his lips and smiled, reaching over for some toilet paper to soak up the dribbling blood from his blade. He dropped it on the floor, stooping over Calvin's vaguely twitching body and plucking a few golden hairs from his scalp. To complete his task, he took one of Calvin's cufflinks, storing it into his pocket.