So no, no one has ever been brought home to Mother, and I doubt anyone ever will be.
After adjusting the tripod and camera, I take my phone from my pocket to snap a few shots of the skyline and send them to Mother. My quarry is not at home, but I followed him to the building across the street last night. Just my luck that this building is a hotel, and nothing seedy either. It’s a suitable midrange lodging and has the exact view I need.
“Looks beautiful, sweetheart,” Mother says of the photos. “I wish I could join you on one of your assignments someday.”
“You can. As soon as you retire.”
“I’m too young to retire! Besides, I love my job.”
“I know.”
Mother is still a nurse but in a different city than where I was born. After Father “disappeared,” we moved, settled into a small family home, and she still lives there, working at the local hospital, primarily in the maternity ward. She’s helped deliver far more babies than people I’ve killed, so karmically, it evens out—if I believed in karma. Or cared.
Mother doesn’t know the truth about me and never will. No parent wants to learn their child is a monster. But I am the hero of this story, remember, and monsters don’t make for goodheroes. As long as I am helping to rid the world of people like Father, I don’t feel like a monster. I enjoy what I am. What I do. The hunt. The catch. The kill. I am making the world a better place for people like Mother and me, so no one has to take matters into their own hands like she did unless they want to.
“I’ll keep you posted on my progress here,” I say. “I know I’m due for a visit after this.”
“Yes you are. Don’t work too hard, sweetheart. I love you.”
“I love you too, Mother. But with this job, it hardly feels like work at all. Talk soon.”
I pocket my phone and put my headphones away to look through the camera again, memorizing the focus settings for the target’s apartment. Next is to take stock of the neighbors. The target is on the third floor, end apartment, which means he has three neighbors. One above. One to his right. And one below. Given it’s fairly early in the day, there isn’t much activity, but the apartment above has its curtains open. Looks like a family home, like the target’s own, with toys strewn about. That means noise, which is a positive if I take out the target at home and he tries to scream for help.
I chose this man because while getting my first meal after landing in the city last night, I witnessed him nearly backhand his two-year-old daughter for crying too loudly in the restaurant. The fear on his wife’s face was all too familiar. The hunch to the shoulders of a slightly older brother than the two-year-old said this had happened before, and he was used to anticipating hits of his own.
More than enough to prompt me to follow them home.
My standard protocol is to watch for several days, maybe a week, while I complete my latest travel article. I gauge all possible contingencies and outlying factors before acting and ensure the target is both deserving of death and worth the dangers. That means having an opening, any opening to get tohim—or her, though my targets are more often men—that will not risk the family discovering me nor the body. The target simply disappears. Then so do I, onto my next city.
The apartment to the right has its curtains closed, so I ignore it for now.
The apartment below…
A young man stands on tiptoe to grab a book from a high shelf. The stretch of his arm is causing his T-shirt to ride up, revealing a tattoo. I have to imagine the design extends up his spine, because what I can see is only the base of a staff with something winding around it like a snake. That part is black, while behind it is a tracing of his spinal cord in electric blue.
The Rod of Asclepius perhaps? A rod with a snake winding around it is the traditional symbol for the medical field. Some use the Caduceus instead, which has two snakes around a rod with wings sprouting from the top, but that is for commerce. It’s also the symbol for Hermes, since he is the god of trade. To use the correct rod has me intrigued.
He also has the sort of softness around his middle that would be perfect for clutching.
When he turns abruptly at someone entering the room, I see the deep groves at his hipbones just before his T-shirt falls back into place. This room has a spectacular view indeed. Or it did until I realize the newcomer is screaming at Handsome Med Student.
Definitely a med student, given the text book he retrieved. I can’t read the title, but the cover art shows a series of cells in various exaggerated colors.
Definitely handsome too. His softness is centralized to that bit around his middle and a shapely behind. He is broad, well-muscled, and has powerfully built thighs that strain against his jeans. His hair is sandy blond in a heartthrob bob like a youngDiCaprio, but instead of smooth cheeks, he has a short beard that is little more than scruff.
I want a better look at him as soon as he starts screaming back at who I assume is a recent ex—or about to be one. Handsome Med Student isn’t backing down from this screaming match but full of furious fight that makes his skin flush in the apples of his cheeks. He is every kind of distraction I let myself indulge in.
An alarm sounds from my phone, and I look away from the camera to check it. I overheard my target mentioning a lunch date today. It’s still early, but I set the alarm so I could leave with plenty of time to do some actual work before I find my way to the same restaurant. A slip of a twenty will ensure I am seated at a table next to my quarry’s, and the rest is reconnaissance.
Time to head out.
I glance through the camera again, but Handsome Med Student and his ex are no longer there. I both hope to see him again and that I won’t, since it seems in his best interest to not stay in that apartment. I leave the camera, only planning to take photos with my phone for today, and grab my messenger bag, wallet, and a notepad, since I prefer handwriting my notes and first drafts.
Even this early, the day is on the warm side, but I still wear slacks, a button-down, and a blazer. A well-groomed but not too flashy appearance makes it easier to blend in and seem harmless to passersby. I also like the tailored look, but mostly for myself. In male partners, I prefer the ruggedness of a T-shirt and jeans, just like Handsome Med Student.
As he is entering my mind again while I am debating between public transportation and walking, he and his ex burst out of the apartment building’s front entrance. This isn’t a busy street, more a detour than a main drag, so other than me, there is no one around to bear witness to his ex’s rising ire. And it is rising. I have seen such men erupt too many times, and the torrentof vitriol when a volcano like him explodes always damages the least deserving.
“—jealous, controlling—” Handsome Med Student is mid scream as they pause along the sidewalk. Neither notices me across the street, easily within eavesdropping distance.
