The first kill is always the hardest. Even when you hunt consistently throughout the year, you get anxiety when you hold a gun up to a human head. Your nerves turn to ice and your whole body tenses up. Much of the serial killers that have murdered hundreds of people have never shed a tear. Yet, I cannot hold my weapon properly. It feels uncomfortable on my hand. Even after extensive training and preparation, you cannot train your mind for murder. Kidnapping was hard enough.
Sneaking into the house, wearing nothing but black, creeping into the bedroom, I couldn’t help it. I had to do something. Instead of standing next to her bed and watching her sleep. I made my move. Jumping on to the bed, grabbing her arms, and then taping her mouth shut. She hadn’t the slightest clue what was happening. It was like a dream, for both of us. I grabbed her body and slung her over my shoulder.
I walked out of the bedroom, not making a noise. Reaching the end of the hallway, I put her body down. She was not bound by her hands or feet, but she didn’t run. I don’t recall her struggling or if she did I was to overwhelm with adrenaline that I could feel a thing.
She just stared at me and I stared at her. After a while I reach into my pocket and pull out a small pouch. I open it and slide my fingers across the rows of syringes that line the pouch. I stop on the needle with blue liquid inside. Right when I pull it out, I am hit with something, hard. I hit the floor, dazed, only hearing footsteps run downstairs.
It was no use though, I had properly trained and the house was secured. I got up with blood trickling down the side of my temple and pick up the pouch and the syringe I had dropped. I shove the pouch in my pocket and keep the syringe at hand. Walking down the stairs, I hear the woman running to the back of the house, trying every door and window, but I am considered an expert and look at all the details.
We met by the back doorway. She was sitting on the floor, crying. I was standing in front of her, shadows casted over my face. She started to speak.
“Please, don’t do this to me! I...I...I...I didn’t do anything! Leave me alone!” she yelled.
She sobbed more and wouldn’t stop, couldn’t stop. I unsheathed the syringe and came closer to her.
“No! No! N…” she yelled louder. But I was already at her neck. I watched my hand squeezing the syringe, as I watched the blue liquid flow into her veins.
Of course, I did not kill her, not yet at least. I had put her in a paralysis. My master needed her. She is the most important piece to his puzzle. I would miss her of course. After all she is my mother.
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