His tool was still freshly dripping when he spotted her walking into the dark alley. He had just finished his job and was in much need of a rest. To workers of his profession, a decent rest in-between each case is vital; it is a high-stress job after all. But a lingering scent which emitted from her leather-clad form had provoked his instinct. Without any hesitation, he hurried his steps after her.
She couldn’t know he was following her. Nobody could.
She led him through the maze of urban alleys, carrying that scent which subtly grew stronger with every step.
It was the scent that solely kept him on her track; otherwise he would have given up already. But he knew that scent, knew it too well not to mistake it even in the midst of mixed odors. Once that scent was near, it meant business.
She suddenly turned around and for a moment, he thought she was staring at him. There was no way she could see him, right? He had confidence in his skill of concealment and never before had he been exposed. Still, he was momentarily haunted by the look in her eyes which directed straight at him. If she couldn’t see him, why were her eyes speaking of horror?
He opened his note and skimmed through hundreds different lines. As his eyes found something, a strange expression spread across his usually calm face. Whatever he was contemplating only he could tell. After a while, he closed his note and a wicked smile was played on his lips.
With a newfound sense of duty, he picked up his pace.
His information on her gave a brief description of her profession; therefore, he wasn’t quite surprised to see her enter a run-down motel at a shady corner of some red-light district. Here people came for pleasure which could be bought with a price. And whatever the price was, there would always be a worker ready to see to your need. She was one such worker and right now, it was her time of business.
Heaving a sigh, he entered the place with her. He, too, had business to attend.
Her breaths became quick, heavy pants; her body twisted; her painted nails violently clawed the bed sheet, nearly ripping the fabric. More than often, her moans came audile even for the attendants next door. It seemed her client this time was a passionate one; his fire grew stronger and stronger with time, to the point of causing her to groan in pain.
She was enduring; he could see. For workers of this profession, endurance is a virtue. She probably had had worse before and was already accustomed to dealing with this type of customers. He almost wanted to praise her for her ability to disguise her cries as moans of ecstasy despite obvious physical sufferings.
He was startled by her eyes which occasionally glanced at the dark corner where he was patiently waiting. It was only a coincidence, he kept telling himself but still, that peculiar feeling would not be shaken off.
He felt pity for her when he witnessed her look of expectancy turned ghastly. Instead of reasonable payment for her hard-working hours, she received a knife from her client. The knife was old and worn but its tongue was strong and sharp as it licked her throat. Hard.
The scent which had led him to her grew the strongest.
Even when her body had fallen, her gaze was still glued on him, at the figure that was not meant to be seen by mortal eyes. As if inquiring him, as if mocking him, her eyes which had formerly held the horror now only cast a queer gleam.
Even that gleam would eventually die.
Her perpetrator was not in a haste to leave. By her corpse he sat, seemingly in admiration of his beautiful handiwork. This was his greatest orgasm no living women, virgins or whores, was able to give. Everytime he finished, feelings overwhelmed him, allowing him to be more alive than ever, more human than ever.
It was as if he was living solely for this moment which exhausted so quickly in spite of its long, complicated construction. Soon he would have to look for another.
He saw no one in the room beside himself and her body. The knife was still where it was, lodged in her lifeless body but the expression on his face was as if it had lodged into his body instead. He felt a seething sharpness entering him, boiling him before he was no longer able to feel anything else.
His tool was dripping as he glanced at the two bodies.
She was the one his tool was meant to penetrate, he wasn’t. But the outcome turned out to be the opposite.
He took out his leather-bound note. After crossing out a few details with his quill, he closed it and allowed himself an exulted grin.
Rewriting details in his note was not a thing he usually did, he who was praised as the most professional by his peers. But an exception was sometimes permitted, he often said to his juniors, for anyone who stares Death in the face always deserves a second chance.