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Death in the Air

Saskia (Clean Cut)

June 18th 2002, five days after my last kill. My targets had become so easy that I no longer have to plan how to kill them, I just show up and it was done. My targets left themselves wide open like a back door, it’s no wonder they’re dead with no witnesses.

My last kill really took its toll on me; the intended target was a hard up stripper turned house wife. She had a 2yr old child with a silver spoon, rich man Marcus Nat’relle from Chicago. She up and left in the middle of the night with his money and his kid, and moved to Virginia. I would too, after the last episode where he beat her up so bad, that she was inches away from death. Funny thing is he got away with it. His family hired some big buck lawyer, who could make a paedophile look like a priest. He threw in a low blow, claiming her job was an occupational hazard. Especially when stripping for drunk, pissed off men who threw their well-earned dollars at her. The judge agreed and found him not guilty.

I knew he was paid off, I mean everybody has a price.

Few weeks later he put a hit on her, that’s where I came in.

“She needs to die, and it needs to look like an accident,” those were his specific instructions. She was easy enough to track down. She left paper trails, but only small enough to notice if you were looking. I watched her for three weeks, I knew she would be easy to kill; her life was an open book, with the same weekly routine. Monday to Friday her son went to nursery, on Friday night he stayed at her friends’ house. She worked Monday to Saturday with Thursday being her day off. I knew from the first week that she would die on a Thursday.

Thursday 13th June, today was execution day. I sat and watched from my car, and waited for her to leave to take her boy to nursery. No more than five minutes after she had left, I hopped out my car, and casually strolled up to the house. I knew I would go un-noticed; nobody in this neighborhood woke up before noon, these were people of the night.

I walked round the side of the house and found a ground floor window, that to the average passer-by was closed, but to a trained assassin was an easy entrance point.

As I pried the window open and slid through, it was easy enough to recognize that she was a dedicated mother. There were toys scattered everywhere and photos and paintings from nursery stuck to the walls. As I crept around the small two bedroom house, it was easy to identify that she felt the need to protect herself; I spotted weapons in various different room. In the living room, there was a knife under the sofa, in the bathroom; there was a baseball bat behind the door, and her in bedroom there was a revolver behind the bedstead.

If only she knew that nothing could save her today. She would die without ever having to fight.

I checked to make sure that she had taken her daily medication, I crept in several days back and changed them to a higher dosage with a drowsy effect, so knew that as soon as she got back and took them, she would drift off to noddy.

I did one last walk around the house, ensuring everything looked exactly the same; I strolled to the kitchen and turned the cooker on. I turned it on just enough to allow the fumes to seep out without being detected easily, but just enough to kill her softly.

I slid back through the window, and closed it exactly how I found it, strolled back to the front of the house and headed back towards my car.

Within a few minutes of getting in my car, she arrived back home, I knew it was only a matter of time.

It was only 9:30am and death was already in the air.

I sat in the car as the hours rolled by. Come noon, I was becoming restless, from waiting. I walked up the street and passed the house, to make sure that there was no movement in the house, but from what I could see she was sleeping on the sofa. With that thought in mind, I headed back to my car and continued waiting.

The moment of truth was soon approaching, it was 15:15, would she leave to pick up her son, or was she in a permanent sleep.

15:30, 15:45, 16:00, 17:00, Nothing.

17:30pm, I could see that a police car was parked outside the house, and there were two officers stood at the door, one male and one female. They were banging the door and shouting “Miss Wilmson, open the door.” There was no reply. They continued banging and shouting and still no reply. They pulled their guns and began forcing their way into the house. The door swung open and both officers stepped back, I heard the female officer “Gas leak!” The male officer covered his mouth and stepped into the house, the female officer stayed outside and called for back-up.

The male officer came out and shook his head.

An hour later, back at my 3star motel, I can hear my phone jingling “Killing Me Softly” by The Fugees from the shower. I knew it was Onetime, letting me know the news, but I was too busy crying to even care.

Killing a mother and leaving a motherless child, what kind of person does that?

Stepping out the shower, I could hear my phone beeping, alerting me of a new text message. It read “Funds are in place, good job.”

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