Warning, this isn’t for minor consumption. It may or may not end up in another book.
A hush swelled in the dark halls of the nursing home as if holding its breath. A dark shadow tiptoed soft as a mouse’s breath down the hall. In the third room on the right, an old woman snored. She had been a big woman in her youth: tall, strong, statuesque. Not so much now.
Lee Garett slipped into the room, a dark shadow, and leaned over the bed waiting for something he didn’t quite understand yet. Still, the patient snored, unknowing she was being visited by Death, itself.
When the fullness of time was reached, the dark figure placed the tip of his knife against the woman’s throat and pushed it in, pulling to the side. It didn’t go smoothly, like he thought it would. In fact, the patient woke and began thrashing, trying to push Death’s hand away, trying to break free. He had to use both hands to saw back and forth on the thick cartilage while pushing her hands away with his elbows. Blood pulsed everywhere.
Garett stared into the eyes of the dying woman. Watched as the spark faded off. Like a computer, actually.
He smiled at that.
He’d been testing for the weapon to use and decided the knife was the right way to go. It made the killing a personal way of introduction. He liked the heat of the blood flowing over his hands, the feel of the knife working through muscle, sinew, and cartilage, and the smell of slow death that filled the room.
He took his tools from his fanny bag and cleaned the woman’s fingernails. Next, he used his magnifying glass to inspect the bed clothes and nightdress for any tiny trace that might have worked loose from his body: hair, eyelash, fingernail, dermal residue. He could change his appearance, even his fingerprints, basically become a new person, but he couldn’t change his DNA.
When finished, he surveyed the neck wound critically. More practice was needed. His final destination was big and not bed bound. Next up would be a moving target.
Wendy L. Koenig 