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Maybe good old Glenn will fall off a cliff, cracking his skull open on the rocky ground below. That idea brings a smile to my face. Reaching into the glove compartment, I take out the compact flashlight that has never failed me and click it on to ensure the battery is still alive and well. My eyes rebel at the bright-white light, causing me to flinch and squint at the same time, and I click it off again.
Black and copper splotches mar my vision, forcing me to take a few moments to allow my sight to right itself, before popping open the driver’s side door and climbing out of the vehicle.
Since I have no intentions of sleeping tonight, I have to get on with planning. First, I need to map the terrain, get myself familiar with my surroundings so I won’t—literally—trip myself up, and then I need to make sure that there is, in fact, a cliff somewhere nearby so I can steer my mark toward it.
It would be the ideal end, the ideal way to accidentally on purpose off the guy, and who would question it? No one, because shit happens, and everyone knows nature is dangerous. That’s why so many choose to stay in the cities, surrounding themselves with civilization rather than become one with the great outdoors.
Trudging as quietly as possible through the woods, for a man of my height and weight, isn’t an easy feat, but I manage. Once I reach a safe distance from the cabin, I don’t bother trying to be careful anymore. If there are man-eating critters out here, the noise I make will—hopefully—scare them off.
I trip a few times. Get slapped in the face with branches more than I can count. Almost twist an ankle a time or two on raised tree roots. Nature is decidedly more dangerous than I gave it credit for, but it is also promising in the sense that I can confirm first-hand that Glenn can die out here and no one would be the wiser as to the real reason why.
I’m feeling better and better about my non-plan plan by the minute. I spend a good hour or more roaming the woods, the flashlight doing a poor job of cutting more than a small swath of light through the pervading darkness, but at least I don’t fall or cause myself any true bodily injuries.
Getting back to my SUV is trickier than I expected too. I thought I was a savvy sonofabitch and that a few trees in the night couldn’t best me, but I was wrong. I got turned around more than once, losing the trail I’d made and wondering if I might die before I could carry out the contract.
Then I spotted a tiny speck of light in the distance, a beacon in the night, and headed for it, hoping it was the cabin. It was. From there, I didn’t play around. I made a line straight for my vehicle and parked myself in the driver’s seat for the rest of the night.
There is no need to flirt with danger. That’s how people get themselves killed. And I have never been a victim of anything, least of all myself. I’m not about to start tonight.
Then again, maybe I am…
The next thing I know, I’m waking to the sound of voices.
Peeling my eyes open, I realize that it’s daybreak, barely 7:00 AM according to my Rolex. Sometime in the night, I must have fallen asleep.
I grit my teeth and curse under my breath. I have never once fallen asleep on the job.Not once. How could I have allowed such a grievous and amateur mistake? It is so unlike me…
Then again, a few things have been unlike me since I took on this job. Like the feelings I refuse to acknowledge for Brenda that go beyond mere physical attraction. That urge to protect her and avenge her and ravage her compete with good sense. I don’t need any complications in my life, least of all from the opposite sex.
That’s why I’m sitting here now, plotting my next move. Because I am a cold-blooded murderer and weakness is my enemy and I am here to prove it.
Brenda’s blonde head emerges from the open doorway, and she steps out onto the weathered deck wearing a loose-fitting white T-shirt with blue flower-patterned sleeves and a pair of short blue shorts that show off her toned legs. She is barefoot, and the way her hair catches the breeze makes her look like an angel.
I shake my head. I can’t think that way. It will only cloud my judgment, and I need a clear head if I am going to do this right. There is no room for emotions in this game, and I already have far too many, as far as I’m concerned.
She calls out to her husband, only the tone of her voice reaching my ears, washed out by distance and nature’s noises, and I watch as Glenn returns to the porch and Brenda disappears back inside briefly, only to return with a small cooler. She hands it off and turns her cheek for her husband to lean in and kiss.
As seasoned as I consider myself to be, I can’t be sure if the show of affection, or rather the acceptance of it, is genuine or not. If it isn’t, then Brenda is a hell of a good liar.
As Glenn tramps off into the woods, down a dirt trail that I can only make out in the light of day, Brenda goes back inside the cabin and closes the door.
I’m not sure what my next step should be. Should I bring the woman up to date on my plans, or should I just follow the husband and take care of business without a word?
As I open the car door and get out, I decide I’ll wing it.
Sixteen
~Faith~
It’s a good day to die. Not me. Glenn. He woke up on the right side of the bed, with his spirits high and his ambition overflowing. I wasn’t far behind in my own mood. I was ready to get the day underway, and after packing a small lunch and packing into the cooler beside the container of worms, all nestled on a bed of ice, I was raring to go.
I feel like a teenager again, young and robust and filled with life and hopes for the future. I have goals, and I aim to reach every one of them. Starting today.
Glenn is going fishing. He’ll walk the trail down to the boat we keep stored lakeside under protective housing, hit the open water, and reel in a bass or two. Maybe a perch. I really don’t know much about fish, just that they are delicious steamed with lemon and pepper with some tender veggies and, if we have it, a bed of rice.
A quick look in the kitchen cabinets reveal we do, in fact, have an unopened bag of rice. It is a little dusty from sitting for so long, but I imagine it must have a hell of a shelf life, right? It is, after all, a non-perishable food product. I’ll chance it, I decide, setting it out on the counter to be cooked later. And if it turns out to be bad, maybe it will be the thing to do Glenn in, and I won’t even have to lift a finger.
Right. My plan.
