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A van five houses down caught my attention. It hadn’t been there the previous night. The binoculars picked up a few heat signatures, and I wrestled with the decision of waiting or going in.
“You’ll be in and out. You’re the Silent Blade. No one will see you. You’ve done this a hundred times,” I muttered, trying to convince myself.
Taking in a deep breath, I nodded, reassured. My muscles bunched under the leather, ready to get into action. I focused on the crimes Millicent had committed; the innocent lives she’d destroyed. She might not have created the drug, but she’d still signed off on it, making her just as responsible in my book. Perhaps more.
Checking my surroundings one last time, I secured my bag to my back and slipped off the roof. My feet landed quietly in the grass, and I crept toward the back of the house, knowing it was the weakest entry point. My heart raced, the adrenaline pumping in me with each step.
A sound further down the street rang out, stopping me in my tracks. I waited a few seconds, dismissing it as an animal. No one inside the house stirred, pushing me to continue. Lifting myself up on the roof overhang that covered a back porch, I adjusted my weight to avoid the rotted spots I’d found last night. It made me weirdly happy that Millicent had ended up in such a crappy place.
She’d gotten rich from the deaths of others, and now she’d die in a rundown house in the middle of nowhere, Kentucky.
Taking a deep breath, I jumped from the roof to a balcony, my fingers gripping the bars as I pulled myself up and over the railing. Sitting against the brick, I took a few seconds to catch my breath and ensure no one had heard my movement.
Despite the house being a piece of crap, Millicent had installed a state-of-the-art alarm system. But they hadn’t considered someone climbing all the way to the attic. Every other window had an alarm on them, but not that one. Granted, it was about 20ft off the ground, which would dissuade most people. But I wasn’t like most people.
“One more story,” I whispered, standing up and balancing on the balcony railing. This was the trickiest part since I only had a small ledge to pull myself up on.
“Next invention, some of those sticky feet things you see in spy movies,” I grumbled, my fingers digging into the brick. With one last deep breath, I reached up and gripped the ledge, heaving myself onto it.
I leaned against the window, my heart racing as I caught my breath. Cursing myself for eating that cake now. “Actually, that’s a damn lie, and you know it. You loved every second of that cake. You’re just mad now that you didn’t spend more time on arm definition. Don’t blame the cake!” I hissed, narrowing my eyes at myself. “And this is why you don’t have friends,” I mocked.
Ignoring my own debate, I got to work, lifting the window I’d been able to unlatch last night with a magnet. It had taken a few squirts of WD40 to quiet the hinges, but it now slid up with ease; not a squeak could be heard.
Once it was up, I squared my shoulders, dreading this next part. Part of why they didn’t put an alarm on this window, outside the fact it was up so high, was that it was… well, it was tiny. Small. Miniscule. Close to a dog door opening and not human size.
I had a small frame, but it was well padded with muscle and my love of cake.
Knowing I needed to get on with it, I sucked in a breath and dove through arms first, hoping the quicker I did it, the faster it would be over with.
My hands touched down on the floorboards, my body moving with gravity as it propelled itself through the opening. My torso cleared, and I let out the breath I’d been holding, only to curse with that same breath as my hips snagged.
“Beetlejuice!” I cursed, my feet dangling out the window as my front half hung. Pushing against the floor, I wiggled my hips, my stomach scraping across the metal latch. I ignored the pain and shoved up with my foot on the ledge, hoping to add enough force. Sucking in a breath, I squeezed and pulled myself with all my might.
My hips screamed in pain, the sides of the window digging into my flesh, but as I debated giving up, they cleared, and I tumbled to the floor as I rolled into a ball. I lay there briefly, praying no one had heard me. The house remained still, my hips throbbing in response. Shutting the window, I was glad I had a different exit planned for later.
“Ow. That’s going to leave a bruise.”
I sat up, my eyes quickly adjusted to my surroundings, and I moved around the clutter overtaking the dusty space to a small door on the right wall. It was about four feet high, meaning I only had to duck slightly to fit in this one. I’d found this passageway in the oldest blueprints, used for the servants when they’d lived upstairs. The door went directly to the main bedroom where my mark was.
Plucking my small pin light off my belt, I ducked into the space and descended the stairs. The wood creaked with each step, so I took them slowly, allowing my weight to settle with each one before I moved to the next. When I reached the second floor, I turned and counted the doors, stopping when I got to the third one.
Turning the knob, I unlatched the door slowly, unsure if it would make a sound. The door opened into a walk-in closet, an addition to the house in the past fifty years. Boxes of shoes had been placed in front of the door, so I moved a few over until I could climb over the rest. It was funny how people could make their minds forget something by covering it up.
But I was here to make sure she remembered what her actions did.
Stepping into the bedroom, I watched the couple on the bed, their chests rising and falling with sleep. Pulling out my needle, I filled it with air as I neared and calculated my next move. While between the toes was my favorite spot to inject the bubble, it wasn’t always the easiest when they were sleeping, especially with a spouse next to them. It looked like her husband would be my first test subject for my newest spray.
Nearing the man, I pulled off the bottle of sleeping spray and wafted it under his nose. His nose crinkled for a second; then, his whole body went lax. Lifting his arm, I let it drop back to the bed, catching it before it hit the mattress. I poked his cheek and lifted his eyelid. None of my ministrations roused him, so I took it to mean my combination worked.
Fist pumping the air, I moved over to my mark, lifting the covers at the end carefully. Millicent took several sleeping aids at night, so I didn’t worry about her waking just yet. Pushing her toes apart, I pressed the needle into the fleshy part, pushing down the plunger until it emptied. Standing, I lowered the covers and moved toward her head.
Pulling the bottle of peppermint oil off, I wafted it under her nose. I didn’t need to do this part, but for the really horrible ones, I wanted them to know who it was that had killed them.
Her eyes flared open, her body temporarily paralyzed with the fast-acting agent I’d added to the oil. I had to act fast, only having a few minutes before the air bubble did its job.
“Hello, Millicent. Your crimes have finally caught up to you.” I smiled, nothing innocent or joyous about it, as I stared down at her through the hood. “I just wanted you to know it was me who killed you.”
She licked her lips, her eyes wide as she stared at me. “He told me you would come. The Peppermint Killer,” she whispered, her breathing growing ragged.
