Thread: Scaremonger (Mr Quixotic & Lait)

Kyle Evans didn't believe in God, a higher power, coincidence, or fate. The stars didn't align, it wasn't 'meant to be', and there was no purpose in life, except that which you determined for yourself. The fact he was there that evening at that very location, at that very time, was nothing but pure chance. It didn't happen for a reason it just was. He'd parked his vehicle a good distance away, on a main road and pointed towards Eden, and arrived in Rome just as dusk had fallen. With the majority of office workers having departed for the day, and the night owls yet to arrive to fill the clubs, the City was virtually deserted. Enough for Kyle, with the pockets of his black overcoat containing the tools of his trade or at least the trade he intended to ply that evening to remain unnoticed as he strode towards the centre. A few people passed, but none attempted to make eye-contact as he breathed in the cool night air and kept to the laneway's not concerned in the slightest about muggers or transients. His gaze remained straight ahead, but Kyle's eyes were unfocused the man's mind in another world. One which was fair and where wives and girlfriends didn't cheat, where high-school sweethearts didn't leave, and fall pregnant to another man where service to your country didn't result in sterility, and the inability to ever Father a child of your own where you didn't give the best years of your life to the Government, then get kicked to the kerb without a pension, unable to even afford the medication you were told you so desperately needed. A world where commitment meant something, and for that which you gave, you received in return where anyone who broke those rules paid the price. That was Evans purpose, and tonight, another immoral, cheating bitch was going to die. Amy. Whilst his victim's pain would eventually cease, that of her friends and relatives would live on. Collateral damage his superiors had called it a necessary evil. And on that, Evan's agreed. If there were enough, people might finally sit up and take notice before the ethical decay of society sent the entire fucking world to hell in a hand-basket. You ain't going no-where until I get what I fucking paid for. The harsh words snapped Evans from his reverie, and his head shot around to locate their source. Blue eyes fell on the entrance to an alleyway as he heard scuffling, and the higher pitch of a woman's voice. Most likely some whore who'd attempted rip the man off, and his first instinct was to walk on, and leave whatever was to happen, to happen. It was none of his business. However, something caused his feet to remain rooted to the spot, with eyes locked on the alleyway, as her words became louder and more frantic. Something familiar. A moment later Kyle Evan's, without even been aware he'd done so, had moved. When he entered the dark lane, it was if he'd stepped into one of the vivid hallucinations which had plagued him in the Veteran's hospital on return from Afghanistan. The image of the madwoman screaming as she knelt over her victim and plunged the bloody knife into his chest over and over, causing blood, which appeared black under the soft glow of street lamps, to spray from a gaping wound and coat her face and clothing, was one from a horror movie. Kyle couldn't move, couldn't breathe. His eyes closed, and he willed himself back to reality. Was he losing it for good this time? Was he truly crazy, as the Army Doctor's had claimed. Deep breaths, and the shaking, trembling shadowy figure at the end of laneway re-opened his eyes. She was still there. Struggling to lift the limp, dead body into the open dumpster. It was real. It was Azairah. Kyle shook his head and opened his mouth to call out. Then it clamped shut as he recalled his mantra. Get close to no-one, allow no-one to get close to you, and you can't be hurt . So he watched in silence, then slid into the shadows as the blood-soaked killer passed by, so close that he could have reached out and touched. As difficult as it was to comprehend that the woman he'd just seen murder a larger and stronger male and throw him in with the trash, then had the presence of mind to collect the knife and, seemingly with calm, make her way out of the alley, was the same raped and beaten victim who'd caused tears to stream down his cheeks as she'd been bullied, mocked and disrespected in the police interview room, Kyle was a man used to dealing with situations as they arose, and taking charge. He hadn't been able to muster up the courage to speak, and assure her she wasn't alone, or to slip his arms around the damaged Azairah - who reminded Kyle so much of himself - and whisper that everything would be okay, but at least he could destroy all evidence of her crime. That she'd ended the life of a man was of no consequence it was obvious the asshole had intended to rape her, and male or female, it didn't matter the less scum left on the planet and allowed to breed, the better. Evans checked the roads still deserted then stepped down the empty alley. As boots clicked on the pavement, he dipped a hand into his pocket, and removed a container of lighter fluid. Kyle remained calm and was careful to avoid the pools of blood at his feet as he opened the canister, and first drizzled the flammable liquid on the wooden fences, then turned to the dumpster. He rifled through boxes and bags until the cold, dead eyes, wide open with shock, of the man who'd once been Mark Dubois, stared directly into his. The corpse's jacket and shirt were torn from the knife, and a deep ragged hole coagulated with dark blood, and the edges of which resembled raw, shredded meat lay where his chest should be. What did she ever do to you? Kyle spoke softly as he poured the remainder of the fluid along the length of DuBois body, and over the cardboard boxes which surrounded it. Then he stepped back, withdrew a cigarette lighter from his trousers, and thumbed the wheel. Kyle remained in the alleyway until he could smell charred human flesh, and hear sirens in the distance. His own victim would need wait for another night. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Get close to no-one, allow no-one to get close to you, and you can't be hurt. Kyle Evans, unable to get the scene, and Aizarah D'Amici, out of his thoughts, whispered those words to himself as he closed the door of his cottage, poured a whiskey, and glanced at the laptop which sat on a coffee table. No. His voice was strong, but heart resisted the mind, and he found himself sitting on the sofa, and drawing the computer closer. What harm would it do reassuring her that taking the life of another human being wasn't always wrong? Evans fingers tapped the keys of their own accord, and logged into his web-based email account. Somehow, someway, he must have known this was coming, or that he'd have reason to use it, for he entered the email address of the woman gained from Police records without conscious thought. To Azairah D'Amici From Anon666 Subject Don't be afraid Don't be afraid, I was there Azairah, and I took care of the evidence. The authorities will struggle to identify the victim, let alone the perpetrator. You're safe. Please, feel no remorse, or pity the scum deserves neither. You did the right thing. Made the world a better place. Yours in sympathy A kindred spirit Evans clicked send, then fell back in his seat, expelled the breath he'd been holding, and closed his eyes. Had he done the right thing?