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Perspective 1 - Noir

Updated: Apr 14

“I have a visual,” I say quietly into my headset. “He’s just shaving in his bathroom. Is that a straight razor?”

“Copy,” comes the voice of my twin brother, Lex. “That’s going to make this real easy for you, eh, Bolt? Ahh, bad choice, Nathan!” he barks. His voice, just like my own, is a deep register, but his always has the sound of stifling laughter. Even at work, he can’t get rid of it. That’s probably why he’s the lady’s man.

“Copy,” I reply. “I’m moving in.” From the high branches of the oak tree I’ve nestled myself in, I formulate my plan on the fly as always. I climb up and catch a glimpse of myself in the windows of the building beside me. Night has fallen; nearly every window is black and my white bodysuit is a bright but short-lived light inside of them.

How casual Nathan is. You’d likely never know or suspect what a stain he is on humanity. Just last week, he killed Amber Rose. Little Amber Rose, four years old, with her red dress covered in balloons and her copper hair in two pigtails. No reason, no note, no motive; just a twisted son of a bitch. My brother and I did what the cops couldn't. It didn’t take Lex and I long to deduce it was him, and less time still to track him down. This was life for us: kill the bad guys, make the world a better place. That “better place” doesn’t really exist, but the pay is good and my twin and I are good at it. He tracks them down, I kill them. I reach the top of the tree.

With a leap slightly more faithful than I’d usually permit, I land with a soft thud on the roof of the apartment building. I pause for a moment, drinking in my surroundings, scanning for signs of life. Nothing. The hatch to the building is open. They always are; most of the time they're not even alarmed, but your building manager doesn't want the lawsuit if you decide to off yourself.

“On location,” I whisper.

“Copy,” Lex replies.

My feet silently carry me down to floor eighteen; though it’s early evening, the hallways are deserted. As I approach, I can hear Sinatra playing softly behind the heavy oak door. Nathan, Nathan.. how could you be so casual? Did you really think no one would seek vengeance? Did you truly believe that you alone could escape justice? I unearth a screwdriver from my pocket and maneuver the lock til it opens with a soft click. No movement, just music. I slide in and lock the door behind me, my white gloves sure to leave no prints. I scan the room, marking a mental path to get out as I glide down the hallway. The tap is still running; he must still be shaving.

“On site. See you in five,” I murmur.

“See you in five, copy,” Lex parrots.

I approach the bathroom. Nathan is standing over the sink, the water running his beard stubbles down the drain. He doesn’t even notice me. Despite my bright white ensemble, most people don’t; they're too caught up in their own lives, too egomaniacal and barely pay attention to things outside themselves when they're alone. By the time he notices me, I’m right behind him and slip the razor out of his hand, slitting his throat in one smooth motion. His eyes widen as the blood begins to pour, and he collapses to the cold tiles, his hands failing to stop the flow. I drop the razor in the sink and spy a lock of copper curls next to the faucet, tied with a little pink rubber band. I pick it up and drop it directly onto his chest; let the police know exactly why I came for you. Sinatra croons, but all I can hear is Nathan’s death rattle.

“En route,” I tell Lex, making my way to the window and hopping back into the oak. For Amber.

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