More than anything, Frank was tired. Tired of the late nights stalking his assignment. Tired of the bad food he kept eating because of his illicit lifestyle. Tired of being on call to the kind of merciless people that see murder as a tool, an option, a way out of some mess.
He was in the back stairwell of a high-end high-rise apartment. It was brightly lit, but he was darkly dressed. Whenever people entered the stairwell, he made as if he was on his way up or down, opposite of whoever joined him. It was tricky, because he couldn't risk being seen by the same person, but most people avoided eye contact with him.
It was 1am, and his assignment hadn't come home yet. Late night fun, he thought. He would give it five more minutes or one more stairwell interruption, and then he had to call it quits. He had a doctor's appointment tomorrow, and he was also tired of arriving late to them.
The door opened downstairs. From the fifth floor landing where he was standing he peeked down and saw the blonde hair of his assignment. It looked a bit tussled. Late night fun, indeed, he thought. He started to walk down the stairs, timing himself.
He had been watching her for weeks now. He wanted to be sure of her routine. How she liked to get into her apartment, where she kept her keys. He began walking downstairs, trying to put a bit of energy into his steps. She reached the second floor landing and walked through the door into the second floor hall. He moved quickly now, catching the door with his foot just before it closed.
He started to feel anxious. His pulse raced. She was two doors ahead of him in the hall, her heels clicking on the floor. Frank knew the number of steps to her apartment, and was counting along. He pulled out a gas mask, and tugged on the tubing to be sure it was connected to the portable gas canister in his coat.
He reached her just as she was swiping the key card to open her door. "Mary!" he said, friendly and bright. She turned around, a surprised look on her face. He waved to her, and just as her eyes turned from delight to confusion, he stepped right up to her. He grabbed her arms, and at the same time he pushed her into her apartment. The door shut behind them. She was panicked now, but by then he had clasped the mask over her face, the gas canister turned up high.
This would be the only violence, him holding her head tightly against the mask while she breathed in the fumes that would make her groggy, and ultimately helpless. Each breath made her weaker. She struggled a little. Her eyes grew sad, and tired. Eventually her eyes closed, and as she grew more limp, he laid her down gently on the floor of her still dark apartment.
This would be the last one, he thought.
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