It's A Murder But Not A Mystery

Who is watching me? That is a question in the back of my head at all times of the day. It's like my life is an open book and someone is reading it right before me. It's an eerie feeling. But there isn't much I can do. Hopefully, it goes away.

I was walking to the bus stop this morning for a ride to my office downtown when I got that feeling again. I turned around but saw nothing. Finally, the bus arrived and I stepped on feeling safer. Arriving at my office, I greeted my co-workers and grabbed a coffee, then sat in my little room with my cluttered desk. So much to do, I might have to stay overtime.

After making dozens of calls and typing some articles, I felt the feeling suddenly. It was stronger than ever and felt closer. Must be my imagination because I was in the building alone currently. But no, I heard a noise. Footsteps. A cough. Someone's here. I sat still not daring to make a sound. The footsteps got louder until they stopped in front of my door. I don't think I've done anything wrong, but if someone was here to harm me it would probably be because I wrote something on them. The doorknob turned, slowly. This was not good. Someone burst in holding a gun. They pulled the trigger. I don't think I caught who it was as I fell to the ground.

Wait. It was you, wasn't it? And then the world went black.

You watch as he falls the the ground in a crumpled heap. He cried out in pain but, not too loudly as to alarm anyone. You walk out satisfied, not even checking if he is dead because no one would even be in the office till Monday. 2 days until someone discovers the writer gone. You know you hit you're mark with your skill. You don't doubt it. Self-doubt is non-existent in your world. The police won't find you, you don't have much relation to the writer, but everything has a reason. So what, we ask, is you're reason? This isn't the first time you've pulled the trigger, clearly, but it's the first time it hit someone.

Monday arrives swiftly, you dreaded this day. It scared you a bit, to see your deed on the internet. Just like it scared you seeing the writer's post about you there too. People were alarmed, and according to inside sources, the police didn't have any leads. Good. You're safe. For now. You sipped your mug of black coffee and continued scrolling through the news trying to see what was happening.

Time was of the essence, and the police came up with some suspects, fortunately, none led to you, but they were getting warmer, you didn't expect this turn of events. Not before you got rid of the man trying to ruin you're life. The man of your nightmares. The man with no name. He was simply The man. he brought you into this life of inflicting death. He told you to do it. You are young, you have a life ahead of you, but instead, you ruined it. Unless you can successfully leave the country and start a new one. It doesn't sound hard, does it? But it is. The first step, eliminate The man. The second step was to find someone willing to make you an identity within 24 hours for a decent price. The man was big with the crimes people. He would be found instantly, this required a skill of quickness, cleanliness, and secrets. You know you can do this, but still, it frightened you just a bit.

5 hours later you have discovered someone to create you're identity. You grab you're money and drive there. The forger snaps a picture of you and prints it up under the alias, Kevin Morrison. You find the name alright. You pay up and rush back to your apartment. You pack quickly and pile it into you're trunk. The rent was anyway up in 3 days. You're flight is booked to Buenos Aires, and you get into the vehicle and make your way to The man. You make it in with no trouble since they know you. You get to his door and open it. The sight is not welcome at all. 5 armed policemen wait there holding up guns. They found you. They say your rights and explain your arrest. No! They believe you to be The man. He expected you and put you in place. There is nothing to say against it, they connected the article and the writer's murder to you anyhow. That stupid article. That was the cause of all this. Now tell us Kevin, what did it say to make you kill? To make you want to run away?

What exactly did the writer find out?

You indeed tell us what it said. You had no choice. The man set it up from start to finish. He needed someone to take the fall. For all his crimes. He needed someone to take the Government off his trail. The article exposed you as the crimelord. But without specifically stating your name. Still, it was risky. So you had to kill him, the writer, The man expected your choice, he made your choice like you were his chess piece. He knew what you would do. Now you were in deep trouble. You would never get out of this. You anyway had no family to place bail. So maybe you'd get used to living in the dark of a cell. The hardness of stone, the smell of rot, and the sounds of mice. How did you get here? How did this happen? You won't ever know. But one thing is for sure, you regret it all. Maybe they'll let you go soon if you tell the all you know. Maybe you won't hear the cries of prisoners as you fall asleep.

Who knows? Do you think you might see the light of day again?