A Shot in the Dark, Shouting into the Wind

A body. A crowd. A white tarp. And the scene was set.

Voices echoed left and right. Buzzing in the ears of uniforms called to the site like flies hungry for the rotting remains that are yet to be consumed by officials. And no matter how they were swatted away, or at least attempted to be, they flew right back and lingered over the cadaver. Curious and hungry for a story. 

Blame was the name of the game. The pooling crimson on the asphalt must have been a result of some form of foul play or intent. The spectators looked up, pointing to the building right next to where the victim was found. Each of them theorized that he must have come from one of the windows. Did he jump? Or was he pushed? If it was the former, there was no way he was able to close the window where he leapt from. If he was pushed, then the assailant would probably close it to hide their crime.

Word traveled fast in the small group and it ran faster with photographic evidence distributed by the gadgets that were perpetually glued to their hands. More theories were conjured up. Some were simple while others drew an elaborate scheme of grandiose measure summoned and executed by the agents of secrecy. Whatever that was and whoever they were.

Blame was the name of the game. From afar and behind the bright digital screens, more spectators pitched in. “He wouldn’t have jumped. Look at the shoes he’s wearing. Rich people don’t just leap out of windows.” “It’s obvious that he’s got some money problems.” “Hey, I think I know the guy. I used to work at the building!” “I think he discovered something that he wasn’t supposed to.” “That’s right. This building was funded by those people.” “they shady af.” “We all know what happened here.”

The concentrated explosion of the event beckoned media vans to arrive, squeezing their way through the impromptu assembly. They don’t usually arrive this fast but a couple of the initial onlookers knew a friend of a friend who works at a news station. And news travels the fastest there than anywhere else. Additionally, seeing that this occurred just on the street, they had no problems entering the scene. Besides, it was a slow week and this was exactly what they thought the people needed. A little schadenfreude to initiate speculative conversations. So while the paramedics were waiting for the police to finish memorializing the body, they were cataloguing the reactions of the surrounding people who still refused to budge from where they were standing.

Blame was the name of the game. With the immense attention that the event has received, time seemed to rush by. The friction it caused created a spark and a different flavor of discussion emerged. “What is taking them so long to figure this out?” “Are they just gonna leave the body like that on the ground?” “This is unacceptable. Have some respect for the deceased!” “They’re probably stalling because they’re being paid by the people who caused this!” “Oh, you mean by them?” “Well yeah. Who else would do something like this?”

Blame was the name of the game. The big, bad wolf was somewhere out there, twirling his moustache with one hand and petting his exotic pet with the other. He would have a sneer eternally etched on his face and he would cackle every time his plans were performed as the screen would fade to black. Whatever his plans were. Nobody knows what they are and yet the collective are convinced that he does. Like a devious devil that’s always thinking one step ahead of everybody else. Never acts like he had a plan until everything fell into place. Like a master chess player. He was the big bad that no one could ever outsmart.

The story is always the same although it can vary from telling to telling. Even the person who embodies this villain differs from person to person. And although there was no proof, the idea of a crook aiming for domination or destruction will always be around for people to point their fingers at. The truth was, as embarrassing as this is going to sound, is actually pretty simple. 

I fell. 

Like a sack of potatoes. I fell. 

And I’m glad that I didn’t stay to tell the tale, otherwise this would haunt me for the rest of my mortal life. But since said life was cut short, I’ll come clean.

I was at the building where my spectators said I was. But I didn’t drop from a window. No, that would be silly. But I did pick this building intentionally. 

And since I’m telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God, I made two mistakes on that day. The first one, well, that’s what started this whole confession. The second one was that I didn’t leave the package I had with me on the roof where I was supposed to. I did disassemble it, though. I was a professional, after all. And the parts were fairly hidden up there. My contractors will find it before anyone else does. Especially if everyone initially thought I came from the windows.

One thing that made me really proud of myself was the job. It was my last job, though, before I got decommissioned. Regardless, I was able to set things up with my target that he had walked straight into my trap: An empty unit in a neighboring building where he was expecting a pleasant surprise. The only thing he got was a bullet from me. 

So despite hubris taking me down with my target, at least from all the chatter over my death and my weapon hidden away, the deed was masked and it’ll take days for anyone to realize that my target was gone. Long enough for my contractors to extract him discreetly. 

I say it’s a job well done.