The Enigma's Anomaly

The Second Try

I look at the computer screen in front of me, watching the cursor blink and blink. It doesn't come easy to me, admitting defeat. I don't like to admit that I can make mistakes. Everyone likes to pretend their perfect. For me, it's quite a bit higher stakes. There's a man out there who should be dead, and he's not. This is a matter that the universe simply cannot let slip without repercussions.

I send a quick message to my client, sighing. I don't want to go too into it with them, so I just tell them it's being handled. I will handle it, it won't take long.

I turn in my chair to look at the bulletin board which takes up a large section of my apartment. With every new hit, I cover the bulletin board, kind of as a dedication. I'm hoping that one of these days I'll look into the eyes of the victim and their humanity, their purity, will get to me, preventing me from killing them. Something in their face will stop me from doing the thing that rips my soul into pieces. It hasn't happened yet.

The reasons I kill aren't very good ones. I need an income. I need some way to keep myself afloat. But I'm not really worth it, and I know that. But it doesn't change things.

The money I makes goes to my small one bedroom apartment. It's small, and isn't exactly on the safe side of town, but it's home. The kitchen and living room are only separated by a small counter, and the front door enters directly into the kitchen. You can't open the refrigerator and have the front door open at the same time because it was poorly designed. The kitchen, like everything else, is kept almost spotless. I'm always ready to have guests over, but none ever come.

There's a small couch in the living room, a black faux leather, that looks much newer then it is, because it's hardly ever in use. My TV is incredibly old, deep and bulky because I don't care enough to replace it. It makes a deep, gasping sound every time it turns on, like an old man having an asthma attack. It's one of those homely sorts of sounds that you'd miss if it ever went away. To be honest, I don't watch a lot of TV, I don't have a lot of joy in life, and it probably has something to do with the fact that I'm a murderer. I only ever watch crime shows, just to pick up on any tricks that their criminals use. It's not accurate, and I wouldn't pretend it is but it can be informative to a certain extent.

I guess I'm a bit of a sentimentalist. I keep all the files of the people I've killed under a floorboard I carved out in the living room, along with my various guns, which is stupid and dangerous, but it's my own way of honoring them. A lot of them might have been good people, but I did what I did. I guess you could say I'm The Enigma's biggest fan because I know of every single one of his hits. All thirty-six. Soon to be thirty-seven.

I bet the cops don't know about all of them. You know what they say about New York City cops. They ain't too smart. I've never even worried about them, I guess I'm just that good. They've never come knocking. I might invite them if they did. It's no secret that I'm a fucking monster.

I get a message back not long after I sent my own that's very to the point. "Get it done." There's nothing more than that, but I suppose there doesn't need to be. They hired me for a service, and I haven't fulfilled my end.

That poor Gerard Way. He's particularly good looking so it seems a shame to get rid of him, but I have my job, and I can't turn it down at this point. It's far too late. I wish I'd known what he looked like before I'd taken the job. Not like it means much of anything, but he's got such a great face, and it'll go to waste, literally. Wasting away in some cemetery somewhere, a place which I'll probably visit someday and apologize.

We all have to pay our rent somehow.

I used to go to their funerals, but it became too hard after a little while. I would watch the mascara tears pouring down the faces of their loved ones, and I felt like shit. I deserved it too, I know I did, but it was hard. They would give the most amazing eulogies, ones that would make me realize what kind of a person the world had lost, and it's heartbreaking. Those were good people.