Schizophrenia: Assassin

Introduction

A godless man is capable of really anything. 

Mathew inched closer, flicking free the safety off of his pistol and placing the iron sites between the Oregon math teacher's eyes.

"Beg..." he whispered lifelessly, as cold beads of sweat ran from her forehead and forked off following down desperate tears. The wound can never heal, he thought, as he stared down with racing thoughts filling his faded consciousness. Then an instant flash defused the situation and blood spilled across the granite floor.
"Jackson Pollack would be proud," he thought. 
A small town would wake to a terrible crime the following morning and their hate and anger would lead to the false conviction of certain 'undesirables'.  Mathews name, however, would be safely expunged from any punishment. He was too well paid, and the government loves its unhinged killers. Perhaps it was a matter of ethics, he entertained the thought, but we all know the truth.  An important man can quickly claim anonymity from the blood of an innocent if a beggar can be nailed to the guilty cross in his stead.
Rotating his hand inward, he looked down at the murder weapon and smiled. Then began his work of staging the forensic evidence in favor of the highest paying party. A few moments flashed by, and it was finished. Mathew found himself opening the door and leaving it adrift as the elements took advantage of his departure. A poetic crimson and white scene would greet the police the next morning.  A few deliberate steps lead the young assassin to his escape. A cliche black suburban door opened for him, and he was on his way.
"Is it taken care of?" a shrill Woman's voice prodded.
Mathew's hands shook ever so slightly and he chuckled as he made eye contact with this week's devil.
"I believe that the dollar amount determines the answer to that question my dear"
A methodical hand then dove into the woman's pants suite and grasped a letter tearing it from a brief and useless attempt to refrain.
"How dare you!" she spat "Do you have any idea who I am..."
"Laura E. Jefferson, born on February 4rth, 1973 in Omaha Nebraska, designation: asset containment and logistical analyst..." Mathew began as he slid his thumbnail across the letter opening "with two children your time with the agency has taken its toll on your family. Especially considering last month you separated from your spouse after..."
Then peering off the in the distance he raised a finger as if to say 'wait' as he counted.
"7 years and three months"
The air didn't dare to move for a moment as blood fought its way through the barely beating heart of the woman now in shock with fear.
"Let's not be unprofessional here" Mathew replied as he revised this week's earnings.
The woman now choking on every word, then began her deliverance of operational details for the following mission.
"Your next offer is to travel to Barcelona to pay a visit to a local businessman who has been an inconvenience to us"  she explained.
The young killer scraped his tongue with his top teeth and chewed on the offer as he looked out the window at winter racing by. His goal had never been to kill at this rate. Nor had it been to become a slave to the very institutions he believed he could manipulate to better his shattered family. This was where he found himself, and now another long plane ride separated him from killing this weeks' 'villain'. Or at least that was how the painting had been laid before him. Kill, to bring peace.
"How would my handlers react if I slit your throat and placed a four-inch blade into the ephemeral artery of your chauffeur?" He smirked pulling a switchblade from his own jacket pocket and leaning in to kiss the middle-aged woman on the lips.
"I fight dirty" He then whispered in her ear before leaning back into the plush leather of his heated seat.
"I accept the agencies offer" he flaunted smugly.
The ride was mostly silent after that on his way to the airport. However, Matt was proud as he exited the vehicle without having left behind a dead body. His self-control was getting better.
Entering through the automatic doors of the Portland International Airport, he beamed straight for the customer service desk. Slicking his hair back with his left hand and adjusting the cuffs of his jacket as he inched closer through a line of strangers. Only to be greeted by a mid-twenties brunette servicing the counter.
"Good morning, how can we help you today?" The young woman asked enthusiastically. Mathews eyes immediately met with hers in an intense gaze and he thought of all the horrible things he could be doing to a nice little girl like that. He choked down his inner demon for a moment as a deep gruff southern accent escaped from his lips.
"An associate of mine seems to have left his brief-case in your baggage storage. I'm headed on a business trip to Poland and he would like me to take it to him." Mathew, then as if nothing slid a baggage claim ticket from under his cuff and handed it to the girl.
"What kind of business are you involved with?" she prodded, an interest in her tone as she edged closer to the counter.
"Oh, I believe you could consider it 'God's work', darlin" He then crossed his elbows on the desk and with his head inclined, reminding her "Now, my bag please?"
Matthews imagination ran wild as she stared back at him. A brief daydream of the sadistic flesh and screaming the two could share is he didn't have a flight to catch. 
She snapped back to the moment and shook her head as she walked away for a moment, Mathew's eyes following her small blue skirt and four-inch heels.
"I might have to come back here for that one," He thought to himself. Taking full advantage of the momentary reprieve from duty, or as so he saw it. The young killer examined the hordes of people glued to their devices, whereas he burned through such things every few days, without any thought given. He began to wonder how these people would survive a day without such things when without warning a voice intruded his thought.
"Sir I have your bag right here; I must ask for an autograph though so everything is official" she chuckled. However, Matt didn't enjoy the surprise much as he gritted out a smile and signed the paper. Then with two fingers he snatched the brown briefcase off the counter and began his search for a restroom where he could make the appropriate adjustments for this week's business.
A light was shining hazily through the frosted glass skylights of the airport. The dimness and flickering of plane menus mingled between the occasional passerby didn't even enter into his head as he bolted towards the nearest men's room sign. He opened the restroom door unzipping his winter jacket and shoved it into the small tin trashcan near the entry. Matthew caught a glimpse of his own reflection and suddenly the average men around him disappeared. He was left with a flashing pearly great white smile teasing him in the mirror. After placing the brown case on the counter, Matt began unbuttoning his shirt not breaking eye contact with his inner demon. The one just behind his frozen blue eyes. His clothing and new assignment dossier had been placed in the brief-case.
Not for an instant did his mindset shift from the task at hand and as his new Scarlett Giorgio Armani silk shirt took its shape over his torso. He began focusing on how his new character would be born. Developing every possible backstory detail that would be needed to sell a young Spanish aficionado to the people he would be manipulated for this week's highest bidder.
"Exacto, correcto y perfecto!" He spat confidently as he finished the final details of his cover. Leaving his old clothes on the yellowish-green airport tile like a shedding reptile. He closed his case and set out for his terminal.
Walking purposefully past the young employee he had just met only to savor in knowing that not even she could possibly recognize him after a momentary transformation.
"Goddamn, I am good at what I do," He thought aloud as his swagger took its pace to a seat near his departure gate. One well-dressed man sitting in the crowd. A government agent, a man who officially didn't exist in a mob of people staring at their tiny glowing screens. Moments passed like grains of sand as he sat there waiting. Every now and then a pretty girl would take a brief second of concentration away from the storyteller as he spun the lies he would be needing in his head.

NOW BOARDING FLIGHT NUMBER 307 TO BOSTON. NOW BOARDING FLIG...

The airport intercom sounding as first class was announced. Matt stood and briefcase in hand walked to the on-ramp as he calmly and carefully made his way to his upper-class accommodations. After sitting down, he reached into his slim suit coat pocket and pulled out this week's burner phone. A few careful button presses later and the properly chosen words following an "Oh, yes, hello there my dear.."  he had a place to stay.
The Casa Fuster hotel in Barcelona was now booked for the week on the taxpayer's dime under the name Javier Alejandro Del Toro. Not as glamorous as a lying politician, but still Mathew wasn't complaining. The fasten seatbelt sign came on, and within moments he found himself adrift amongst the clouds. Leaning back into the lap of luxury that he couldn't have even dreamed of only a few years before, all paid for in 'blood' of course. None of it officially sanctioned by any Government agency and all of it completely new and unexpected to the world. No one really sees a twenty-three-year-old as the world's most prolific hit-man, but that was the way he liked it. No family, no government, no God, and best of all not a single rule or person in his way.
That was the way things were planned, he thought as his eyes closed, and everything began to turn on its axis.

                                                                                                   ...

The raindrops fell like glass as I sped across the wet asphalt. I can't believe she's been gone a week! I wish my mind was frantic, but it isn't. I know what I need to do. Not even racing for the edge of the bridge was going to jeopardize my cool. I had been taught how to act under fire, but I was done 'acting'.

It felt invigorating to press the peddle to the floor. I hardly cared as my phone began to vibrate, but glanced away from the road anyway.  I choked down hard as I saw who it was, and took my right hand from the wheel and slid the call to answer as I raised the phone to my ear.
"Talk to me beautiful," I said trying to hide the lying tone in my voice. However, women tend to know when they're being lied to - I'm still not sure how they do that.
"Where are you, Matt?" She questioned.
I had yet to mention anything to my fiancé about my recruitment, but as far as she was concerned I would be dead in a few hours, so it didn't matter. It wasn't a question of love. It was the reality that if I didn't accept the offer, everyone I cared about would die. Unless I was not alive to be recruited.
"Babe, I'm on my way home, I just wanted to clear my head. Please don't worry, I am coming down the mountain. I'll be passing the bridge actually in couple moments. I'll send you pictures. I know how you love it." I said trying to sound reassuring.
"Matt we need to talk, I don't know what you are going through, but I need to be here for you. I love you" Morgan sincerely pleaded.
I had never actually been so close to anyone in my life and I loved her, and with that in mind, I tossed the phone out the open passenger seat window.
"She'll recover" I repeated to myself in my head as I reached the edge of the bridge and tore the wheel to the right.
The engine died.
My Ford Bronco bounced off the rail guard of the bridge and my head impacted the dash. Blood began dripping down my forehead and my vision blurred as the door was ripped open and I fell to the concrete. A kick knocked me from a crawling position to lying on my back,  I stared up at the damn shadow who had been following me. He placed his foot on my chest and began calling someone.
"Yeah, I've got him...I'll sedate him... Clean up?... ok." And before I had a chance to even beg, a business loafer dug into my ribs. He knelt beside me and a pinch bit into my neck as I lost consciousness.
"You're just too valuable to die Mathew" The voice chuckled as everything went black.
Next thing I knew I was Cuffed to a metal chair in a dark room. Yes, 'typical shady government type room,' I thought as a door near the edge of the room opened. A pantsuit-clad woman, looking like a younger Hillary Clinton, made her way towards me and ran the back of her hand against my blood stained cheek.
"My poor baby" she stammered as she pushed the chair over "I'm not sure they hit you hard enough"
As the chair fell a culmination of the thousands of scars both mental and physical crashed in. The chair hit the floor and my eyes flew open.
"Sir, what can I get you to drink?" a smiling flight attendant asked.
I fought to catch my breath as I ran a hand across my face and between my fingers managed out the words
"Scotch will do. Scotch will do"

Every Friday I am going to update the next chapter, so stay tuned!