Dont Forget Me

Chapter one

Never in my life did I see myself shooting someone before. Not because I had some sense of humanity and believe in the court system. No, my reason was not girl scout worthy. I'm a killer and my preferred weapon of choice is a knife. Being a contract killer, I work alone in the night and the deadly quite of my blade was my friend. Standing over the man I just killed with his own gun, a feeling washed over me I never had to deal with in my 20 years of this business. Nervousness. I made my first kill at the young age of five and did it without blinking an eye. Going off the rails was unacceptable. Probably because I only kill people who I'm hired to kill and never out of emotion. What possessed me to act in such an unprofessional way? John Lee, the man bleeding out at my feet, was a child sex trafficker. I've killed worse men than him and not once veered off my kill plan.
Getting access to the front gate with a stolen security guard badge and lock-picking the servents entrace was the easy part. Mr. Lee was not one for cameras in his house because he liked to try out his 'merchandise' before selling them which in a sick way worked for me. All I had to do was find his room on the second floor and since he lived alone, I literally just strolled on through till I found his room at the end of the hall (predictable for rich people for some reason). Hearing his shower on, I sank into the lounge chair in the corner of his room and waited. That's when it all went wrong. At first I heard a thump and thought he dropped his shampoo or something. Then it happend again. And again. That's when I knew he wasn't alone. What dropped my heart to my stomach was a high pitched wail that got curt off by sobs.
Enraged, I flew off the chair with a one track mind. Kill. That's what I was sent to do anyway, so no sense of guilt was going to haunt me. When I passed by his nightstand and saw the gun, the one he most likely used to inflict fear into his 'bed mate's' something clicked inside of me. I was calm when I picked up the weapon. Like I said earlier, guns aren't my weapon of choice but having been a killer all my life, I knew how to use all types of weapons. Guns, knives, swords, bows, grenades, poisons, and multiple hand to hand combat styles have been ingrained into me since I was a young child. Waiting behind the door until the shower turned off, killed whatever light was left inside of me. The silence surrounded my being and my muscles tensed under my black clothes as I waited to pounce. The door knob turned and out came John Lee, a plain looking 42 year old man with brown hair and eyes. Freshly shaved and showered, he strolled over to his armoire with a satisfied look to his face. Heart dropping further, I closed the bathroom door without looking in. At the sound of the door closing, John stopped and his muscles bulged. Turning slowly, his eyes met mine. Seeing me standing behind him, his gun in my hand, I saw whatever fight he might have had die in the three seconds it took him to turn around fully.
Clearing his throat he asked one thing. "Who's responsible for my death?". Not surprised by the question, I answered "You are, you sick son of a bitch." And shot him point blank between the eyes.