She had a name…

His phone rang and he sat up on his bed in a haze. It was not his personal phone, nobody called there. It was his work phone, again… He sighed.

What was it that had him so miserable these past few days?

He reached for the phone and, after clearing his throat, answered.

“Are you available? Your services are required.”, the voice on the line said.

“Where and who should I look for?”, he asked

“She takes bus route 8. She should be at the bus stop in front of the library at around 10pm tonight. I emailed you her picture now.”

His computer beeped.

He raised his gaze to the screen and stared at the bold letters.

“Anything else?”, he asked without taking his eyes off the screen.

“Don’t fail. Half of the money will be wired to your account after we hang up. The other half after the job is done.”

There was a disconnecting beep from his phone. “Call ended”, he read from the small screen. “No manners…”

He went to his bank account information online: $75,000 had been wired from an unknown and most possibly (at least he hopes) untraceable account.

“She must have really pissed someone in high places”, he thought.

He went back to his email and clicked on the bold letters. After right clicking on the attachment he selected “Print”.

He went to the bathroom and took a quick warm shower.

Why was he feeling so miserable? He liked being alone, always had, and then he met her…

She broke his heart. Every feeling he had denied ever having in the past had been exposed and mocked.

He was back to being alone and the warmth that loneliness had once provided had been replaced by the cold, like others keep talking about.

The picture… He took the paper from the printer tray and looked at his soon to be victim. In her 20’s, brown short curly hair, big brown eyes and a smirk in her face.

What did you do? What could you have done?

He dismissed the thought. He can’t allow it. The only thing he allowed himself to think about was weapon of choice and method.

He had always preferred knives. Something about piercing skin made him feel better; made him feel human. He usually attacked his victims from behind, sliced their throat and left the scene without even hearing the victim whimper in their last breaths or fall to the floor. He was agile, graceful, silent and deadly.

He would go to the bus stop; wait for her to get on the bus; follow her in; and on her stop, follow her out. He went over the scene over and over again in his mind. It would be as always: graceful, silent, deadly for her, and lucrative for him.

At 9pm he was nearby. He had gone into a coffee shop near the library and ordered coffee: one of those venti caramel frapuccinos or something of the like. The cashier just kept asking him for his preferred options, he merely nodded. “Your name?”, she asked. My name?, he thought. “Guy.” She smiled and wrote it on his cup before handing it to the other girl making the coffee. He smiled at the thought of his name. Guy. What kind of name is that? He chuckled. “Venti caramel frapuccino for… Guy?” He looked at his drink. It was a shake. That’s not coffee!, he thought to himself again. He didn’t want to make a scene, his supposed name and usual mysterious air had attracted enough attention from the young girls behind the counter.

He left the coffee shop and sat in a bench nearby the bus stop and waited. He had memorized her picture, so when she got out of the library and walked to the coffee shop he had just been in, he immediately recognized her. Her hair was longer than in the picture and her smirk was not there, but it was definitely her.

She left the coffee shop with some sort of frapuccino crap. He sighed at the sight, maddened by the sweetness of his drink and the lack of actual coffee in it.

He saw the bus #8 approach the stop and he hastily walked next to her. He let her go first and she smiled at him as she went up the bus. She sat in one of the middle seats, next to the back exit. He sat on the back row. She buried her nose in a book while taking a sip of her drink from time to time.

He stared at her, wondering what could she had done to deserve this fate, wondering what was she reading and then he wondered why was he feeling miserable again.

A couple of stops passed and he saw as she pulled on a cord to signal to the driver her stop. She got up and stood next to the back exit while the bus made a complete stop.

He followed her out and continued walking at a slower pace than her. She glanced back at him from time to time with curious eyes; not worried, nor suspicious, just curious.

She went into an apartment complex and he kept walking on the same road he had been. He hid behind one of the bushes out front and saw her putting her key in a mailbox. She had received no letters that day.

He approached the mailbox after she walked away and saw the apartment number. 208. Why haven’t you killed her yet? He shook his head and dismissed the thought. He entered the building and looked for apartment 208.

He pressed his ear against the door and heard muffled music and the water from a shower running. He took his lucky pins and picked the lock on her door.

He heard her singing in a hushed voice in the shower. He chuckled.

He entered the bathroom and heard her singing abruptly stop.

She peeked her head through the shower curtain. He saw her widened eyes fill with fear. She seemed speechless.

He looked her straight in the eyes and approached her. He opened the shower curtains. He wanted to see her naked body; her skin being softly caressed by the warm water drops.

“Turn around.”, he said.

“No”, she defied him.

“I’m not used to looking at the person I’m going to kill”

“What? Kill?”, she sobbed.

“What must be done, must be done.”

“Why kill? What did I do?”

“I only ask two questions for my job. Neither of them is why.”

She kept sobbing.

“Look, this will happen. Don’t make it any harder.”, he said in a cold voice as he pulled out his knife.

She was about to scream, but the hand that held his knife was over her mouth and the other hand held her against the shower wall. He saw tears streaming down her face. She was a crying angel. Beautiful.

“I’m sorry, but it’s what I must do.”

He stabbed her chest with the knife and let her body fall down the shower floor.

He stared at the sight. Her eyes were opened wide as before and her blood had splattered over her naked body. The warm water kept pouring down, cleaning the blood on her hair and face.

He leaned down and closed her eyes. He stared at her for a bit. What could she have done? The only thing she could be guilty is from breaking someone’s heart.

He got up, shook his head to clear the haze that the warm water and the blood running down the drain had caused in his mind.

As he walked out the front door he saw her frapuccino cup. It had the letters CF. Caramel Frapuccino, he thought to himself as he smiled for knowing what that was now. In bigger letters he saw something that made his eyes tear: Carmen.

She had a name…