I never thought that I would be a killer.
I had never considered it, really. And yet, I find myself in that very situation, with a new victim almost every day—People actually pay me to. As I stare at the profile sheet of my newest target, I frown. Sitting at my chestnut desk in the heart of bustling Boston, I quickly glance over the page again.
Maria Alcott, 25
Best-friend: Edward Crane
Family: 2 sisters, 1 brother, Parents deceased
Favorite activities: swimming in the cool summer waters of her backyard pool.
Hair: brown, straight, shoulder-length
Eye color: hazel-green,
Face shape: heart
schedule: Goes to the same coffee shop every day, orders the same drink and croissant, then goes to the middle school, where she voluntarily tutors children.
She was so personable, so likeable. A slight pang stabs my heart as I realize the power a few actions had. This was the part I hated—choosing the way they die. I started building her up, but now I get to knock her down. It’s so hard. By now, I know her well enough that she feels like my own sister. But here I am, orchestrating her death.
   Yanking my frizzy blond hair into a ponytail, I get to work. My slender fingers shoot across the page, trying to find the best, most dramatic way for her to go (Yes, I may have a slight flair for the dramatic). All of this to get to Edward. Apparently, the people paying me want to watch Edward suffer (which I can deal with…it’s kind of sick, but a paycheck is a paycheck!)
I pull a thick binder labelled “Ideas” off of the nearest shelf and examine some of the options. I purse my lips and turn the page again. There were so many ideas, so many different ways she could go. None of them seemed fitting, though.
A carefully injected syringe of air that would mimic a heart attack? She wasn’t old enough, there’d be too many questions to answer, besides, that’s hardly dramatic, and that is what my employer wants. How about cutting the femoral artery? I haven’t done that in a while. It’d be quick and easy.
Eh, maybe not…that’s a little dark for this project, there’d be too much blood to deal with. Finally, I settle for the good old-fashioned approach. I decide she’ll be killed by getting shot—right in front of her best friend, so that the emotional scars will be carried for a while (There’s that dramatic touch!). The target really is more Edward than it is Maria. She’s essentially a means to an end—though one that I would regret pulling the plug on—she could have so much potential.
I sigh and guzzle down some coffee. This is the headache I get for being a writer. I pick up my pen and prepare the opening statements in my latest crime novel, starting with the murder of one Maria Alcott.
Sorry Edward, you’re in for a bumpy ride.