I wept as I walked through the empty alley. The locket around my neck knocked on my chest with the weight of all my burdens. The stained sickle was stuck in my hand like it wouldn't leave me be. I did as it beckoned.
Three people had perished at my hands today. The last one was a farmer. The image of terror in his eyes when he saw me was still stuck to my head like a leech sucking on my skull. The man had led a simple life and was loved dearly by his friends and family.
They were all there.
The rampage had started this morning. And it was mildly soothing to know that the next one was different. I had never met Arnold Schmecker, but I knew everything about him. He wasn't a good person. But he was rich. I could feel his riches stink of sin from a mile away.
My stomach rumbled. It begged for another life.
The tower of Schmecker Corporation separated the skies high above my head. Leather shoes and high heel toes tapped away at the main street in front. The banking district went about its business, blissfully oblivious to the decrepit slum that adjoined it like a sore growing off of a disease.
It was time to blend in.
I changed into a suit, cleaned my sickle and tucked it in. I smoothed the creases on my trousers and polished my shoes. When I was satisfied that my tie was right, I stepped onto the road.
I remember staring at the luxury sedans which lined the road and the sports cars which zoomed past. Women strutted around in their designer clothes and handbags, while men strode about in their sharp suits as if they were constantly late for something.
That reminded me to check my Rolex. There wasn't much time left.
I walked into the lobby and waited impatiently for the elevator. I hated sharing crowded lifts. It irked me that I had to tolerate three of them to reach the hundred and twentieth floor. Of all the things, my claustrophobia still had to stick with me now! Couldn't executives function at lower elevations?
Ten agonizing minutes later, I heaved a sigh of relief as I breathed the air from the open lobby on the executive level.
A row of primly attired gentlemen streamed out of the Director's office. They looked through me like I didn't exist. I walked towards the ornate self-closing mahogany doors and smiled at the young secretary out of habit as I passed by. But I glanced behind to make sure she was looking away before I opened one of the panels to enter the office.
Schmecker was busy scribbling away at papers on his desk. When I stepped into the room, he looked at me from above his glasses. He was an old man in his seventies, his hair was grayed and balding.
"Yes?" he said in his husky voice.
"Hi, I'm Don Cooper. I'm here to see you about the Woolman deal?"
"Ah yes! That's a big one. A tricky one too," he snickered. "Please have a seat. Would you like a drink?"
"No thank you. I'm good. I prefer to stand," I said, walking towards the windows.
"I wish I still had my youth within me to stand and talk," he said.
"That doesn't stop you from chasing after your secretary does it?"
Schmecker stopped smiling. "You seem to know quite a bit Mr. Cooper."
"I like to know my clients well," I smiled.
The joy of serving justice gently blanketed the sorrows seeping from my earlier jobs.
"The view from here is breathtaking," I said, looking outside the closed windows.
