Snippets

Friendly Assassin

"Stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Making that face."

"What face? This is my normal face."

"No, you're making that face, the one when I'm the student and you're the teacher, and it's getting on my nerves, so will you please stop it!"

"I'm not making a strange face."

"Yes you are!"

"Calm down, it's not like you haven't seen my face before."

"Zarria, you know what I mean."

I sighed. "Fine, fine, I'm making a face, whatever. Anyways, back to my profession that apparently doesn't make sense to you."

"It would make sense of you would stop beating around the bush and just tell me."

"Fine. I'm hired by my victims."

A stunned silence. Then, a small, shocked question. "You do what?"

"People hire me to kill them. Not brutally or painfully or anything. Just gently, giving them an easy death."

"You commit assisted suicide for money? That's sick!"

"No, not for money! Even I'm not that detestable, Mull! Most of my clients are ones who have nothing left to live for. I usually have a large number of homeless people, it would be downright cruel to demand payment from them."

"Then why do you do it?" He really was daft if he didn't understand by now. It must've been so boring in his mind, not being able to connect puzzle pieces that obviously fit together.

"I give them what they want, and in return, I become famous. It's a win-win situation, Mull. I don't see why you don't get that."

"But you're murdering them! It's not a win-win at all!" He was going in circles now, and to be honest, I was getting sick of it. Slamming my hand down on the coffee table, I gave him my best glare.

"Mull, it's not that hard to understand! The people I serve want a release, but they can't do it themselves because that'll only bring pity to their kind, not attention, there's a damn difference! If they commit suicide then people feel sorry for them. They don't want that. They want their deaths to mean something, to show the world how miserable it is to be them, so if they are murdered, people are more interested in them! It's not about the stupid dying part so much as how it looks like they die. If I make a show about it, people will be interested. If we just say they committed suicide, then boo-hoo, there goes another lazy bum who couldn't earn enough money to even buy himself a damn bottle of water!"

Mull stared at me in shock as I settled down and sat back, controlling my breathing like my therapist had told me. "Look, I'm not saying that what I do is right, but I do help people in a way that's good for everyone."

"Except for the mass amount of the public who you're lying to every time you help someone." I waved a hand at him.

"They can deal with it."

"Do you really have no remorse?" I shrugged.

"If I do, it's an extremely small amount."

"Point taken. So, how d'you do it?" He sat forward again, resting on the edge of the chair. I was confused.

"Do what?"

"You know...help them."

I gave him a look. "You just called me a monster for helping people die, and now you're curious as to my methods. I may be wrong but do I sense a bit of a hypocrite?"

"You're wrong. I'm asking solely for the purpose of satisfying my curiosity. Now, tell me." Rolling my eyes again, I leaned back on the couch.

"Poison. Lethal in a large enough amount, but it provides a quick and painless death. Ironic, because the plant it comes from will give you an extremely painful end if you so much as touch its leaves."

"How does that make any sense at all?"

"Simple: Wearing gloves, I draw out the water from the stem and add enough liquid tranquilizer to make them fall into a deep sleep and never wake up. The poisoned water eats away at any chemical remains in the body, then once they are dead, I return and mangle the body."

"Do they let you do that? Your clients?"

"They have to sign a form beforehand that expressly gives me permission to spruce up their body and then let their friends and/or family bury them and mourn. If they don't want me to mess with their corpse, then I don't add the poison water and just stuff them with tranquilizer. Then, I leave a note and a false trail that will make the police believe I made a mercy killing. But that's only happened twice, both times in a different city than this one. The rest have all seen the benefits of my added theatrics."

"Wow. That's...interesting. How do you make money?"

I shrugged. "I sell their belongings and hope for a good haul."

"Zarria!" He began lecturing me again, the police and my gun long forgotten. I smiled. This was our normal. I was in the clear.

He had taken the bait, and it was time for me to reel in the catch.