The Perfect Kill

2

I like to get lost in my thoughts often, especially on my walks home. I guess you could say I like to live in my head. It doesn't sound like a bad place to be, but this is my head we're talking about.

As I'm taking the usual way home, I'm thinking about my next victim. I want to do something new - like kill someone outside of school. I've always wanted to do that, but I figured I'd start small, then work my way up to it. What makes this one so special is that it'll be my tenth one. Double digits. It's gotta be something big to get the adrenaline rushing. Something glorious. Something memorable. Something extravagant. Something -

I gasp as I'm pulled back by my hoodie, then see my reflection on the side of a silver 16 wheeler. My heart rate is off the charts and my breathing increases dramatically when it passes me.

"Are you okay?"

I turn to see the source of the deep voice and my savior. He's taller than me but definitely older. His hair is dark brown and his eyes are hazelnut. He smiles small at me. "That was almost a disaster, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess. Thanks." I'm clearly still breathing hard, but I'm trying to play it off as much as possible.

I don't know if I'm supposed to say something here, but he won't stop staring at my shoulder. Is this guy a pedophile or something?

"I have to go," I say, about to leave.

"Woah." He grabs my arm. "So soon?"

What does he expect? Is he gonna take me somewhere? I'm not going anywhere with this guy.

"I know this great hot chocolate stand right down the block by the park. They have benches and everything. I'll buy."

On second thought, that sounds pretty good.

It's not difficult to read people. I may not be able to tell their whole life story like a Sherlock Holmes type of character, but I can get the surface information if I glimpse long enough. For instance, the guy across the street waiting for the bus. He's been there longer than when this man and I arrived and the bus still hasn't shown up. If he really wanted to get home, he would've started walking, or called a taxi service - which he can afford going by the state of his suit. He's trying to avoid something in his home life. He has a wedding ring so he's married, but not happily, given that he's fiddling around with it with the same hand's thumb. If he was really worried about it falling off, he would've had it fitted -

"Here you go." The man extends his arm with hot cocoa for me, and one for himself.

"Thanks." I take it and he sits next to me. I sip. "It's pretty warm."

"I was standing there for five minutes. Kept saying 'Kid. Hey, kid.' "

"Hmmm."

"You really don't notice the things that are right in front of you, do you?"

"I believe the term is called 'selective attention'."

He chuckles and drinks his. "You're funny."

"How?"

He shrugs and takes another sip. The way he sits indicates a lackadaisical attitude about him. Carefree.

"How old are you?" He asks.

"Why?"

"Just trying to make conversation."

I hesitate. "17. You?" It's fair that he answers the same question.

"22."

Okay, so not that much of an age gap. Still, he's a grown man. "I've never seen you around here."

"I don't live here. Just taking a stroll and... there you were... almost smacked dead by a semi."

"Thanks again." He nods but keeps staring at my shoulder. "Why do you keep staring at my shoulder?"

"You're very tense."

How did he know that? "What?"

"You're tense. Stressed out. Felt it when I grabbed you."

"Oh."

"And it's gotten a bit worse up to this moment."

"Well, I'm sorry if being with a stranger whose name I don't know is making me tense."

"Oh, well that's fixable." he extends his hand, which I take into account is self - manicured on a weekly basis. It indicates that he's probably an indoor person. "Brendon Urie."

I grin and shake it lightly. His grip confirms that he definitely doesn't interact with a lot of people. It's inexperienced. "Sam Armstrong."

"Pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise." I'm almost done with my cocoa now. "So, where do you live?"

"Oh, way out in the middle of nowhere. You wouldn't know it."

"No. I probably wouldn't." So he lives in isolation. Good to know. "What's your job?"

"I work from home. I write anonymous book reviews."

So no one has any idea who this guy is? Could he actually be a... nobody?

"Well," he stands up, "I got a long ride ahead of me. Nice to meet you again, Sam." He holds out his hand again, smiling.

I return the gesture. "Same to you, Brendon."

As he's walking away, I can't help but look at him and smile. He's the perfect kill.