She wore her hair short

and curly,

did her make-up in

metallics.

Everyone else saw

a sinner.

She devotes

her free time serving

at risk kids

by teaching them to

read and write.

This is her passion.

The ladies

at the church whisper

when she’s near

criticizing her,

not knowing—

she was there for her.

I didn’t want to do it. I had to, They made me, but that didn’t mean that I wanted to, or took joy in it. It was a service that I could provide for the community. Like an exterminator, of sorts.

Who were They? “They” were my bosses. My confidants. My friends. They had stuck their necks on the line for me when I had been kidnapped, and They rescued me. They helped me, a stupid kid that They had never met before, out of the kindness of their own hearts. They helped me escape a truly abusive situation, and They trained me to be an assassin for Them. That went a long way with me, and I pledged my allegiance to Them and vowed to help Them make the world a better place.

I’d get my assignments and I was to complete them in a timely fashion – failure was not an option. Today’s victim was Walter Finnigan, a middle aged postman who apparently did something truly awful to merit his death. I never asked for the details – it didn’t help me one bit to know why these scumbags received their punishment. The only thing I needed to know was who, and when.

And so there I was. Watching Walter Finnigan deliver the mail. Mrs. Shaunessy’s dog chased him off her lawn for the thousandth time – didn’t Walter get tired of that every day? – and he hopped back into his little mail truck and drove back off to the post office – I guess Mrs. Shaunessy’s place was the last stop on his route today. I grabbed my sunglasses, took a nice long sip of the fountain soda I purchased from the gas station three miles back, and drove off to the tavern Walter Finnigan was bound to visit after he dropped his dingy little mail truck off at the post office. He had a date tonight, and it wasn’t going to be with his wife.

I strode into the local bar confidently, sat on a barstool that stuck to the back of my thighs in an uncomfortable way, and ordered a drink. Club soda, with lime. I couldn’t afford to have my judgment impaired tonight, not when I had a job to do. I crossed my legs – they were smooth, I had just shaved and oiled them so they glistened under the dim lights of the bar. I rubbed them against each other and took a tiny little delight in the feeling of it – silk against silk. I screamed sin and I knew it – I had chosen a very little dark red dress with a plunging neckline that clung to me in all the right places. I kept in shape – I had to, for my job. Assassination came easier when you were pretty. The guy across the bar wanted to take me home – I could tell by the way he licked his lips when he looked at me. He wanted to buy me a drink, but couldn’t bring himself to be so bold. Pathetic creature. Low music filtered in overhead, and people were grinding against each other in the corner. Classy.

Walter Finnigan walked into the bar at that moment in time. I was certain he was an alcoholic. He ordered his favorite drink – whiskey – and casually sipped it, looking around the bar for a familiar face. He did this after every Thursday route. His face settled on mine and stopped. I smiled, winked at him, brought my club soda to my lips and took a long slow sip of it. Lowering my glass, I slowly stood – peeling the back of my thighs off the sticky bar stool – and clumsily walked over to Walter. I hoped he would think me ever-so-tipsy, a ditzy student drinking her way through college. The local university wasn’t too far from here, so it wasn’t unusual for the college crowd to frequent this local. Lucky me.

I sat down on the stool next to Walter. His eyes were saucers – out of all the blokes in the place, I had chosen him. Smiling, I spread my legs slightly – making sure that he could see everything under my short dress – and leaned in. I could smell the whiskey on his breath.

“Hi. Wanna buy me a drink? I’m empty.” I made sure to draw out the syllables as I shook my empty glass. I licked my lips – his eyes focused on my mouth and stayed there. I giggled, laid my hand on his knee, peered at him from under my eyelashes. “So, about that drink…?”

“What do...do you want?” He stuttered. I couldn’t help but laugh – he was a lamb to the slaughter.

“Gin and tonic. Extra lime.” He scrambled for the barkeeper’s attention. Ordered my drink, made sure to emphasize that ‘the lady would like extra lime.’ What a prince. I sipped my drink slowly, savoring its bitter taste as I went through the motions of polite conversation. Walter went on and on, I hmmned and hawwed and made sure that he thought that I found him enthralling. Little wonder that he invited me back to his ‘hotel room.’ Apparently he had an understanding with the motel down the road for conquests such as me – they allowed him to rent by the hour. What a fellow. I amicably agreed and stumbled off my barstool – making sure to give Walter a nice handful of my ample breast – and away we went, to his motel room.

We barely made it through the door when he was on me, one hand roughly grabbing my derriere, the other quickly sliding the zipper of my dress down. Walter, you frisky dog. I smiled as I walked him towards the bed – he fell back onto it, slightly grunting at the impact. I climbed onto his body, slowly unbuttoned his shirt and slid the belt out of his trousers. Straddling him, I lowered the zipper on his pants and reached down to stroke little Walter, who was standing at full attention. Big Walter gasped and closed his eyes.

“Are you ready?” He emphatically nodded. “I want you to keep your eyes closed.” He nodded again. I reached for my purse, felt for the knife I kept in there, and slid it into his jugular. He eyes shot open as he gasped and stared at me. Blood seeped out from the wound I had inflicted, staining the sheets beneath him crimson. It spread, absorbing all of the white around it, and I couldn’t help but think that in it was beautiful in the same way that abstract art is beautiful. You don’t really know why, you just know that it is. He didn’t struggle, didn’t make a peep. He just laid there, looking at me, watching me as I wiped the knife off on a piece of the sheets. At that point Walter Finnigan tried to talk, but the only noise he was capable of making at that point in time was a gurgle – he was choking on his own blood. I waited for him to expire.

Damnit. Walter was still hanging on, and I had things to do later. I was going to have to speed this process up. I took my newly cleaned knife and slid it into his belly, slashing along to make a macabre smiley face. His innards lay there, staring back at me, and looking up I could see that Walter Finnigan’s life had finally ended. I looked around for whatever evidence I may have left behind – but I knew I didn’t miss anything.

After all, I was a professional.

“In other news, local mailman, father, and husband Walter Finnigan was found in a motel room brutally murdered. Police have identified Rebecca Grey of Rocksfield as their primary suspect, and urge the public not to engage in any form of conversation or contact with her as she is considered as armed and dangerous. Ms. Grey has recently escaped Rocksfield Psychiatry Institute, where she was being treated for delusions, and is suspected to be involved in several other pending cases. Anyone with any clues to her whereabouts needs to contact Rocksfield police department immediately. Again, Ms. Grey is considered as armed and dangerous. Mr. Finnigan was considered as a pillar of the community, and will be sorely missed. Our condolences to his family.”