The Hitman

The sink looked white and clean at first glance. It was only when you focused in on it that you noticed the dirt and the filth. It was the same with the mirror above it. It had splashing’s of toothpaste, soap and saliva.

He noticed it. He always noticed things like that, he couldn’t afford not to. A single hair, a single fibre, a single mistake and it would all be over. No, he could not allow that.
He leant forward moving his hands into the bowl of the sink, he nudged the tap with the side of his hand and water gushed forth into the bowl. It ran cold over his hot dirty hands; he caressed it with his fingers as it cleaned the blood from his hands. The bloody water pooled in the bottom of the sink. He watched it as it twisted its way down the plughole. It reminded him of a red rose being sucked away from the light by some unseeing hand.  A mirror of his life, he the all-powerful unseen hand.

He smiled as he stared at his reflection through the grime of the mirror. It was a crooked smile and made him look quite frightening. He didn’t see that though, he saw a successful man running his own business and getting very rich in the process.

The sound of a child crying distracted him from his reflection. The smile vanished from his face and he looked down. Beside the sink his hunting knife, the blade still gleaming red with blood lie waiting for him to complete the job. He picked it up, gripping the handle tightly, and then he stepped away from the sink and out of the bathroom. He walked up the hallway, so softly was his pace that not a sound came from his footsteps.
He passed the master bedroom, peering in; the sight of red splattered over everything caught his eye. He loved the colour of blood. It was so pure and real to him. He didn’t even glance at the mutilated bodies that lie on the bed. He had finished with them and now to him they no longer existed. All that was left was the red dripping and slipping slowly down the walls.
He kept walking, going to the door that had pink paper flowers stuck on it. He could still hear the sobs coming from within. Had the child not woken he probably would have left. She was of no importance to him, but now his blood was up and when a killers blood is up it is hard to stop killing when once one has started. He stopped just outside the room, putting his hands into his pockets he pulled out some latex gloves and put them on. Always the professional, he could not allow his passion to let him get sloppy. Reaching for the door knob he took a breath, and then grasping it, he turned the knob and stepped into the room….

Should I continue?