Thirty Minutes Earlier
The masked man sat inside his car, eyes fixed on the house across the street. It was dark out, after midnight, but through the open slats of the mini blinds in the living room he had the perfect view of the back of Zoey Marshall’s head, which, at the moment, emitted a soft glow due to the luminescent light shining from the screen of her flat screen TV. She was sleeping. At least, she appeared to be sleeping. Her head was tilted to the side, resting on an afghan she’d bunched up behind it about a half hour before. She seemed so content and peaceful. Happy. Too bad it was all about to change.
His focus shifted, turning instead to the seat next to him, which was empty except for a single item: a revolver. Looking at it now, the weapon seemed simple and innocent. So small, and black, and ... deadly.
It was remarkable, really, how such a little thing had the capability of taking a human life, or multiple human lives in some cases, ending another’s existence when they least expected it. For some, it was justifiable, the way it had to be, a necessary punishment befitting the crime, even if society didn’t always agree. Times had changed, and with it, people had become soft, forgiving others for unforgivable acts. Now, hard criminals were granted a life behind bars instead of what they really deserved—a public execution, a death mirroring the crime they committed.
Whatever happened to an eye for an eye?
Didn’t anyone believe in justice anymore?
He wasn’t without sin. Without stain. He’d indulged his own fantasies, possibly even taking his indulgent urges a bit too far from time to time, but as sinful as he’d been, he’d never killed anyone before—not until tonight.
He grabbed the revolver off the seat, checked to ensure an adequate number of bullets were inserted into the chamber, cursing aloud when he realized only three bullets remained. He punched the steering wheel. How had he not thought to check to make sure he had enough bullets before he left? He leaned back in the seat, contemplating his next move. Carry out his plan, or withdraw and try again another day? He glanced around the neighborhood. All was quiet. So quiet it seemed the slightest noise would rouse everyone from sleep. Still, he hadn’t come this far to back down now.
He opened the car door and stepped outside, giving the mask on his face one last tug to ensure it was secured into position. He looked both ways then crossed the street, taking a long breath in, allowing the crisp night air to filter through his lungs. How fresh it seemed tonight. How pure. How deadly.
His eyes shifted back to Zoey. She was now stirring, her head shifting from side to side like she was struggling to get comfortable. In the next minute, when she woke from her pleasant dream, he’d be there, standing over her, and she’d never dream another dream again.