The dream had to be compelling, something which could scare the living daylight out of me. I tossed along in the bed, just praying to the sleep God, to give me just an ounce of the sweet nectar of sleep. The clock ticked away slowly chiming into the night. Hours just crawled along, slowly fading, fading into the nothingness. It had to be a long night, I had told my self, but I lay there not yet prepared to accept the fact. I waited for the first ray of sunlight to save me from my misery, to show me that I was not dreaming. I lay there, just drowning into my dream.
Was it a touch or a knock I couldn't tell, but something did wake me up. I was sweating, with a fast beating heart. I grabbed at the water that lay by the table, sipping, gulping it down. I could hear the water flow down my oesophagus.
"A bad dream?", a voice rang up behind my head,
"I don't think so, Just my regular late night marathon", I had to be sarcastic always. I couldn't help it though.
"Dude it ain't the time for kidding around, you got job to complete. Boss won't want you screw this one up.", Now I could clearly recognize the voice, may be I came out of the sleep or the mention of "BOSS" and "SCREW" brought me back to my senses. I couldn't tell though.
I think I was well prepared for the hit, but as nature has its own way, I couldn't actually pull the trigger on time, and that was the first time I had screwed things up. Then there was this girl who didn't die when I was actually paid to kill her. So I had a pretty long history of screwing things up. It was time for me to step down, give way to the younger and the hotter blood, and so I had decided, it was to be my last hit, last assassination as I would call it, or the last murder as the cops would call it. The money had been delivered, and I counted, 50% it said, and the rest after the work was done. I had cleaned up my gun, screwed in the silencer, loaded the magazine, and was prepared. The photograph of the lady whom I was supposed to kill lay besides the money. She wasn't old neither was she young. She looked more of a brunet than that of a redhead, but I couldn't actually say. She had a good face structure, with a good pointed nose, "An expensive nose job" was stamped all over it. I had studied her routines for a while now and I knew where would she go to walk her pooch, where she would go to hang out with her good for nothing brats. I knew her house, I knew her life. It was my job to know, and I was paid for it. I packed up everything neatly into a suitcase, took the keys to the car, and drove off. I had to reach the coffee shop before 9. It was just around the corner which she would be crossing, walking her stupid little dog. I had to wait, most of the days. Sipping some really crappy coffee. I saw her coming. The little dog running after everything it could get its mouth on. I tucked in my gun into my coat pocket, and walked slowly towards her.
"POLICE, don't move, just lay there with your hands above your head." The cops shouted as they barged into my bed room.
“I already have'em up officer, so please can you stop shouting into my ears early in the morning.”, and I was responded with a jab in the rib. Real bad, I could have died, but they know places where it hurts the most without taking even the slightest of your life. I writhed in pain for a while, and then was dragged up and taken to the station.
“So why did you kill her.” Finally I could say now, I had been sitting in the same place for about 2 hours. I should have walked around a bit, should have gotten my restless feet some exercise.
“I was paid to kill, you see I am an assassin, so I kill to get paid.”
I heard a light laughter, then another jab, this time into my jaw.
“That fucking hurt.”
“Who would pay such a clumsy person like you to kill any one ?”
I wanted to tell them everything about our organization, how it worked and how the targets and money were delivered. How much work was put into each target, but I couldn't. It was the organization's protocol not to talk about it to outsiders and cops were like a big no.
“You have killed 10 people, out of which two of'em survived, who wanted all these ten people dead.”
“I can't talk about it”
Then something I was not at all prepared for started to happen. The cops got the pictures of my previous victims. The table was turned into a display board, with the pictures sprawled all around the table. The pictures were gruesome. I almost threw up. Then something hit me, something which people would call as reality. None of the victims had died by my attacks. I had always used guns to kill, one single shot to the head and they die, but these victims were stabbed, slashed and god knows what all else.
“I don't kill like this. I use a gun”
The they showed me the picture of my latest victim. The head had been severed. I instantly threw up. I had to get my self out of this now. I hadn't done it. Some one else did, but not me. I started with the organisation. I knew I would be killed if I tell the cops about it. I told them how it works, how the money is handled, and who the boss is. I even gave them the way to reach the underground headquarters.
After spending four days in the prison cell I was transferred to a white building. Couldn't tell what it was, but it did look freaky. I was made to wear a white gown, and was locked up in a cell yet again. It didn't bother me, I was any way locked up before also, but what bothered me was that I was being punished for crimes I hadn't committed.
“We would like you to meet Dr Yanders. He is the head psychatrist.”
“Have I lost my marbles ??”
“It seems something like that.”
Dr Yanders told me that I had actually killed all my victims with a knife and not a gun and it was the most horrendous butchering ever seen by him. All of my victims were females, surprisingly, whose implication I couldn't understand. I had always thought that boss had some disliking towards women and he was just getting it out by just getting hit cases on women.
The next thing I heard practically made my heart stop pumping. All of my victims were bellow the age of 16.
Well I just recalled that one screwed up case, but Dr Yanders had other things to say.
I was kept in observatory for a while, before they told me what exactly was wrong with me. I was told that the underground headquarters I had talked about never existed. The place was just a drain dump. There was no Boss, or the delivery boy who delivers all of my tasks.
It took me a while to come into terms with the reality. A little too long. No one paid me, no one wanted those women or kids dead, no one actually cared about assassination. I couldn't look at my self, I was broken, I had done the most heinous crime, I had butchered 10 kids to death mercilessly, thinking that I was some hotshot assassin. Later on doctors told me I had schizophrenia, and that the gun, the Boss, and the delivery boy were all my imagination. I had to get out of this guilt. I have to live a guilt free life, It had to start with prison, but I had plans. Plans to easily get off that guilt.
It was one late evening when I finally found my self alone. I had to do something about my guilt, something about the guilt of killing those 10 innocent girls. I couldn't think of anything else. I put my hand in my pocket,
I found that gun I was hiding.
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