The first to die

He kept his breathing calm as he clenched the knife in his rubber-glove hand. His mischievous appearance could warn anyone to steer-clear from him. His black attire blended well with the shadows of the ally. His pale skin almost looked akin to a dead body. His hair the color of the night sky. His eyes the shade of the lightest blue. His eyes like hawks as they flickered from side to side trying to see when someone would arrive.

It was the middle of the day when he stood in the ally across from the hotel. Car stopping at the stoplight them continuing in a queue fashion. A hotel reserved for only the finest of people. One, in particular, he was seeking. The women in blue and grey. Her hair the finest black, and her dress the richest blue. Her heels the darkest gray, and her smile the darkest of all. She went by Violet, fitting for her style, though it was simply code. The man stood in the ally and waited for her arrival. She would be there any moment, at any moment.

Another man stood in the hotel also waiting for this woman to arrive. His name was unknown, but he had felt like the stars tied to the moon for Violet. He would send her money, drugs, jewelry, clothes, and anything she asked for. She, of course, never minded these fancy objects, but what she really wanted was his head on a stake.

It was 1:30 in the afternoon when the woman finally arrived at the hotel. she walked in with her trepidacious smile. He waited kindly in the bar for her to join him in which she did. the man outside was no longer outside, but in the bar as well. he was watching from a safe distance as to not attract anybody's attention, though the knife sitting in his lap was absolutely conspicuous.

There walked in the woman and there she sat at the bar next to the man. At this moment everyone had left the bar except for the mischievous man sitting in the darkest corner. Everyone waited in the silence of the hour. 2:30 ran by and the man started to make moves on the woman. Violet being as stubborn as she had been known to be brushed it off without even a care. The man reached under her short dress and whispered, "I'll buy you anything if you let me play."

She smiles diabolically as she looked with her pallid blue eyes both grey and blue. He smiled back at her. But something was different about the whole scene. The mischievous man was no longer in the corner of the bar, he was now standing behind the girl with the knife towards her back. The man looked at him and with quick sudden movements, almost invisible to the human eye, her throat spurted blood all over the man. He yelped as he fell to the floor. The mischievous man made quick work as he stabbed the man in the eyes, letting the blood spurt out of the side.

Back in the ally, the Mischievous man stood looking back at his work in which he had now completed. He could be feeling the sorrow or guilt of all that occurred, but instead, he smiled at the feeling of killing two people he determined to be unjust to society. He had finally killed those who stained the world.

It was now 9:00 as the detective looked at the bodies. His partner, who was a newcomer, was throwing up at the scene. the detective grabbed the knife and pulled it out of the man's head. "It has a name, this should be helpful..." he said sarcastically.

"What name does it-" the newcomer said as he began puking once more.

"B," the detective said.

"B," the newcomer said. "That's no name that's a letter. Have you lost your touch Smith Parks."

"I thought I asked you not to say my full name, and no I haven't lost my touch. It could spell a name, but that would require more deaths." Smith told.

"Why's that?"

"Because this letter was found on the knife inside a dead body, if there are any more, Will, we will probably find them in dead bodies such as this one."

The detective looked out the window towards the ally across the street. He saw a figure standing in the dark, feeling his smile growing as the pressure-filled the detectives head like he was shot with a bullet. But it was rather a memory he wishes not remember. A person alone at school, being bullied, crying, calling for help. Who was it? He didn't know, but it probably was the person across the street. He looked more but the figure was gone.

"We should leave and get more research back at the facility," Smith said nervously.

"Sure, is something wrong?" Will asked.

"No, no its nothing, nothing at all."

It couldn't be him, it couldn't. He's dead, dead right, I looked for him for so long. Why did he return now? Please, wait for me, please (the detective thought).