Not an Alley, But It'll Do

I kept my distance, trying my best to keep about a full block between myself and the people I was tailing. The Book had sobered me up again; a luxury my target definitely did not have. I pulled my hood up over my head, and the large bottle under my clothes helped to change my outline a little, but I really wasn't disguised. Their inebriation and the Book's luck ensured that they would not detect me.

The Book itself had calmed down a little. The distance between Monica and I had not changed, but the book's temperament certainly had. As long as I could convince it that I had a plan and that I was going in for the kill, it seemed to behave itself. After a few blocks, Riley peeled off and went his own way. A few minutes later, Jess did the same.

The group slowly fractured, and I increased my pace and began to close the distance. We were no longer in a shady, poorly lit part of town; my usual method of dragging someone into an alley and stabbing them was probably out of the question. Which was fine, because that wasn't my plan to begin with.

Finally, she was by herself, and I was close enough for me to get a decent look at her. From behind, she seemed average and unimpressive. Shoulder length blond hair, with the typical height and build of a young woman. But if I had learned but one thing in the past two months, it was that evil tended to reside in the most mundane packages.

I didn't know where she lived, or how far we were from her house, so I needed to act quickly. The location we were in was completely unacceptable now; visibility was high, and several people were out and about, walking down the increasingly well maintained sidewalks. I cursed under my breath; was the Book intentionally spoiling my luck as a punishment for my disobedience?

Despite my lack of a plan, my intuition told me to get closer, so I did, and I was about twenty feet away when she turned to a building on her right and began to open the door. I was too late, she had made it home, and there was no way I could get her alone and finish the job. I prepared to turn tail and head home as inconspicuously as possible, as soon as I could ditch the bottle under my jacket.

As I began to turn on my heel, I noticed that Monica had frozen at the door, and was staring right at me. We shared a brief moment of eye contact, and my blood iced over. Shit, this was bad. Then she broke out in a goofy smile and pointed at me. "Bryce?" Shit quickly turned to double shit as I was now not only detected, but recognized.

Committed now, I turned and gave an awkward little wave. "Uhh, hello there?" She walked over to me, and I got my first good look at her face. She looked like the picture of innocence; soft blue eyes, a small upturned nose, little ears pointing back and away from her head. As for her smile, it was the furthest thing from evil imaginable. Double shit had evolved into triple shit, or maybe even quadruple shit.

"Sorry if I startled you, this is probably so weird because we've never met in person. You're Riley's friend, right?" I nodded. Calling us friends was a bit premature, but I definitely wanted to be his friend, and I had a feeling we would be very close in the near future. "Laura and Riley were telling me about what a riot you are, and I was really sad I didn't get to meet you tonight."

The Book was holding up it's end of our silent bargain. She was only an arm's length from me now, and I had no overwhelming urge to try and break her neck with my bare hands. "Well, I'm glad we could see each other. " I mumbled, "But how do you know what I look like?"

I could have sworn that I noticed a quick tremble of panic move through her, but it was over in a instant, and she was once again confident and collected. "Riley was showing me your Facebook. Doesn't seem like you have that many friends." I recoiled and clenched my teeth, preparing to protest, but she waved me off and just giggled again. Suddenly, killing her seemed a lot easier.

"I'm just playing around, I know you're just too busy to update it. Anyway, I thought you were pretty cute, and it feels like fate that we're meeting here." I was extremely uncomfortable. At that point in my life, homicide was much more familiar and comfortable than compliments from the opposite sex.

"Well, thanks, I guess." My body language, already tense in anticipation of another kill, got even tenser. I was reaching apocalyptic levels of confusion and disorientation. "You know, it's pretty cold out here, and I can see you've got a bottle in your jacket. Did they not give you a paper bag?"

I figured telling her that I refused the paper bag so I could hide the fact that I was carrying alcohol at all because I was planning on using said alcohol to murder her was probably a bad idea. Also, in hindsight, I should have just taken the paper bag; stuffing a half gallon glass bottle into my shirt was a lot more conspicuous and awkward than just having a bag.

"To be honest, I think the cashier forgot, and I'm not really at the top of my game mentally right now." "Well, if you don't want to go through the trouble of carrying that bad boy home, we could go empty it in my apartment." The English language no longer contained a single word strong enough to describe my discomfort, and for a brief moment, I was flustered.

The Book gave an exceptionally hard thump, as if to say, "Get your mind out of the gutter you dense prude, this is the perfect opportunity to get her alone and cross her name off the page!" As unsettling as the idea was, the Book was definitely right; this was actually a stroke of incredible luck. Still, I was vastly out of my comfort zone, and I made a silent plea with the Book for help.

When it came to taking over my life, the Book was always happy to cooperate. I gave a natural and convincing smile, eager without being creepy, cool without being distant. "I like the sound of that. Carrying this all the way back home would be a drag, but with a little teamwork, I think we can lighten it."

"Perfect." She said, "And besides, it sure beats drinking alone, right?" I nodded my affirmation, and she led me into the building. The interior was really beautiful, a clear step up from the building where I lived; the floor was carpeted, and the lobby was full of elegant and well-made furniture. From the ceiling hung a beautiful electric chandelier, dimmed significantly to reflect the lateness of the hour.

Laura, Riley, Jess, and Peter all worked in the same pharmaceutical plant as me, on the North side of New Carthage. We did very well for ourselves, but the city was extremely expensive to live in, so most of us had modest accommodations despite earning plush salaries. I didn't know what Monica did for a living, but whatever it was, it must have been very lucrative.

Her behavior was unsettling; she could definitely afford a cab or an Uber, so why was she walking home by herself? How did she manage to recognize me in the dark, based off one or two Facebook pictures? And even though alcohol was involved, she was definitely coming strong. Even if this was some kind of strange trap, which I doubted, she was going to find out which one of us was more dangerous. Although, if I did the job right, she would never live to find out at all.

She seemed coherent, but was badly lacking in balance, and I had to half hold her up as we went into the elevator and punched in her floor number. As her thumb hit the button next to three, I breathed an internal sigh of relief. Any quick escapes would most likely not result in me falling to my death.

As the doors elevator doors rolled open, I readied myself for the task at hand.