[SP] every time you kill someone, their fatal wound shows up as a scar on your body
I drove to a secluded area uptown where there were fewer people and more forest before fitting an explosive device under the car to destroy the last shreds of DNA or evidence that could link me to the murders. My prosthetics had all been taken off at this point, and all of that stuff was inside the car. The bomb was set to be triggered when the phone attached to it received a call, and I changed to more corporate clothes as I waited at the bus stop.
As soon as the first bus came, I climbed aboard and sat. I wasn’t out of place in this situation, and as I checked my phone, the news headline of the assassination had just being aired as breaking news. They hadn’t even gotten any information from the police, who were on the scene investigating the murder and collecting witness reports. They must have discovered the body after someone had found their bodies and raised an alarm, causing a ruckus, causing the club to be abandoned. It would take some time for the police to chase the threads and track down everyone who was in the cl
It would only be a matter of hours before they got some information about who I was, and use security footage to link me to the hotel. When would they find out where and when I’d gone? Even if they did, they would continue chasing the description of a man who did not exist, a man with a limp (which I did not have), and different height dimensions. Would they ever get an idea of my true identity? That did not concern me either way.
I’d managed to get away, and I would make sure that the police would never found me. There were now four small circular-shaped scars on my chest, and four wider ones on my back. A small price to pay for freedom.
I made the call as I smiled. At this distance, I couldn’t be sure to hear or see the explosion, but the fact that the wireless dashcam I left in the car had stopped transmitting footage was proof that the car was done for. For now, I was free.
***
Six months later, the three murders had become a cold case, Of course, they had linked them, and they had gotten to the hotel and created a composite portrait for the wanted posters. All based on the false identity that the prosthetics and wigs and makeup had given me. They had located the car, which had been burned so terribly, nothing could be salvaged from it to use as evidence.
I had slipped, but I salvaged the situation and cleaned it up perfectly. And in the six months that had passed, I had completed seven more assassinations, killing twelve people and leaving many different ugly scars all over my torso. I couldn’t choose any other place apart from there, because the scars would show.
I didn’t know if I was going to cross paths with anyone who was as intuitive as Felicity and would actually catch up to the similarities between these scars and actual fatal wounds, or just think that they were suspicious. For this reason, I avoided pools, beaches, and most settings in which I would have to take off my shirt in the public eye.
It could have well been called a case of paranoia, but that was what saved lives in this line of business. I didn’t think it was wise to let down my guard. But what about remedies? That was an impossible goal to chase, so I abandoned it. In the rare event that I came across another legit fortune teller, seer, or whatever, they could possibly see what I had done to get the scars, and I’d be in danger of getting caught again.
For that reason, I became a social recluse, limiting my trips outside my house to only strict priorities like getting food and of course, going out for more missions. It was a lifestyle I hated, but there was nothing else I could do. It would be easier to leave the country, but there were still about seven missions to carry out before I could happily retire from this line of work and live out the rest of my days on a remote tropical island. The notion of reaping what you sow and dying by the sword you lived by was all bullsh!t to me. For all I knew, the good died young and the bad guys got to live out their lives in enjoyment.
I was going to make sure to enjoy myself and make the most out of life. I started going to the gym because I was getting out of shape from the reclusive life I was living and I needed to keep fit because the ‘job’ I did could put me in any sort of pinch, and physical fitness was a priority.
Looking back, a lot of trouble could have been avoided if I had just ordered a treadmill and a few dumbbells to my apartment. But I fooled myself by telling myself that it would attract some attention to myself and it was dangerous. The truth was that I was yearning for interaction with other people.
It was a costly mistake.
*****
I still have no idea where this story will go from here, but I’m just enjoying writing it as is. I hope it’s a good read for you as well.
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