The Text Assassin

Putting down the binoculars he turned up the volume on his earpiece and listened. He could hear his prey breathing in the darkness of the hiding place he had chosen. He lit a cigarette and picked up the binoculars again.

There. Third window from the left, fifth floor, that was the place. They could never resist peeking. It was always their downfall. Sometimes it was just too easy.

He took out his phone and typed in a message:

Can you feel me watching you?

He punched in the number and hit send. He waited several minutes and typed again.

I’m coming for you.

Again, a furtive look out the window and then nothing but darkness.

More typing.

Shall I tell you what I’m going to do to you when I get there?

He crushed out his cigarette and scanned the exits to the building. They never tried to run, they were always too scared. They knew he was near and they felt safer in their hiding place. Of course he would have a gun. He knew he was being hunted. He knew the price for what he had done.

Another text message:

You’re going to die slow. I’ll start by breaking several bones. You won’t know which ones until it starts. The pain will be excruciating.

He picked up the binoculars again. A slight shift of the light near the window. He would be starting to panic but he wasn’t moving from his chosen hiding place. It was pathetic but predictable. It was time for another text message.

After I’ve broken your bones I’m going to take out my knife. Have you ever heard of the death of a thousand cuts?

He imagined what was going through his prey’s mind. He would be sweating by now. If he had read the news reports about previous victims he might even be on the verge of a panic attack. It was time to move in.

He packed up his gear and slung his bag on to his shoulder. He took the stairs down to the exit and moved to the other side of the street, avoiding the light. When he reached the entrance to the building he typed another message and hit send.

I’m almost with you now. I can’t wait to get started. I’ve decided I’m going to cut out your spleen and show it to you.

He moved to the stairs and started climbing being as quiet as possible. Two flights up he stopped to send another message.

After I show you your spleen I’m going to remove your testicles and make you swallow them.

He kept climbing and stopped again at the fourth floor and sent another message.

Almost there. I’m giddy with anticipation. You’re going to beg me to finish you.

When he got to the fifth floor he flung the door open hard and stomped down the hall. Reaching the door of the room his prey was in he stood to one side and turned the handle. Three shots rang out in rapid succession, the bullets lodging themselves in the wall opposite. He turned the handle again and two more shots rang out.

Time for one more text.

Only one shot left. I’m going to make you suffer beyond your wildest imagining.

He lit a cigarette and waited. It didn’t take long. Hearing the last shot he opened the door. He walked over to the body and studied it. It was not a pretty sight. He had eaten the gun barrel. His brain matter covered a large area of the wall behind him. He reached down and picked up the phone lying along side the body, its glass display had shattered but it was still working. He erased the messages he had sent, wiped his prints off the phone and threw it back down.

He finished his cigarette, put it out with his fingertips and placed the butt in his pocket. He left the building and headed for his car. Time to collect his fee.


3 responses to “The Text Assassin

  1. Gruesome but nonetheless a wonderful story.

  2. Weak victim. I’d be texting right back and not shooting until I had a target in sight. Good story for a short, if unbelievable.

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