Status: slightly active? i still have writers block
Innocence is an Illusion
Prologue
A tall man dressed in all black slowly picked the lock on the bronze doorknob of a small apartment. Glancing around him first, and then cautiously easing the door open, he pushed his way into the stuffy apartment and crept in silently, shutting the door just as quietly behind him. With the grace of a jungle cat, the man swiftly edged around the corners of tables and counters, approaching the closed bedroom door with ease.
He pressed his right ear up against the bedroom door, and the distant sounds of someone’s slow breathing made their way into his line of hearing. Smiling maliciously, the man gently nudged the door open and eyed the sleeping lump tangled within the bed sheets, the chest of his victim moving up and down in perfect harmony with the breathing. He slipped inside the room and closed the door behind him, pulling something out from his jacket pocket. All was quiet for a few moments.
BANG!
A gunshot sounded, cutting through the stillness of the dark summer night like a butter knife. In another room of the small apartment, a teenage girl sat up with a start, clutching her hand to her chest, beads of sweat forming on her brow. She scrambled out of her bed and rushed over to the other room, her heart racing and her whole body trembling. Barging into the bedroom, she could not hold in the scream of horror as she took in the scene that lay before her.
Knotted within the bed sheets was a once live human body, covered by the once beautiful looking comforter. Now, however, it looked eerie and sinister. A pool of red liquid was quickly gathering at the foot of the bed, and there was a burgundy stain on the beige comforter. She didn’t need a doctor to tell her what it was. A ghostly pale hand was sticking out of the bed sheets, seeming lifeless and hopeless. But she wasn’t giving up hope just yet. The girl ran to the hand, clutching it tightly. It was cold. She put her fingers to the wrist, searching for something, anything. But there was no pulse. Her blood froze as her hand flew over her mouth. This could not be happening.
She couldn’t think. She couldn’t see. But she could still feel. Goosebumps rose on her arms as a rush of cold wind surrounded her, blowing in from a newly opened window. She raced to it and stuck her head out, only to see a dark figure sprinting down the sidewalk, blending into the shadows of the night, melting into the inky blackness. The girl stayed at the window, staring in the direction the stranger ran, her face stoic and stony.
She did not move when the police came. She did not move when she was asked to leave so they could further investigate the crime scene. She did not move when the sun poked over the other apartment buildings, or when people in suits and ties filed out of their rooms, ready to start the work day, or when the neighbors scurried in, saying words of sympathy and attempting to console her. The girl stayed put, staring blankly down the street, wondering where the stranger went. Her eyes were glued to the corner where the killer had disappeared hours ago. Questions ran through her head, and she could feel the little wheels in her brain turning.
She moved again for the first time when a tall, buff, clean cut man entered the room and shut the door behind him, gesturing towards her. The girl stared at him intently, not quite registering the reason why he was there. Was he going to attempt to console her? It wouldn’t work. Was he going to bring her to a safe house? She wouldn’t leave. That left only one option. She thought of her dead companion as the man’s lips began to move, and when he held out a manila folder to her.
“Special Agent Silvers, we have a lead on who did this. I want you to lead our investigation.”
* * *
In an old abandoned warehouse, a tall man lounged on a plush couch comfortably, thinking how easily he completed his mission. He greedily counted the money in his hand, knowing that it was enough to buy him three Lamborghinis and a garage to put them all in. The man pulled a silver box out from under the couch, and stuffed the wad of Benjamin Franklins inside. The man had no idea why he had to kill that woman; from his knowledge, she posed no threat, and was not a very rich person, either. However, it wasn’t his job to know. His job was just to kill. The man then proceeded to turn off the light and laid his head down on the armrest, completely unaware that he had just ruined the life of a teenage girl. He was completely unaware that she already knew his name, where he worked, and all the different companies that had hired him. He was completely unaware that at that exact moment, she was thinking about all the different ways she could kill him.
* * *
Last name: Silvers. First Name: Alexandra. Age: 17. Status: Unknown. Mission: To find and terminate the one who killed the woman she called Mom.
He pressed his right ear up against the bedroom door, and the distant sounds of someone’s slow breathing made their way into his line of hearing. Smiling maliciously, the man gently nudged the door open and eyed the sleeping lump tangled within the bed sheets, the chest of his victim moving up and down in perfect harmony with the breathing. He slipped inside the room and closed the door behind him, pulling something out from his jacket pocket. All was quiet for a few moments.
BANG!
A gunshot sounded, cutting through the stillness of the dark summer night like a butter knife. In another room of the small apartment, a teenage girl sat up with a start, clutching her hand to her chest, beads of sweat forming on her brow. She scrambled out of her bed and rushed over to the other room, her heart racing and her whole body trembling. Barging into the bedroom, she could not hold in the scream of horror as she took in the scene that lay before her.
Knotted within the bed sheets was a once live human body, covered by the once beautiful looking comforter. Now, however, it looked eerie and sinister. A pool of red liquid was quickly gathering at the foot of the bed, and there was a burgundy stain on the beige comforter. She didn’t need a doctor to tell her what it was. A ghostly pale hand was sticking out of the bed sheets, seeming lifeless and hopeless. But she wasn’t giving up hope just yet. The girl ran to the hand, clutching it tightly. It was cold. She put her fingers to the wrist, searching for something, anything. But there was no pulse. Her blood froze as her hand flew over her mouth. This could not be happening.
She couldn’t think. She couldn’t see. But she could still feel. Goosebumps rose on her arms as a rush of cold wind surrounded her, blowing in from a newly opened window. She raced to it and stuck her head out, only to see a dark figure sprinting down the sidewalk, blending into the shadows of the night, melting into the inky blackness. The girl stayed at the window, staring in the direction the stranger ran, her face stoic and stony.
She did not move when the police came. She did not move when she was asked to leave so they could further investigate the crime scene. She did not move when the sun poked over the other apartment buildings, or when people in suits and ties filed out of their rooms, ready to start the work day, or when the neighbors scurried in, saying words of sympathy and attempting to console her. The girl stayed put, staring blankly down the street, wondering where the stranger went. Her eyes were glued to the corner where the killer had disappeared hours ago. Questions ran through her head, and she could feel the little wheels in her brain turning.
She moved again for the first time when a tall, buff, clean cut man entered the room and shut the door behind him, gesturing towards her. The girl stared at him intently, not quite registering the reason why he was there. Was he going to attempt to console her? It wouldn’t work. Was he going to bring her to a safe house? She wouldn’t leave. That left only one option. She thought of her dead companion as the man’s lips began to move, and when he held out a manila folder to her.
“Special Agent Silvers, we have a lead on who did this. I want you to lead our investigation.”
* * *
In an old abandoned warehouse, a tall man lounged on a plush couch comfortably, thinking how easily he completed his mission. He greedily counted the money in his hand, knowing that it was enough to buy him three Lamborghinis and a garage to put them all in. The man pulled a silver box out from under the couch, and stuffed the wad of Benjamin Franklins inside. The man had no idea why he had to kill that woman; from his knowledge, she posed no threat, and was not a very rich person, either. However, it wasn’t his job to know. His job was just to kill. The man then proceeded to turn off the light and laid his head down on the armrest, completely unaware that he had just ruined the life of a teenage girl. He was completely unaware that she already knew his name, where he worked, and all the different companies that had hired him. He was completely unaware that at that exact moment, she was thinking about all the different ways she could kill him.
* * *
Last name: Silvers. First Name: Alexandra. Age: 17. Status: Unknown. Mission: To find and terminate the one who killed the woman she called Mom.
♠ ♠ ♠
new story =] tell me how you like it? comments <3