The Enigma’s Anomaly

I need to get him alone. Alone. Why is he never alone?

The first day goes by quickly and leads into the second where he sticks to the routine of lounging about in the coffee shop. I arrive around eleven and see him sitting there still with his back turned to me.

I walk over to Gerard and instead of taking the seat across from him I grab the seat to his right so that I can get a little closer. He might start to trust me more if I come off as friendly, and if he trusts me more, he’s more likely to be alone with me at some point.

“Hey, Frank!” he says and looks at me brightly. Well at least he remembered my name. I look at his hair which is sticking up in odd places and I want to run my hand through it or something. He’s got such a soothing personality that I don’t even find it hard to pretend I like spending time with him. I’m not even pretending, he’s just an honestly sweet person. A little eccentric, but sweet.

He’s got an unhealthy attachment to coffee so that he probably can’t function without it, but I think it’s cute. I also think the way he laughs is cute. The way he puts his whole body into the act, and it’s kind of high pitched, but contagious.

We talk for a little while and I get lost.

“You can’t have always known you wanted to be a comic book artist, though,” I say. I’m so far wrapped up in conversation with him now that I completely forget he’s a target. I don’t have friends, not in my line of work, so it’s refreshing to get to talk to someone. Especially someone like him who makes it easy to have a conversation.

“Yeah, I wanted to be Han Solo,” Gerard answers nodding. It looks like he’s reminiscing and I laugh at his goofy expression.

“Who the fuck doesn’t want to be Han Solo?”

“Valid point,” he answers, “Seriously, though! That guy is so cool. Nifty spaceship, and a bunch of awesome weapons and shit. I’d sell my left foot to be him.”

“Or maybe an arm,” I say, admiring my own reference. “You would also have a Wookie and a hot chick.”

“Not really my style,” he says with a shrug, “though Wookie’s are pretty cool.”

Yeah, he’s not straight. Not surprising. Heterosexuals aren’t that articulate. Good to know. If I meet him in the afterlife I’ll be sure to give him my number. I kind of hope that that won’t be for a while on my end, which is a hypocritical thing to hope for.

“So what did you want to be?” He asks.

“Me? God, I don’t know. I wanted to be in a band,” I conclude.

“That’s universal too!”

I guess he’s right. Everyone is kind of cliché when they’re younger. Bands, celebrities, firefighters. We’ve all been there. Though I decide to leave out my childhood dream of becoming a cheerleader. Some things just shouldn’t be said out loud.

“But seriously, comics? Did you always like art then?”

“Yeah,” he says genuinely, “some of my older stuff is shit though, I can’t believe I’m actually partially successful.”

“Older stuff? I bet it’s great. What about the original drafts of this comic? What’s different about the official comic book compared to the older ideas?”

“Mainly the characterization. I hadn’t solidified a lot of the personalities. Like the villain, who was kind of mundane in drafting, but he’s fucking twisted now.”

“Ah, well the best villains always are,” I answer.

Am I the villain to Gerard’s story? I don’t necessarily think so. I’m not the one who wants him dead after all. It makes me feel pretty wretched though. Am I a bad person for carrying out this deed? That’s a little iffier, because I could easily turn in the information I have to the cops. I don’t like thinking about my morals like that though. It only makes me feel bad. It’s an inescapable fact that I do bad things, but if I let that get to me, or if I let what I do become who I am, then I’ll never sleep again.

My smile twitches a little thinking about that, but I recover swiftly.

“Do you have some of the drafts? I would love to see how this stuff all comes together!” I say. I’m actually kind of interested in his work, but maybe he keeps that stuff somewhere else. Somewhere private perhaps.

“Uh, I left some of the other sketches back at my office, if you want to come with me I can show you some of them,” Gerard says. That sounds like ample opportunity to get him alone.

“Um, yeah I definitely want to see them,” I answer, and smile at him. I hope I don’t look mischievous or murderous or anything.

“Alright, come along Frank,” Gerard says and he looks excited. I watch him stand up and then jump up to follow behind him. I feel kind of bad for taking advantage of his gullibility like this, but at the same time I need some cash. I’m running a little low, and I do need this payday.

“Why do you even have an office if you don’t use it?” I ask him as we walk down the street. It’s windy, so the hair blows into Gerard’s face, and mine does as well. His hair looks odd in the wind, but it frames his face gorgeously.

He looks tremendously uneasy being out in the open. I want to tell him he’s got nothing to worry about for at least another five minutes, but I decide against it.

There are too many people on the streets because it’s lunch hour rush to get a clear shot, but he still looks scared.

“I, um, I just have it. I don’t know, makes me feel more professional,” he shrugs. His eyes are darting from one rooftop to another. It sucks to see him like this. I want to be able to squeeze him and tell him no one’s going to hurt him, but I’m the one who’s going to hurt him.

How would I feel if I were him?

No, Frank, don’t think like that. Don’t even dare.

“Are you, um, are you okay?”

“What? I’m just a little on edge, cause...”

“Oh god yeah, I’m sorry,” I want to hold his hand or something. Give him a cookie. Maybe a beer or some sedatives.

“It’s... can we just walk faster?” Gerard asks.

He’s only rushing his own death, but I understand why he’s paranoid. I can’t fathom to think about what I’d be like in his shoes. Probably a weeping mess under my desk in a bulletproof cage. I’m totally fine on the other end of the gun, but I do not want to be the one standing in front of a bullet.

We make it to the office hastily because Gerard speed walks. I am short, so I have a little trouble following, but I catch up after he enters the building. It’s still as dingy as it was when I was here yesterday, and the lights are in dire need of replacement, but it’s all fine. If all goes to plan, I won’t need to be here ever again.

I’m really hoping that the assistant is gone right now. I wouldn’t be surprised because it’s about the time when she might take a lunch break, but I just hope this can all be over and done with. I don’t want to allow myself to become anymore acquainted with Gerard.

I thank whatever deity is watching over me, because there is no mousy assistant in sight. There’s a carpet in sore need of a vacuuming, and some bland wallpaper, but no humans.

“Whose office is that?” I ask pointing to the other door that says ‘Schechter.’

“My publisher. He’s in LA at a conference right now,” Gerard says. Today must be my lucky day. I can’t believe how well this is all panning out.

My heart rate starts to quicken as Gerard opens the door and I realize that it’s go time. I only spent a day and a half with him, but like I said I’m a sentimentalist. I get easily attached. I don’t overly want to do this, because my emotions understand the implications of what I’m about to do, but I’m not a quitter.

Gerard’s office is small, but decent. It looks relatively unused, with a desk in the middle of the room that has no scratches or color stains so he definitely doesn’t use it regularly. There’s a filing cabinet to one side and a few framed pictures of his comic book on the walls. I don’t know how many issues there even are.

I make it a point to remember to buy them after he’s gone. Out of respect. It’s only fair that I know who he is and who I killed. It might be kind of sad, but he’s the kind of person who deserves mourning.

He tells me to hang on a minute and walks over to the filing cabinet against the back wall.

It doesn’t take much to get him to turn his back to me and I reach into my pocket quickly to grab the gun from my jacket. I keep it hidden under the fabric just in case he turns around, but I can easily set up my aim from this angle. It’s going to be sad to see this guy go. I don’t fire immediately because I want to hear him ramble about whatever it is he’s talking about just one last time. His voice is pleasant, and I want to remember it.

He’s going to look so scared, which sucks. Poor Gerard. I really wish things were different between us. I really wish that I could not shoot him and say I did. There’s really no point to that, though. People would know.

I just hope he looks peaceful in the coffin. To achieve that, I decide to aim a little lower then. I don’t really want him to have a bullet hole in his skull because that would be horribly unflattering. His ego would be tarnished.

I watch him riffle through a stack of papers but he’s looking a little disheveled and he’s not managing to find the right folder in the filing cabinet.

I take the gun off of safety and sigh sadly. My heart rate is still accelerated so I decide to steady myself and do a silent countdown for him.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.