Killing Atlas

The window slid open with ease, gliding as silently as snow falling from the sky. It would more than likely take a while for the gas to filter out completely but I was sure it would be gone by the time his body was discovered. That meant I needed to cover my tracks.

Slithering through the open window, I stepped lightly through his apartment. In the darkness it almost seemed as though everything were as it should be. A coffee mug remained abandoned on the table top. A crossword puzzle was open on the couch. But the apartment was not as it appeared. I knew what lingered in the air. My mask would remain on until I was back out in the crisp fresh night.

I slinked like a prowling cat, my ears pricked for any sign of movement. Atlas was here somewhere. He always returned to the apartment before dark; a routine I was glad he hadn’t changed. But the sun had set a half an hour ago, and no lights illuminated the apartment. That didn’t mean he was dead yet. I’d have to search for him, just to make sure.

When I found him, he was in the most obvious of places. A dark lump was curled on the bed, something Atlas did on the rarest of occasions. Normally he slept sprawled out like a lazy pig. I stepped closer, peering at his face under the faint light of the moon as I pressed my fingers against his neck. The last time I had seen him do this was four years ago, on the anniversary of his family’s death. By then I knew everything that had happened in his past after sneaking his file from dad’s study. To see him like this now made me pause.

My fingers pressed deeper, struggling to find his heartbeat until the small shudder poked feebly against my tips. It was faint. He would suffocate soon enough and die.

Finally.

Straightening with relief, I stretched and padded softly to the door, wondering if dad would be at home. After my last claim, though, I wouldn’t confirm my success until morning. Not until I fixed the leak in the gas, and aired out the apartment.

Hesitating at the door, I glanced over my shoulder at his dark figure still curled up on the bed. A pang of guilt tugged at my chest, the sight of him reminding me of the boy dad had taken in ten years ago. I hadn’t known it back then, but when I noticed he slept in a tight ball, I thought that was just how he was. It was strange to me. I couldn’t find comfort when I tried it myself. Now I knew why he did it, and why he had stopped a year later. Now he would die that way, a sign of the pain he was enduring, like a coping mechanism his body was doing out of habit.

I looked longingly towards the darkened kitchen. I could go. I should go. It was mere metres away. But an unwelcome voice tickled at the back of my head, nagging and whispering. The guilt was getting louder, more demanding.

Groaning loudly, I strode back to his side, rolling him over into a better position before heaving his weight onto my back. If I hadn’t trained for the past twelve years, I doubted I’d be able to carry him. He was heavy, and his height didn’t help the awkwardness of dragging him across the room to the sliding door connected to the small balcony.

Yanking the glass door open, I dragged his limp body out into the cool night air and dumped him flat against the cold concrete. Tearing the mask from my face, I clasped it over his mouth. Annoyance gritted between my teeth, my jaw twitching.

What was I doing?

Pressing a frustrated palm against my forehead, I contemplated throwing him off the balcony and claiming an unoriginal suicide. That was what I should be doing. He should be splattered three stories down beneath the light of a street lamp. Or hit by a car in a carefully predicted blueprint. I shouldn’t be saving him from lack of oxygen.

Damn it.

Atlas always did this. He always made me doubt myself. Made me move and think irrationally. My skin was tingling with uncertainty. The look of him curled up. It was the innocence coming back to haunt me.

Damn it. This was exactly why I couldn’t be near him.

Leaning against the railing, I looked down at the steep drop and sighed. It would be so easy. Almost too easy. So why didn’t I do it? A sharp gasp coughed into Atlas’s lungs as he inhaled the fresh air, expelling the fumes of his apartment. He was alive. Breathing as if nothing had happened at all. Dad wasn’t going to be happy when I reported to him.

Damn it.

Pulling myself up, I balanced on the edge of the rail, feeling the breeze envelope me. It was time to go, and once again, I failed. Giving Atlas a final glare, I ignored the fluttering in my chest, and leapt.