I went about my work just as my father had taught me and remembered the man who had made me who I was.
Ever since I was 13 years old my father had been taking me hunting. We went every week, and every week he taught me more and more about the family business.
We did the bloody work of killing those we were paid to kill, and he taught me how to hide my work in a world where better detectives and DNA made getting away with murder nearly impossible. We’d covered draining, cutting, tying, bagging, chopping, dissolving, burying, and burning. I was flexible and used whatever methods I needed to, depending on the time I had and the circumstances and settings of the job.
The men in my family had done this work for generations and we always would, if I ever got around to having a son that is. In this day and age, there were more people to dispose of and less time for making families. But one day…
I was in the process of cleaning up my current job, which meant pouring Draino over the body in a bathtub, when an opportunity presented itself.
The man in the tub had been alone in his home. I knew his wife had left him and taken the kid a long time ago. I didn’t worry much about anyone intruding. A few hours and a few bottles of bleach and Draino and I would be all set. The teeth, some bones, and whatever hair was left would be bagged and sent to the bottom of the ocean. Easy-peasy.
I could work slow and I had time to think. Whenever I had time to think, I thought of my father. He’d been gone a long time but his memory and his words were always with me. He was a good man, a wise man, and an exceptional father and husband. He’d been away a lot when I was young. Our line of work demanded long and unusual hours. After I had turned 13 it had been time to teach me the family business. It came easily to me, I had generations of killers DNA in me. I was made for this.
Still, I wish didn’t have to work so much. I was getting older and I wanted a family of my own now. I did the work because I was good at it but I had no one to do the work for, and no one to pass my knowledge onto.
This is what I was thinking when the boy walked in. I had thought the house was empty. I swear I checked every room. This wasn’t even his weekend to have his son. The son was now witnessing me murder and melt his father with Draino. Witnessing. I knew what I had to do.
He couldn’t have been much older than six.
I heard my father now, “Go on Kiddo, you can do it”.
I felt his hands on my shoulder, “Come on Kiddo, you have to do it.”
I didn’t feel bad. I was only doing my job, it wasn’t personal. It’s just that, I couldn’t have this kid running around giving my description and the details of my methods. It was just what had to be done.
I finished pouring the bottle and turned to the boy. “Hey Kiddo, I didn’t know you were here. I bet you’re up because you’re hungry aren’t you?”
He nodded to respond. I was unsure whether he realized what was going on here or not.
“Well, why don’t we go to the kitchen and see what we can find, shall we?
No response, he just turned toward the kitchen and I followed.
Peanut butter and jelly, every kid likes peanut butter and jelly, and every kitchen stocks the ingredients. I slid the sandwich across the table and searched for a small glass to fill with milk. You always give milk with peanut butter and jelly and you always give milk in the middle of the night. My father had taught me these things too.
I watched my little witness and thought about what was coming. I thought about what I had to do, I went over the steps in my mind and then…I thought about how good my father had been to me. I could be that good too. I thought about all he had taught me and all I wanted to teach a child.
The boy had no longer had a father and I had no son. I didn’t want a witness and I am sure if I asked him he would surely choose not to die. I had two options, kill him, or…
“Hey Kiddo, have you ever been hunting?”
Author’s note: The plan for this challenge was to post small pieces of fiction that read more like excerpts rather than stories with a true beginning, middle, and end. I think instead, these have turned into something in between, some more, some less. Please bear with me, these are my first attempts at writing fiction. You can find them all under my AtoZ2016 tag.
This is part two of another A to Z post, The Hunt
Featured image via Pixabay