It was a rainy, but beautiful night; the moon and stars shone brightly, reflecting off of the small puddles of water formed by the pouring rain. There were many houses along the street casting long shadows down to the ground, and creating a very vivid image. A man walked down the street calmly and quietly, not minding the rain at all, in fact he enjoyed it. The man was wearing a large brown overcoat, and squared glasses, which were mostly covered by his soaking brown hair. Suddenly the man turned very quickly despite his large frame. He saw a small boy standing in the rain, crying, all other sound faded and nothing could be heard, not even the rain and yet as if from some far off memory he heard the boy crying, just standing there crying. The man turned away and closed his eyes, leaving his memory standing there, he did not want to see the rest, it ended terribly. The man continued down the street; more forms appeared, all around him he saw more of the dead, more of his deeds. They haunted him every night, they writhe around, they wither and die, and no matter how much the man tries to forget he cannot, for he has killed these men, these women and these children. The man opens his eyes to see one image left in front of him, standing there looking into his brown eyes with her blue ones, until finally she asked her question, whispering in a small rasping voice, “Why?” The man tries to respond, but cannot. He finds himself incapable of speech. Blood began to run down her face, and things became very dark. He could only see her now she reached out to him and touched his face, leaving prints of wet blood.

Dezmund shot up in bed, breathing heavily and sweating. He looked around and saw that he was alone. It was raining outside; Dezmund could see and hear it on his 7th floor window. He pulled away his lavish and surprisingly warm comforter and got up off of his queen sized bed. He walked over to the window and looked outside into the dark. Lamps glowed, casting their gloomy light in all directions and illuminating the snow covered streets for yards. Dezmund closed the curtains on his window and looked around once more, eyes passing over his bed, his shelves with many books, and his small dresser until his eyes reached the door that led to his bathroom. He reached for the crystal knob and opened the hard oak door, revealing the room on the other side. Dezmund walked in his very large and luxurious bathroom. On the right was the bathroom sink, it was big and metal, but crafted elegantly. The handles and faucet were also metal. The entire bathroom was designed around these dull grey colors. The shower was tall, with a large metal tub at the bottom that could act as a hot-tub. Other than the regular things you’d find in a bathroom, it was bare, nothing hung on the white walls except the large mirror above the sink. No décor, in fact nothing hung on the walls anywhere in the house. Nothing to give it character. The only things that Dezmund really owned was clothes, books, and of course weapons.

Dezmund looked into the mirror, gazing into his own brown eyes. He ran the water in the sink, and splashed some into his face, the water was cold, and he immediately wiped it off the white towel that lay next to him. Dezmund looked to his right, picked up his toothbrush and brushed his teeth for exactly two minuets and thirty seconds before he spit it back into the sink. He then combed his scraggly brown hair.

Dezmund left the house at exactly five-forty-five, dressed in his suit, with his fake ID’s in his wallet. On his way out the door he stopped and reached under his bed, pulling out a large black duffle and slinging it over his shoulder, he left his apartment.

To Dezmund, this was just another job that paid extremely well, but to somebody else this was a family member, a father, a husband, and most importantly to his contractor, a multi-millionaire who ran a large business corporation that had angered many people. He watched the large man lumbering around on the ground a mile away through the scope of his rifle. He adjusted the coordinates so the wind would have the desired effect. Dezmund took in a steady and long breath before he counted down from five, four, three, two, and one. He pulled the trigger, and the gun boomed, a single fifty caliber bullet flying out of the tip. He pulled out his binoculars, sun rays bouncing off of them as he did so, and looked. He saw the man lying on the ground, arms flailing in his expensive suit as he slowly died from the shot to his heart. The man slowly began to stop struggling, and finally, after a few minutes lost his grip on life. ‘Now he is just another dead body lying in a pool of his own blood,’ Dezmund thought, ‘waste of a perfectly good suit though.’ Dezmund packed up and walked back to his car; now he had to move quickly, cops would be surrounding the area any minute.



It was a sunny bright day out, a man walked silently in his boots through a field of cattails, feeling them with his hand at each step. This man was Dezmund. Out of nowhere was the sea of dead, the men and women and children he had brutally murdered, but today there was a new face, and Dezmund saw him walking toward him. The sky grew dark as the small wispy stratus clouds turned to raging cumulonimbus. The Sea of Dead flurried in no particular pattern, they were reenacting the last actions before their deaths. Screams could be heard, echoing sharply and floating through the air. The sound was overwhelming. Dezmunds' hands shot to his ears, and he closed his eyes shut, but he could still hear them, moaning, screaming. Dying. Dezmund opened his eyes but all he saw was blood, soon he was surrounded in the sea of red, it suffocated him, drowning him. Dezmund began to choke, blood filling his lungs and just when he was on the brink of death, he awoke, immediately right awake and looking around. As was customary. Dezmund still felt like he was drowning. The dreams had never been that bad before now. Dezmund sat there for mere moments before he threw the silk sheets aside and left. His large apartment.

Dr. Bello seemed to be a perpetually optimistic person. That’s probably why he was assigned to help murderers deal with their problems, but today Dameon needed help. He needed a friend. And Bello seemed to be the closest thing to a friend he had right now.

Bellow shifted, trying to move his large body to a more comfortable position in the small office chair. Finally Dezmund decided to end the silence, “so what do you think?” the question hung there a while before Bellow snatched it up.

“Well id say that your probably insane, but your also the most intellectual person I know so your probably jus crazy.” Bellow replied in his European accent. They both laughed.

“It’s good to see you again” Dezmund said, sitting up in the long chase. Bellow stared at him for a moment with his brown eyes before he sat back and ran his stubby fingers through his hair. The man sighed, and drew a piece of paper out of his pocket. He handed the folded piece of dull yellow do Dezmund. Dezmund took it and looked at him questioningly. Bellow gestured for him to unfold it. He unfolded it and began to read from the top. Dezmund looked back up at Bellow, surprise shone clearly on his face. “U-.” Bellow cut him off


“I need this done, don’t make it any harder than it has to be. Plus I know how u hate guns.” Bellow swiveled around and looked out the window; obviously it was time for Dezmund to go. The door slammed behind him.

Bellow had been right about one thing, Dezmund disliked using modern firearms, he never had really moved out the old fashion knives and darts, his personal favorite was the murders he had to set up and make look like an accident. This was one of those.

Across from Dezmund, amid the other houses sat the address he was looking for; 179 north deadwood street. The moon glowed largely in the sky, in all it was the perfect night to die. Dezmund walked up to the large gate and looked up. At the top were large metal; spikes, encased in black enamel like the rest of the gate. On either side of the gate was a tall stone wall with barbed wire embedded at the top. Dezmund looked down at his feet and jumped, grabbing onto a bar on the upper half of the gate. He put his feet against the metal bars and hung there ten feet off the ground. He launched himself upwards and grabbed the next and final bar. Dezmund pulled himself up on the bar and stood, wary of the sharp spikes next to his knee. Dezmund jumped twenty five feet down and hit the ground. He did a roll flawlessly and continued, running forward until he reached the door.

Dezmund crept through the large house, lying low as he climbed the narrow stairway. Finally he reached the top and rounded the corner. Dezmund jumped back, in front of him was a small little man, wandering through the halls in complete darkness. The man walked right by him and down the stairs. Dezmund stood there for a moment only partially hidden in the shadows, watching the man go. He stepped around the corner and disappeared from view. Dezmund walked forward into the hall quietly, taking in the dark hall. It had four doors, each accompanied by a label to make it easier for guests to find their way. As Dezmund passed, he looked up at the labels. He passed the first door labeled bathroom. Then second labeled gym. Then third labeled closet. And finally the fourth labeled bedroom. He stepped up to the one labeled bedroom and grabbed the handle. He turned it and cracked the door slightly. Inside was a bed, centered in the middle with two nightstands and a large TV hidden in a closet. On the bed were two people, the man he was supposed to kill and what he guessed was his wife. Dezmund walked forward and reached into the hidden pouch on his belt, withdrawing a small knife. Dezmund felt a sudden pressure in his mind and his vision wavered. The women shifted in the bed and groaned. The women settled for a moment before shifting again. Dezmund cold see her eyes now, and the pupils shifting underneath. The women’s eyes flicked open suddenly and she sat up Dezmund shrank back slowly, using the shadows to hide himself in the corner. The women got up and stretched, long arms stretching above her head. She dropped her arms and walked forward approaching the place where Dezmund was hiding. She was five feet from him before she turned and walked out of the room.
Once the door closed Dezmund let out a long breath and shook himself. He held up the knife and walked over to the king sized mattress. The man in front of him was large, and somewhat burley, messy brown hair splayed out in all directions. The man began to snore loudly. That would end soon. Dezmund took the knife and place it over the beck of his neck. The blade was small enough that it would be nearly impossible for the naked eye to see it. He made the incision, just like that. The poison that Dezmund had placed on the knife would work its way through this man’s bloodstream, and in minutes he would be dead.
Dezmund sat on the bed. He watched the, man he would never know slowly die. Suddenly there was a noise behind him. Before he could react there was a scream. So loud and so high pitched Dezmund thought he might actually pass out. In that moment dezmund knew what he had to do. It was all part of the job. No witnesses. Dezmund threw the knife toward the women’s throat. But as soon as it made contact with her skin she disappeared, almost like a vapor into thin air. He stood there to stunned too move. Then Dezmund noticed something, there was no more snoring. He turned around and faced what he had been scared of. The man was gone.