9 Unexpected Death

Rain had been drumming on the rooftops of the capital for the past two nights. Undaunted, pedestrians continued rushing about, umbrellas in hand. Few people had chosen to remain at home, it seemed.

One such man sat calmly in his study, inspecting a series of documents. Eventually, he stood and turned to the massive bookshelf behind him. He lifted his hand, moving it over the row of books, silently reading the titles. His fingers stopped halfway through, coming to rest on the spine of a blank sky-blue volume.

The man sat down with the book in his hands, looking at it hesitantly for a moment. He took a deep breath and opened the cover.

A collage of smiles greeted him. A family. Grinning, laughing up at him from the pictures preserved in the pages.

His lips curved upward—here was a picture of two young boys arguing, their mother scolding them. He caressed it with his finger. He flipped the page, and his smile deepened.

But suddenly he felt a chill. Sweat began to bead on his forehead. There was danger beyond his window, immense danger. It was time.

***

On a nearby rooftop, a shadowy figure peered through a window at a man reliving old memories. For just a moment, he had let his anger get the better of him. The target had apparently felt it, as well. The book crashed to the floor as the man raced to the window, but he saw only rooftops.

***

The man inside stood in front of his window, staring into the void of darkness before him. It could swallow him up at any time, he thought. He thought of Nietzsche and contemplated his life. A bittersweet smile appeared on his face.

His mind had always been his greatest asset, but he knew now that it had failed to accomplish the one thing he had set out to do. He continued staring, his expression hardening.

***

The assassin stood in a shadow at the rear of the mansion he was about to infiltrate. He had spent weeks surveying the location, observing the occupants, devising plans and contingency plans. All he had to do now was wait.

Eventually, the door to his left was flung open. A hefty woman walked out, muttering something about how full she was. She turned and locked the door, pocketing the keys. Unhurried, she made her way across the street to her car. She hadn't felt the hand slipping into her coat pocket.

Slowly, silently, the assassin unlocked the door and entered. Not a soul in sight. There was a laundry room behind the door to his left, he knew, and a staircase behind the door on the right. He turned right and cracked open the door. Satisfied that he was alone, he ascended.

The assassin had hoped everyone would be asleep, but the distant chatter of female voices told him he would have no such luck. He was out of sight in the second-floor entrance hall, and under cover of darkness. That would have to do.

He walked swiftly through the hall until he reached another staircase. There was a corridor at the top, lined on either side with doors. Guest rooms, he reminded himself. Not what he was here for. He continued up the next flight of steps.

Reaching the top floor, he found himself in yet another hallway. The luxurious finishes told him this was where the target and his family resided. The assassin headed for the study, hoping his blunder hadn't motivated the target to move somewhere else. It would be a nuisance to have to stalk him through the mansion.

He knocked at the study door and stepped back to wait. The silence grew.

"Enter," came a firm voice from the other side.

The assassin leaned against the handle. For a moment, he succumbed to surprise. The man was still at the window, motionless, staring outward. His shoulders were set back, his head held high.

"I have been expecting you," the man said, his back still to the assassin. "I could go on and on about things, stall for time, even." The man slowly turned around and his eyes pierced the assassin. "But we both know that would be a waste of time."

"You may ask yourself how I'm not begging for mercy right now," the man continued, turning back to face the window. "But frankly, I don't feel like giving you the satisfaction of knowing. There's only one thing you entitled bastards hate—being left in the dark."

He chuckled at his own wordplay. "So go ahead and end it."

His eyes held no anger, no fear. At most, there was a sliver of regret. He surrendered himself to the predator behind him.

The assassin stared, caught momentarily by surprise. But he recovered just as quickly, drawing a small dart from the compartment in the wrist of his coat. With a fling of his arm, he launched the dart into the target's neck. The man had barely lifted his arm to the wound before he crumpled to the ground.

***

Nathan had spent the past few weeks proactively engaging in discussions with his classmates. In spite of himself, Nathan had found he enjoyed the useless banter about cultural trends and holiday vacations. Subconsciously, he had even started referring to his classmates as friends.

Of course, he still considered them childish. Their obsession with girls was especially primitive. Why should he care about girls? They were obnoxious and they couldn't fight.

Leaving his phone in his room, Nathan padded down to the kitchen for a late-night snack. After all of the social interaction of the past couple of hours, he was worn out. He stared into the fridge.

Cereal it was.

He was about to dig in when he heard a silent ring. His spoon stopped, suspended in midair. Was he imagining things?

He decided to ignore it and continued eating. Whatever it had been, Nathan was too tired and hungry to care. Exhausted though he was, he couldn't help thinking about the conversation he'd been having with his friend just now. It had gone on for hours. Who would have thought, even a week ago, that he would spend hours in conversation with a classmate, a friend? That he would enjoy it?

The ringing began again. Still subtle, but this time Nathan was sure it wasn't his imagination. His irritation rose. Curiosity beat hunger and he stood up.

Abandoning his cereal, he followed the noise to his dad's study. He hesitated at the door, and the ringing stopped. But as he turned away, it resumed.

Annoyance pushed him through the door. The ringing was coming from the library, he realized. The ringing abruptly stopped, and so did Nathan. Finding the source of the sound was a lot harder now that it had gone silent.

Then it dawned on him — he was in his dad's study. An opportunity like this might not come for a long time!

He started with the bookshelf. So many interesting titles that he would like to study. However, one thing caught his eye. Rhododendrons: Species and Cultivation. Rhododendrons? When had his dad taken an interest in botany?

Nathan reached for the book. But as he did, the top of the book leaned toward him while the bottom twisted. With a hushed hiss, the entire library slowly descended into the ground, revealing a bare alabaster room furnished only with a pedestal. On that pedestal was a black landline phone.

He approached it cautiously, lifting the handset as though it might explode at any moment.

"H-hello?" said a feeble voice from the other end. "Is anyone there? My-my name is Roy Moore. I . . . I have just. . . killed someone. My father—I need help. Please!"