The day before, Kyle received another assignment from Clyde. Apparently, his next victim was too much of a threat and needed to be taken out of the way.
He grabbed his knife and headed into the woods. He had scoped out this woods the day before when he received the assignment, so he could plot his strategy. The trees shadowed most of the moonlight from reaching the ground. On top of that, there lingered a mist in the woods from the rain, which gave Kyle more cover in order to make his escape.
With his night vision goggles, he was able to see clearly where he was going. He scoffed at the thought of this being a haunted area since he didn’t believe in ghosts. People are so naïve sometimes, he thought to himself. Superstition is for fools.
Fear was not part of Kyle’s vocabulary. He told himself that to be afraid was to put your mind in a prison. People could control others by using scare tactics. He remembered being afraid sometimes as a teenager. At the age of fourteen, he was dared to go into a house known to be haunted. Reluctantly, he finally decided to go in. He waited for a half hour, but nothing happened. The only thing that brought goose bumps up his back was the howling of the wind through a window in the attic.
As the house of his next victim rolled into view, he yanked himself out of his thoughts. He needed his full focus on the task at hand since failing would result in dire consequences. There was enough lighting to remove his night vision goggles and replace them with regular goggles to keep his eyes protected just in case.
He wore a skintight body suit and a ski mask to keep any hair follicles from falling to the ground and being discovered. Although completely shaven, there was always the risk he missed a piece of hair, and with the technology of today, it could be the one thing that will lead the cops to find him. His boots were ankle high. When he had bought them, he cut out the rubber bottoms and replaced them with his own. This way, he could not be traced as easily if the police looked for footprints. With each murder he changed the bottoms. It was a nuisance, but if he were ever caught, changing the bottom of his boots would decrease the likelihood of the police linking him to more than one assassination.
He was able to view the target through the living room window. The man and his wife were sitting on recliners. Kyle began to sneak toward the front door when a car suddenly pulled into the driveway. He quickly ducked under in the crawl space beneath the modular and ground, hoping no one saw him. Footsteps approached, and there was a knock. After a few minutes the door was answered. By the driver’s thick Chinese accent, Kyle assumed that they had just ordered some Chinese take out.
Not often did he hear a woman’s voice, since he kept on the down low, but when he did it reminded him of Linda. It was no different tonight when he heard the lady in the house. Even though he had spent years learning to master his emotions, he could feel traces of melancholy float through his stomach. It was one weakness he had not totally conquered.
After a couple of minutes, the delivery driver hopped back in his car and drove off. Kyle heard the footsteps return to the living room. They would now be eating. Kyle unsheathed his knife; knowing it was time to strike.