Blinded by the Light

Everyone has a secret pleasure.

A thrill that sends ripples of bliss up quivering spines, raising goosebumps in its wake. It is almost primal, the sensation burrowing into your brain with urgency, demanding full attention as it slowly consumes you.

This sounds like addiction, doesn't it?

You aren't wrong.

Addiction is what happens when someone entirely succumbs to their appetites. I've watched it happen to countless people.

Occasionally, I encouraged it.

To hold others back from their desires would make me the worst sort of hypocrite, for I possess a guilty pleasure of my own.

Today, I lounged in an exquisite leather chair.

Soft and supple, the material was luxurious and immensely comfortable. I'd have sat there all day, but sadly it wasn't mine.

It belonged to the dead man on the floor.

He lay face up, gazing at the ceiling with a surprised expression. I loved that look. Death was so swift he hardly had time to process it.

I was paid quite handsomely to relieve this businessman of his mortal coil. They never tell me why and I never ask.

You don't get in this line of work by asking too many questions. Excessive curiosity is usually rewarded with a bullet in the dead of night.

No, I was never in this for answers. Nor was I interested in money.

My bank account possessed more funds than I could spend in one lifetime. After all, you had to be careful what you bought and how.

The reason that brought me to the merchants of death was a selfish one.

I wanted to know what happens when we die.

When my handler gave me the packet, I felt the familiar rush of excitement return. Tenderly, my fingertips brushed the photograph.

"Soon," I whispered. "Soon I will see your secret self."

He was Italian, middle-aged, possibly late forties. His expression was happy, a man who was pleased with his lot in life.

I couldn't wait to take everything from him.

"Make it look like an accident," My handler said tersely. "There will be a bonus if it's done cleanly."

My preferred method was suicide but restrictions make the game oh so interesting.

The human body is so fragile; it only takes a little pressure on the right places, a small amount of toxin or even a tiny jab to create a fresh corpse.

This particular mark was easily dispatched with a blackjack. My heavy club struck him at the base of his unsuspecting skull, crushing the brain stem with lethal force.

After he crumpled to the floor, I turned him over to watch the light fade from his eyes. This was a sacred ritual of mine. Trembling with anticipation, I observed the glistening pupils as the gates of the underworld opened.

I could almost see it. There was something there, shining within the windows of his soul.

A reflection but it wasn't my own... It was-

Then his eyes rolled back and the magic was lost.

I sighed in disappointment, feeling the emptiness return.

This was the part I loathed; the messy clean up after a heated climax.

Dragging the body to the stairwell, I poured some water at the top and used his shoes to make a convincing print. They would assume that he'd slipped and broken his neck during the fall.

And if they didn't buy it, well, that was hardly a problem of mine.

My gloved hands itched as I positioned the dead man on the final step. That was a warning sign. Someone was close by, approaching my position.

I frowned. There shouldn't have been anyone here aside from the usual security. Perhaps they were checking on their employer, I did waste too much time basking in the kill.

Time to slip away.

Noiselessly, I crept up the stairs towards the office. Here I would conceal myself until the path to the exit lay clear.

Footsteps grew louder, coming from the floor above me. As I reached the landing, I ducked into the safety of the office. The door squeaked slightly, making me wince.

Eyes scanning the room frantically, I spied a small closet next to a file cabinet.

Perfect.

It took only a second for me to squeeze behind expensive coats and boxes of bank records. The sound of feet echoed in the stairwell.

I allowed myself a small smile.

Security would see the body below, rushing past the office as they called for backup. While the guard was checking for a pulse, I would have less than a minute to sneak upstairs and climb out the window.

Using the large tree bough that hung close to the roof, I would climb down and vanish into the bushes as all the attention was focused inside.

It was an excellent plan, but fate had other designs.

The footsteps paused at the landing. But instead of dashing to the corpse, the guard pushed past the door. It creaked, swinging open.

I cursed silently. Did he see me enter?

The steps were softer than I expected. Definitely a professional. This could get ugly if I didn't catch him by surprise.

Gripping my knife, I squeezed the hilt in preparation.

"Where are you?" A raspy voice asked. It was too high for a man, must be a woman.

Shit. She definitely saw me earlier.

"I know you're in here..." The woman was getting closer, roaming towards the closet. Did she have a taser? Maybe even a gun?

Tensing my body, I prepared to strike.

As the closet door swung open, I lunged with the knife.

A young girl in a white dress stood before me. Her nose was runny, lips were chapped and her murky eyes watched the crimson stain spread over the silk garment.

She coughed.

"Why?" Looking at me with an expression of betrayal, she sank to the floor.

I towered over her, bereft of emotion.

This was the first time I killed a child. But there was no pleasure in it, no thrill of delight.

In a trance, I knelt and watched her innocence slowly drain. Those eyes were muddy, robbed of sight. She never saw her father's carcass. She'd never even seen his face.

But now, there was something.

Gasping, she choked on her own blood as her eyes widened. "Papa...?"

It was... impossible. I saw his face, the man I slain earlier. He was beaming, even brighter than the photograph. Lips moving, he said something to his daughter.

She smiled, scarlet fluid oozing from her mouth.

Then the image vanished, along with her soul.

I recoiled, disbelieving everything that had happened. My hands shook; something they hadn't done in years.

Everything felt wrong.

As I pulled the knife from her slender chest, I heard voices in the stairwell. Moving on autopilot, I managed to avoid the guards on my escape route.

Dazed, I slid down the drain pipe and moved towards the tree.

There was a gunshot.

My right shoulder exploded in pain, jolting me back to my senses. Gritting teeth, I leapt into the branches and clambered down as quickly as I could.

Bullets whizzed past me as I reached the ground, diving into the bushes. Guards shouted as they gave chase, fanning out in a wide search.

I burst out of the bushes in a motorbike, twisting the throttle to full. Sparks flew as slugs ricocheted off the pavement. Shoulder burning, I grimaced and leaned heavily to the right.

Zipping past the gates, I sped away from the mansion and quickly lost my pursuers.

But I couldn't escape those sightless eyes.

They bored into me like screws, spiraling deep within my sanity. I bit my tongue, pain chasing away the memory.

Covering my wound with a leather jacket, I returned to the safety of my hotel room. Inspecting my shoulder revealed the bullet had passed through cleanly, something I couldn't say about the job I'd performed.

It wasn't long before my burner phone buzzed impatiently.

He sent me one word.

Sloppy.

I snarled and flung the device against the wall. This wasn't like me. Normally I was calm and controlled, but my world was beginning to unravel.

Ripping out a tuft of hair I hissed in displeasure. What was so different about this one?

I'd seen countless expressions begging, denying, hating, doubting. Some were confused, others accepting oblivion. Endless visages swam before me, an endless nightmare of death masks.

All these faces plagued me but none of them haunted me the way those blind orbs did.

Opening the mini-bar, I guzzled the first bottle I saw.

Then I drank the next one.

A third quickly followed.

Still the vision persisted, silently accusing.

As I opened another drink, an idea crept into my brain. Perhaps all I needed to do was to witness another, a fresh one to erase the previous mistake.

"Hello, room service? Could you please send up some towels right away?" I spoke into the phone with all the charm I could muster.

"Certainly, I'll send someone up shortly." The reply sent a shiver of pleasure down my spine.

When the woman arrived, I strangled her while gazing deep into those eyes. Her pretty features turned a distorted purple in my savage grip. After some gurgling and a brief struggle, she went limp.

At last, I thought. I'll be free.

But there was nothing in those blue irises, not even a glimpse.

I tossed her corpse aside and gnashed my teeth. Another, I need another.

The man answering my call was happy to send some dinner; I feasted on my dessert as the waiter gasped for breath.

But though it was sweet, my treat was hollow and unsatisfying.

One more. I just need one more.

It wasn't long before the police arrived. I killed a great number of them before they put too many bullets into me.

Crawling to the bathroom, I fired into the mirror and shielded my face as the shards fell around me.

Wheezing, I reached for a piece and watched my face as a chill crept into my limbs.

"I have to see. I have to see." I muttered desperately.

"Put down the glass and put your hands up!" Ignoring their demands, I watched my countenance obsessively.

In my dark eyes, I witnessed something growing in the depths. Panting, I pulled the mirror closer.

There it was, just at the corner of my vision. Was it a face? Some place on the other side? As it grew more defined, a shot rang out.

With a crack, the glass exploded, blinding me.

I laughed madly in that darkness, giggling as the last vestiges of sanity vanished along with my life.