CHAPTER EIGHT
The killer watched the window through narrowed eyes.
The target was inside, strolling around the luxury lodge. A woman, wearing an expensive designer dress in sumptuous satin fabric, speaking on the phone.
She was flawlessly made up. The cosmetics concealed the sour, arrogant set to her mouth. But the killer could see it. Her eyes had a cold look in them, a hard gaze.
In the stillness of the air, the killer could even hear the words she was saying.
“I have to go,” she said into the phone. “There are deals to be made. They won’t wait. Yes, I can make eight p.m. That will be fine. Look, I’m not handling that side so much anymore. I’m staying out of it for a while. I’ll give you the number of the person you need to speak to.”
And then she hung up the phone.
She turned, looking out the window, and the killer shrank back, because it was taking a big chance to be here now, watching her, although it was necessary for the job that needed to be done. That had to be done.
But as the killer had suspected, this woman was too arrogant to believe she was in any danger. She probably saw herself in the tinted glass and nothing more.
She turned, looked in the mirror, and then took off her pearl earrings.
As she paced about the room, the killer felt a rush of pure loathing for her. In the killer’s mind, the targets were all despicable.
And this target was the lowest of the low.
She was a woman who thought of no-one but herself, who lived in a fantasy world of her own making. But within that world, she was evil and corrupt and deserved to die.
The killer retreated, watching, waiting. The timing needed to be perfect, and it wasn’t yet.
With her phone call concluded, the woman turned up the music. It wasn’t music the killer liked. This woman had poor taste. The ugly sounds throbbed and pulsed loudly, contaminating the peaceful air. The woman smiled, her mouth twisting. She liked this hellish beat.
And so did the killer, but only because it would muffle the noise that was needed for the scene to be set.
The woman took out her phone again and looked at it.
“I’m waiting,” she said out loud, as if she were expecting a message or an update.
But then she tossed the phone on the bed, and the killer saw she didn’t really care. She turned the music up even louder. A powerful beat and a screeching voice, like something that would come out of a monster’s throat.
Then she moved to her jewelry box, selecting different earrings from the massive display.
There was nothing but the sound of the music, heavy and ugly, throbbing. The killer felt another spurt of rage, because this woman was a monster.
It was time.
Nerves of steel would be needed for this next step.
The killer moved to the patio door. Pulled the handle down. It opened, because the lock had been blocked earlier with a folded piece of paper that the killer now took.
It was a five-dollar bill.
The killer opened the door, entered the room, closed the door, and then moved quickly and quietly to the bathroom, because that was the place needed for the conclusion to this revenge.
In this luxury lodge there was a giant, oval tub. It would be perfect, the killer thought. And with this deafening music blaring, the woman would not hear the tub filling up.
The killer twisted the knob, and cold water gushed out of the faucet, filling the tub. The tub filled up quickly. The water supply in this place was generous and powerful. That was what the rich expected, of course.
The killer moved to the door of the bathroom. Waited. The time had to be right, but that time was approaching, and very soon, it would be the moment to make the kill.
And in the quietness of the pristine white room, the killer could see, quite easily, the target’s reflection in the mirror. That smug, self-satisfied expression that made the killer’s blood boil with rage.
She was a cold, narcissistic person who had absolutely no empathy. She destroyed people and didn’t care. That was who she was. It was who they all were. Every one of the targets was the same.
It was too much for the killer.
The water in the tub began to spill over the edge, and a puddle formed on the floor.
It was time.
The killer crept to the bathroom door. This was the most risky part, moving through to the bedroom to actually approach this appalling woman. It needed to be done smoothly, confidently, and fast. Hesitation would mean failure. Resolve would mean success.
The woman was still preening in front of the mirror, carefully choosing a necklace that matched the earrings. Sifting through her ridiculous, overpriced baubles was all that mattered in her empty life.
Her appearance, her status, her self-importance were the only qualities that defined her, the killer thought.
And then, at last, she turned away from the mirror and went to her wardrobe. She opened it and took out an expensive handbag.
She opened it up and packed a few items inside. Lipstick, Kleenex, cash. Trivial items that marked the meaninglessness of her life.
Her cold gaze turned to the mirror. She smiled. She was the center of her own world, and the killer could see that in the woman’s eyes.
The woman’s back was turned. She was standing in front of the window, looking out at the view, probably wondering when to go into the lobby to wait for her limousine to arrive. The killer crept inside, knowing that this was a critical time when everything could go wrong. If the woman turned, she would see an intruder, she would scream, and the element of surprise that was so badly needed would be totally destroyed.
But she didn’t turn.