A Meticulous Murder

A Meticulous Murder

David Bader had never regretted switching his job to full-time murder. He didn’t relish the work, or salivate over it while he was in the shower. Like a sociable man finds peace in his humble career of a waiter, David Bader found his own satisfaction in causing another’s death.

He was one of the best in his line of work and much sought after. Along with the perks that brought, like being able to charge a higher price for his prime services, came downsides such as the good number of people who very much wanted his hands in cuffs and his face exposed. If he was caught they would take a brutal mug-shot and broadcast his name on every available channel; television, internet, radio and newspaper. David had yet to suffer these consequences and hoped he would never need to. The world was never kind to those it deemed a murderer.

It was a Tuesday, unusually cold for October, and David’s current client let him into her house. She was a young woman with a face made of peculiarities. Her lips were a tad too big for her face, her nose inclined a little to the left as if moved by a breeze, and her eyes were too full of iris. They made her pretty in an intriguing sort of way.

David asked to be shown to the bathroom, telling her it had been a long drive. He was directed to a white and blue tiled room. A morbid décor of bottled pills lined the shelves below the mirror, all in varying stages of increasing emptiness. He relieved his protesting bladder and washed his hands in the sink, afterwards wiping down everything he touched with a dust cloth. Back in the living room the woman was sat rigidly on the sofa, looking at her hands clasped in her lap.

Opening up his work case David began to meticulously order his instruments. At a furtive glance around the room he counted at least three Bachelors certificates hung on the walls, all in the name of Lisa Tyndall.

“Is that it?” she asked, nodding at the three syringes David held delicately in his slender hands.

“Once I put the solutions in and set up the IVs, yes, this is it.”

David took a good look at Miss Tyndall’s pallid face, seeing her pupils blown wide to the limbus. They’d talked through the procedure beforehand, gone over every detail and several hundred ‘are you sure’s?’ David cleared his throat and said seriously, “Miss Tyndall, I need you to confirm that you are one-hundred percent certain that this is what you want. I am willing to refund you if you’ve changed your mind.”

He could practically see the thoughts tumbling in her head; grand questions about the life beyond, knowing there was no going back and a mental checklist that everything was taken care of. Once a patient had postponed David’s services at the last minute, suddenly remembering that he owned a cat and wanting to find a home for it before leaving this world.

“I’m sure. It’s either this or die suffocating on my own vomit,” she spat.

It wasn’t a fun part of the job, seeing the broken people that couldn’t be fixed, only thrown away.

“Very well. Have you left anything in the house that could be traced back to me? You haven’t left my name or number written anywhere, even in the bin?” Miss Tyndall handed him a couple of scraps of paper.

“I thought I should let you dispose of them.”

He still intended to make a sweep of the house, just to be safe, but nodded his thanks and pocketed them nonetheless. David set up the IVs and readied the drugs. Miss Tyndall was looking as sorry as a flightless bird, already half-dead.

“I am ready to begin,” he announced. “If there is any business you have left unfinished, it is, in the truest sense of the phrase, now or never.”

Miss Tyndall paused, but shook her head.

“No, I’m done.”

“Last words?” David asked her somewhat wryly as she laid down on the sofa. She gave a little huff of amusement as he swabbed the inside of her arm.

“Life’s a bitch,” she muttered half-heartedly.

He returned the smile, inserted the needle.

“And then you die.”

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