Hard to say how he knew, but there was a killer inside, waiting for him. It may have been the sense of something constricting about his chest. It may have been the sudden silence of the biting wind about him or the stillness in the racing clouds above him. Derek cared little for the reasons. To him, there was only the knowledge and the choices to make by them.

By moonlight and the dimmest flicker of one streetlamp, Derek studied the decrepit -run down- apartment building. His eyes fixed to the windows at the top floor, beyond which lay his apartment. He set down the groceries, tugged his hood up, and flexed warmth back into his aching hands.

There was no sign of a disturbance, no movement in the dark behind those panes of glass. Even that aged front door was stoutly unbroken, with its flaked lime green paint peeled in familiar locations, like misaligned feathers off a peacock. Derek sniffed, balanced on the toes of one foot, then swayed to the other, willing warmth back into his limbs. The air still smelled faintly like poorly aged cheese, unsoiled by a misplaced perfume or contradictory scent of cleanliness.

He hooked his arm through the grocery bag and buried his hands in the warm sanctuary of his pockets. There was no way to circumvent what must be done. He sighed, turned on one heel and was off -armed with inconvenienced purpose- toward the nearby park.

***

There’s only one brand of person that would be found seeking refuge outside at this hour. Those with few to no options at all. It took a few minutes to find what he needed. Derek approached a man who had been fidgeting on a bench, waring to find the most agreeable posture for sleeping.

“Excuse me?”

The man -younger than Derek expected- started and craned his head wildly. When he saw Derek, his frown eased a fraction, but his glare remained composed of sharp edges, “Fuck off.”

Derek nodded, rooted on the dirt path that curved by the bench. The biting wind seemed blissfully attenuated by the large pine trees surrounding them, even if only slightly so.

The man had sat up when it became evident that Derek wasn’t leaving. His squinted eyes -bloodshot and framed with weariness- struggled to pierce the dark as they drifted slowly to the bag Derek was carrying.

Derek smiled widely, or he tried to. He’d practiced in the mirror often enough. Just as often, he was left sore in both face and attitude. How could baring one’s teeth be accepted as a sign of warmth and friendship? It was all decidedly madness in his mind. However, what Derek had in mind to do tonight was a madness of a different sort, so he married the two with a smile. He stiffened his face to try and maintain the expression as he produced a card from within his coat, “I’m with the Massachusetts Shelter Institute,” he lied, “are you hungry?”

Without waiting for an answer, He parted the plastic bag and fished out his intended dinner, a sandwich from the gas station several blocks away. Derek extended it out to the man, pinning the business card to it with a thumb.

“I am not homeless,” The man’s voice sounded raspy and hoarse, like he’d been yelling. He made no effort to accept.

“Okay.”

“What kind of sandwich?”

“Tuna and mayo.”

“What’s wrong with your face?”

“That’s how I smile”, Derek offered weakly.

“It’s creepy.”

“Okay.”

A blast of frigid cold cut through the pines, battering the branches into a feverish dance. Derek grimaced and watched the man on the wood bench hug himself instinctively. He dropped the sandwich back into his bag.

As the wind abated, Derek shrugged, “Sorry, I’m a new member to the institute and never went out of my way like this. My name is Derek.”

The man stood, his voice raising higher than it needed to, “Why are you bothering me? You want to make yourself feel good, that you helped somebody today? Go fuck yourself, man.”

“They’re coming.”, Derek said.

“What?”

“The police. I was walking home -past the park- when I overheard this woman calling them about people loitering in the park.”, Derek took a breath, “I know that the shelter is always at capacity. Do you want a place to stay tonight?”

The man seemed to have loaded another curse and had it trained on Derek when he hesitated. Less than a hundred meters away, the early color of red and blue lights broke through the empty darkness between the pines.

With the flip of a switch, the man’s shoulders fell, and he collapsed back onto the bench. He shut his eyes and fell silent. A minute passed but the man remained glued to his bench. The dancing lights grew into more mature colors and the wind carried sounds of tires approaching.

Derek frowned, placed his groceries on the path by the bench, and began his journey back to the apartment. Back to what was -almost assuredly more likely- his own death. His breath grew more shallow at the thought. He could try finding somewhere else to ride out this storm, his own bench even.

He felt an eyebrow raise at the irony. With numbing fingers, he reached for that eyebrow and smoothed it down until his finger reached a notch near the end of it. He pressed his fingertip down onto the raised scar, letting his mind drift.

This could be another test.

He’d been given so many after all. It was an indisputable truth that Kaseem loved testing Derek. The man never balked at the possibility of boosting his own reputation by pitting Derek against the competition. If he ran, and it was a test after all, that would mean failure. Something he’d rather not ponder over. Derek was made aware about Kaseem’s devotion in teaching lessons of failure but only the dead knew the details.

Obviously, there were only two options. Run and die, or go home and maybe die. Less of a maybe now since his intended decoy was more interested in police hospitality than his own. Derek wasn’t too surprised; he had never been a people-person.

Maybe that’s alright, he thought.

Perhaps Derek’s death would inconvenience Kaseem, even upset the bastard. It was the first pleasant thought he had tonight. The wind greeted him hungrily as he departed the safety of the park trees, yet his pace felt undeterred.

“Wait!”, A voice called.

Derek spun to find the man from the bench angled against the wind in a similar stance to his own, holding the wrapped sandwich out. He wore a thin smile, “I’m not a fan of tuna, but I would take you up on a place to crash if that’s alright -even a hallway is fine.”

Derek blinked, frozen in a way that had nothing to do with the chill. A pound of broken glass settled into his gut with horrid slowness. It was like he’d just realized he’d been drowning and immediately the water’s surface materialized a micrometer above him. He only had to reach out… and drown someone else.

He took the sandwich and nodded.

***

Brandon seemed like a pleasant person. He didn’t talk about himself much, which was a relief. Knowing his name was enough of a curse.

Brandon.

Derek tried again not to think about it, tried to lose himself in the conversation. Problem was, he never watched sports. The wind turned into a gift, cutting into what Brandon was saying. Derek only caught snippets and nodded along, and Brandon seemed to understand that he was leading the conversation. Brandon -the man- was saying something about the Patriots -or just the one patriot now. A lot of personal stuff about Gibson’s character. Seems like he was in the military, lost his sons or was it the other way around? Derek worried that he was too quiet and steeled himself to add his voice to the conversation when the apartment came into sight. His throat tightened and he set himself back to nodding dumbly.

Blissful quiet greeted them as Derek managed to shoulder the door to his building closed. It was a quiet that brought comfort to just one of the two people. He noted Brandon's frown at the state of the building on the outside only cemented into a more rigid facade upon entering the structure. A singular bulb of light was stationed at each landing up the carpeted stairwell. The carpet itself was speckled intermittently with a history of stains and the walls were no exception. In a ridiculous way, Derek felt himself relax a touch. The muffled screaming of wind was blissfully behind them and for reasons unknown, this building always had a stubborn resilience to the rank odors of the neighborhood nestled around it.

“He’s got some good stuff out now, I guess I just like his older films more,” Brandon shrugged sheepishly, “Where to, then?"

Derek, lost in the comfort of muscle memory, gestured toward the stairway, "Top floor."

He watched Brandon force a smile past his clear discomfort. His own feet caught on the next step; limbs heavy with the weight of self-administered poisonous thoughts.

"Hallway's comfortable enough," Brandon said, more to himself than anyone else.

"No," Derek blurted out, "I have a couch."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, spare pillows and a blanket too."

Brandon swung a glance over one shoulder back to him, "Thanks! Derek, right?"

"Yeah."

They passed another stairwell landing, Brandon stopped with one foot starting the ascent to the final floor, he peered past the open doorway into the yawning dark beyond.

"Does anyone else live here?"

"No," Derek said.

Derek followed Brandon's gaze into the apartment below his own. He would have used this apartment to wait for his target. Catch them while they're climbing the stairs. Derek felt a tremor settle into his right hand.

"Go on ahead," Derek handed Brandon the keys, “I forgot to lock the entrance downstairs. It's room 305."

"Oh? Which key do I-"

"Help yourself to whatever's in the fridge," Derek was already on the landing below. He strained to listen as Brandon's steps, although they disappeared almost immediately, muffled by the carpet.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

It is done.

He'd baited a trap of his own now.

Derek frowned, only now aware of his jaw clenched tight enough to bite through iron. He settled his right hand to rail of the stairwell, channeling the tremor into a fast grip on the scuffed wood.

He only wanted to stay alive. It’s all he’d ever remembered wanting. In his mind, a heavy, velvety voice whispered lazily as if it was breathing into Derek’s ear. The words, more like twisted thin sounds only a smile could form. Derek squeezed his eyes shut, but Kaseem would not be undone, not even in memory. “Warming the throne above a cold mountain of buried sophists, lies truth. It is a singular indisputable truth. It is the only binary existing in a tapestry woven full of spectra. It is simply that you are alive. You are alive and you will be dead. Still, while this is the way of things, you’re hesitating, still you are brimming with doubts. Now hear what I will do. If you don’t pull that trigger, I will make your death delightfully violent. She’ll still need to die of course, can’t stain a reputation like mine wit- would you please stop making all that noise? You’re getting my pupil so worked up… Here’s a question for you, boy. Let it be the magnum opus at your center. Let it be your heart. Let it be a threat. Why risk death when another's would guarantee your life?”

Derek felt his breathing grow hoarse, but it wasn’t an answer for Kaseem that stopped his heart a beat. It was a new question that scratched away at the old. It was a question for himself.

Am I alive?

The gradient between seconds stretched into a wide expanse. Derek felt the space grow vast in each moments passing, his senses bombarded with stimuli. A bead of sweat ran down his forehead tickling the skin beneath. He freed his grip on the rail, the tremor gone. Perhaps, he’d just ignored the possibility, the slightest chance that there may be more than this. Could it be that the decisions that mattered and the thought’s that persisted, were not his own? If the choices that cost the most were made by someone else, who’s life had he been living? Derek’s jaw eased out of its shackled tension, muscles awash with slack. He turned the thought over in his head, nostrils flaring.

I died years ago, half a world from here.

A spark burst in his chest, a hot electricity he'd never touched. He was already tearing up the final flight of steps.

WAIT!

The word pressed against the back of his lips as he sucked in air to shout. His vision cleared the final landing to see Brandon at the end of the hall, at the apartment door.

Brandon's eyes were caught in the light of a bulb affixed to the wall beside him. Eye's a startling blue, set under a puzzled frown. Brandon wasn't looking at the stairs then, he wasn't looking at the door, the stained carpet, or the wall.

He was looking at the keys, had begun rotating a finger through them -a soft jangle filling the hall- when his head jerked sharply back from the door.

Derek didn't hear the shot. Instead heard the wet slap of blood against a wall. His shout croaked into a muffled gasp. Brandon was still standing, his head stuck in that odd, craned way. At the same height, a hole had appeared through the wood of Derek's apartment door.

The body listed back. The first sound wasn't the noise of a corpse hitting the floor. It was the sound of Derek kicking down that door. He bared his teeth, but he wasn't trying for a smile, not now. He’d spent someone else’s life for exactly this moment and a moment ago it was exactly what he wanted.

The door hit something on the other side. He stepped around and found himself face to face with a woman. The apartment was pitch black but from the hallway lights he could still make out a black jacket, jeans, and a baseball cap with short hair peeking out from under it. She wielded a look of surprise on her face and a silenced pistol in her hand. He heard her take in a hissing breath and her other hand produced a curved knife.

By that point, he was already delivering a kick to her midsection. Her back slammed into the door, shutting them both off in pitch black. He clapped a hand onto his wristwatch, praying that the tech would work. Strobe lights blasted the space around them like a volley of lightning strikes.

He sidestepped her lunge, trapped her knife arm and spun away from the pistol as it trained on where he'd just stood. They whirled in a clumsy circle until he had repositioned them with his back to the apartment and hers to the closed door.

He slammed an open palm against the elbow of her trapped arm. He felt the expected break and was already releasing the useless limb. The women cried out while he knocked the pistol out of her other hand.

His body became a buzz of coiled up power. A final thought terrified his mind as instinct took the reins. Now this moment, this slice of eternity, is what living feels like.

After all, there was a killer inside. It was there all along, waiting for him to let it out of the cage.

He grabbed her by the throat in both his hands and slammed her head back against the door. He was screaming now or maybe that was laughing. Her good arm came up and he felt white hot lines flare up one side of his face. He snapped his grip down on her jacket, lifted her off the floor, twisted on one heel, rushed into the apartment, and hurled her at the wood coffee table.

Her fall collapsed the thin wood into a cluster of pieces. He heard a moan and by the flickering strobe managed a glimpse of the pistol. It was laying carelessly on the floor just beside her.

She snatched it, spun onto her back and fired two shots at him but it was only an echo. In the space of a breath the lights showed Derek, cast them both in black, then lit to reveal him gone.

The woman was on her feet, breath lazy and waning. He eyed her patiently from behind the couch. Just as she pivoted her back to him, he moved. Derek hefted a small piece of the broken table and smoothly arced it over her head into the kitchen, just as it hit the floor, he switched off strobe control on his wrist. The lights cut to darkness, just as the woman fired into the kitchen.

Derek had both his shoes off in moments. He stood, a motion that would have been his last a mere heartbeat ago. He loaded a fresh memory of the apartment into his mind while ahead, he heard her load a fresh clip into her gun.

Derek bent his knees, held his breath, and tossed a shoe at the front door.

The shot went off instantly.

The muzzle of the pistol flashed, bathing them both in a splinter of gold. As he felt the moment dilate, he watched her pupils constrict. They stood that close. There, just before the brilliant light went out, he saw her eye begin a slow grind his way, saw her grimacing teeth part as she took in a breath.

"Uhh!" She grunted as his fist connected with her sharp jaw. Both blind, they moved instinctively, one retreating, the other rushing. Cold metal knocked onto the outside of Derek's arm as she swept the weapon in an arc. He hissed, disarming her just after the muzzle lit the room once more.

He let the gun hit the floor and -with a swift leg hook- let the floor hit her. She made a funny wheezing sound as he drove his heel down into her gut.

In two motions, he had the lights on, and her gun snuggled comfortably in his grip.

"Please..." She tried to say more but she began to choke. Her body rocked as some wet red trickled down form a corner of her mouth.

Derek drummed a finger along the barrel. For the first time tonight, his breath fractured through clenched teeth. His battle-hardened numbness was suddenly abuzz with biting thoughts.

Better to do it right now. Make it quick, before they can say more.

His drumming finger was growing louder, her slick rasping, quieter.

She curled her legs under her and listed back along the floor until she had a wall to prop up against. She was just beside the exit now. Derek's weary eyes lingered on the shut door to his apartment, but he only saw the corpse he knew was behind it.

"Just make it clean."

Derek's attention twitched back to the killer bleeding on his floor. She hazarded a glimpse at her broken elbow, wore a twisted expression, and let out a hiss.

He felt his eyebrows shift up, "What?"

She eyed the gun in his hand, "Either way I'm done. This is my right, don't you think?"

"I don't..."

Something caught in his throat. There was a darkness around her brown eyes and the lightest touch of olive to her otherwise pale face. Deeper, past the surface, to the bones of her words, lay something that made him pause. Something that made him rest the gun on the kitchen counter behind him. Something familiar.

Derek let his breath go steady. He peeled his fingers off the grip and turned toward the women once more, the gun behind him in more ways than one.

She sneered at him, "Oh, so Kaseem's dog is psychotic after all. Like to kill them slow, do you?"

"No."

"You don’t have to lie to me. I think we know each other well by now. We know what happens if you don't finish the test." She smiled; her pearly teeth dashed with ruby bright color.

Derek closed the distance and knelt before her, his face stiff, his gaze steady. A knife appeared in his hand and before she could react, he closed her good hand around the grip and stepped back.

"We are both of us, marionettes." He said.

She frowned but he only raised a hand. "It is your right. Cut the strings or cut the one who pulls them."

He heard the words, shocked that they were in his voice.

The silence between them had a pressure to it. Derek watched her raise the knife up. There was a steady determination to that motion. The edge was almost at her neck when it clattered from her grip to the floor.

She spat, "You're naive."

"I am thorough." Derek was already moving. He emerged from the bedroom, tossing a ruck sack beside the woman.

"You died tonight." He said.

She smiled wide, "You’d make a great doctor."

Derek nodded at her mangled arm, then at the bag beside her, "And you need one. Get to a mender, then go underground, build a new persona. Shouldn't be hard for you. Your body is in the hallway. I just need to make the right calls."

He extended his hand to her and soon enough they were both stepping over Brandon and walking toward the stairs. The woman was about to say something but hesitated as they stepped passed the body. Derek could see the muscles in her jaw working. She stopped in front of the vacant apartment and turned to look at him. Her face turned surprisingly soft.

"Why?"

Derek puffed his cheeks and let the air out. He twisted his memory back, looking to the trail of corpses he left in his wake. Maybe there were one too many.

Derek frowned, "I’m not sure, but I want to find out myself.”

They stood at the threshold to the building. The women had his bag slung over her shoulder, her eyes studying him. The night air was still, like the world was recovering from the raging tempest, or holding its breath.

"Killing Kaseem, then?"

Derek didn't answer.

She waited, then with a huff, stepped into the night, "Good luck."

Like that she was gone, only a fresh memory remained. Derek knew he should feel anxious, should feel like he had just dug a grave. He crested the final step and was met by Brandon's body. He already made the calls. The wrong sort of people were on their way.

He tried to tell himself that someone else killed Brandon, a selfish, vile, villainous person. He tried to believe it. Tried to say that that person died tonight. That he was a new man.

His mind drifted, seeing images of what never would be. Brandon smiling as he accepted a steaming mug. Derek bringing over a blanket and pillow, just as promised. A tuna salad sandwich lay forgotten in the kitchen as they stayed up talking about the Patriots and all manner of things outside himself, outside his shadow.

Derek was back in the hallway looking down at the corpse. One eye was wider than the other, a confused expression etched onto that milk-pale face. Breathing hard now, unaware that he had Brandon from under his arms, Derek found himself beside the couch.

Just a little more.

His breath sounded so sharp and raspy. He bent down and heaved, but for all his might, Derek's strength was spent. He panicked, shifting for a better grip. Brandon’s head knocked against the couch cushions. In a collapsed heap, Derek sat beside the person he had murdered.

"Give me a moment." He muttered then bit his lip. Brandon’s eye seemed to look at him then, the brilliant ice blue now a clouded gray. Derek knew then, in his bones, that few burdens can be heavier than the weight of certain moments. He dug around the apartment before returning to the body. Brandon's head was stuck, the rigor set into his neck. Derek managed to stuff the pillow beneath it anyway. Carefully unfolding the blanket and laying it across the body, He looked down at his work and swallowed.

It was not for the first time that Derek wondered if something was broken in him, out of rhythm, or missing entirely.

He stared at the counter jutting away from the kitchen and into the living room, with two tall chairs set snug underneath it. The surface was covered in a chaos of loose papers, books, and a worn calculator. This was supposed to be a quieter night, maybe even a peaceful one. It would be the first time he would turn in an unfinished work, but he knew he wasn’t in the right space to turn off all the noise in his head. He entered the kitchen and treated his parched throat to some water. It was then when Derek noticed a neatly placed envelope on the counter beside the stove. He knew the emblem that would be found stamped at its center, a tower of earth and stone with an empty throne settled at the peak.

Derek nearly tore the thing to pieces in his hands. He blinked and the letter was in his grip now. That same voice, lazy and smiling, spoke in his mind as Derek read.

Don't forget the reason you're still casting shadows. Don’t forget who made you. A new client has made contact. Be a good boy and meet with Silas for your next appointment.

-Kaseem

Derek turned up the burner on his stove, lowered the paper, and watched the flames eat away at those words. He already had a new client, himself.

***

Morning was heralded with impassioned birdsong. Derek cracked open a weary eyelid and let out a quiet moan. His arm tore the sheets off while every other part of him protested. Exhausted, hungry, and wracked with aches, he shambled to the bathroom and relieved himself.

It's Monday...

His mind was still stuck in a hazy bog when the thought fluttered in. Derek cupped a generous helping of ice water from the faucet and slapped it up against his face, once, twice, three times. He gasped and shook his head madly.

The apartment was pristine. Looking at the new coffee table, the spotless floor, and the warm glowing strands of fresh sunlight cresting the windowsills, one would never fathom what happened here less than five hours ago.

Derek became a whirlwind of disordered purpose. He stuffed half-finished assignments away in his bag, shoveled cereal into his mouth like a man possessed, and hunted for the cleanest clothes he could find on the floor about his bed.

He took a step into the hallway, similarly, managed with a meticulous cleaning. Derek paused, face betraying the smallest tinge of a grimace. He nodded thoughtfully, then -looking ahead at something only he could envision- Derek shouldered his bag and headed to school.