She could hear the clock ticking. It sounds crazy, because she happened to be in the heart of Central Park. It was late. Or maybe really early. And there were no clocks. Yet she could feel it. With every heartbeat, she got closer. These were his last seconds. Him. The first boy she would kill.

If she wanted to, she could have seen him for what he was, a chubby, dark haired sixteen year old boy. His name was William Havensburg.  She knew everything about him. Where he went to school, his address, even his birthday. But that didn’t matter, because he wouldn’t reach his next one. He was her target. He had to die.

“Why?” asked a small voice inside her head. She tried to push it aside. Doubts would only slow her down, make her sloppy. 

And she only had one chance.

So she thought of him as she had learned to do, as a pair of lungs, a heart and a brain. Thinking of her targets as human beings would eventually drive her crazy. It was self-preservation, really. This wasn’t her first killing. There had been other men and women. She briefly mulled it over. Thirty or maybe forty. And she had been paid handsomely for all of them.

“This isn’t any different” she thought. But she knew it was. Those people, they were adults. They had made their choices and had paid for them. But this boy, he was dying for the choices that someone else had made. Another killer had been requested for the father. And her for the son.

This hit would net her the most. The sum of one million dollars would be deposited to one of her bank accounts.  They hadn’t only hired her for the kill. They wanted to send a message. And she was delivering it

.

“He’s only a child” the voice kept whispering. But this was the life she had chosen. And so she raised her gun. It was a silenced FP9, a single action pistol manufactured in Hungary. She never got to take the shot.

The bullet pierced the back of her skull, fragmenting it. Her brain wasn’t even able to compute what had happened before she was dead. As her body fell, a figure emerged from the shadows, her feet gliding in silence over the path, picking up the unfired weapon.

Someone out there had heard that young heir William was in danger, and had decided he should be spared. So they had hired her, to tail the boy, protect him. She didn’t know why he was so important, she didn’t care. All she knew was the fact that she was getting paid to do it. Just as the killer had. In another life, their situations could have been reversed.

She had noticed the other woman’s hand tremble in the end. Indecision. Which was almost sad, because she had been good. If she had fired faster, she might have still been alive. If she had noticed the other assassin’s presence, she might have lived. But she died. Because of a mistake.

Her mouth curled downwards, almost in a grimace, looking over the body. That was were the two had differed.

She didn’t make mistakes.

A gasp sounded out in the park.

The boy had turned around, his eyes round, darting down to the corpse. The look of a trapped animal. He was trembling pathetically.

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Her face was partially covered by a hood, and she was sure that, in the darkness, he would never be able to make out her features. He would never recognize her.

Not that he would have the chance. Their paths would never cross again.

She turned away. She heard the sound of his footfalls quickly faded. And then she disappeared into the night.

Walking through the park, letting the shadows engulf her, she was at ease. It was natural for her to hide in the darkness. Most people wouldn’t dare enter the area at this time, their fear keeping them inside their homes, safe. She thrived in this environment, a shadow among countless others. She had no fear of possible assailants. If someone was stupid enough to attack her they would find themselves on the ground, in varying degrees of pain. She kept a leisurely pace. The boy wouldn’t reach help for at least fifteen minutes. That was what he got for looking for a fix in the middle of an enormous park. It had been only one of the many mistakes he made daily. For example, he always took the same route to school. He was predictable. She couldn’t even imagine leading a life like that. Completely unaware of the dangers around her. And the rewards they could bring, if exploited. She wondered if that was what a normal was.

It was a pity she couldn’t see the stars, what with the lights beaming out of the city.

The air was crisp around her, cool on her skin. It had been far too long since she had had the time to simply walk. No target to trace, no plan to make. It was nice. The moonlight reflected off her skin. Her hair gently grazed her face. Her eyes scanned, continuously, the surrounding area. They were midnight blue, alight with intelligence, yet tinged with a disconcerting darkness, one that made you shiver, if you held her gaze. The eyes of a trained killer. She was in her early thirties, though looked to be in her late twenties. She had the grace and fluidity of a dancer, her movements silent. She knew to never use too much energy when she moved, only the right amount.

Control.

She was always in control. Her face was often a blank mask, deceptively calm. She could both blend in and stand out in a crowd. It was a gift, one which had been exploited many times. Exiting the park, she let the nightlife flash in front of her. The taxis, lights, people.

She had always loved observing people.

With her training, she could reconstruct at least part of their story. The boy with the headphones, taking a late night stroll, the anxiety of exams curving his shoulders. The business man, picking up groceries after a long flight, his collar wrinkled, free from its tie. Even the tourists told a story, of lands near and far. She weaved among them, another soul in the endless city. A slight woman, 5’6”, with her hood covering part of her face, who would notice her? She caught the night bus, taking it four stops, then reversed her movements back to catch a taxi in a completely different direction. She got off after ten minutes - paying in cash - and continued on foot for half an hour up to a non-descript apartment building, the kind that you would live in to not spend much money, which was ideal for her. No one asked many questions and she could use one of her dozen aliases.