Are You Afraid of the Dark?

‘I was intrigued, so I agreed.

‘We watched the marathon together, episode after episode. All the classics were played, and I remembered why I liked the show so much as a kid.

‘I got her a glass of water when she asked.

‘I followed her to the restroom when she said she had to urinate.

‘And when she asked if she could sit on the sofa with her son, I said yes, and watched her untie him, pick him up, and carry him over to the couch. She held him in her lap as the clock slowly ticked away the time. Morning to afternoon to evening, slowly, so slowly, the longest day I’ve ever lived.

‘Until, at five minutes to midnight, she spoke again.

‘“You didn’t have to do this,” she said.

‘I was briefly disappointed. I’d heard this many times before. The appeal to my humanity. That I could choose to be better. That I didn’t have to kill the person I was sent to kill. So often, this tactic quickly led back to begging.

‘“No,” I said. “I didn’t. But I did.”

‘She nodded, and that was it. No pleading. No anger. No cursing.

‘I was pleased and gave her a little smile.

‘When the clock ticked midnight I walked over and put the gun to her head.

‘“Thank you for waiting,” she said. And I told her she was welcome.

‘Then I pulled the trigger and it was done.’

***

‘Why do you regret that one?’ Reggie asked. ‘Of all the people you’ve killed, why do you wish you’d never killed her and her son?’

Ivan didn’t answer immediately. He cocked his head a bit like a scholar considering a great question.

‘I think it was because she was polite,’ the killer said.

‘Because she was polite?’ Reggie asked, surprised. He didn’t know what answer he’d expected, but ‘she was polite’ wasn’t it.

‘She didn’t fight me,’ the killer said, nodding. ‘She didn’t curse me. She didn’t demean herself by begging. It was as if she knew it was merely my job, something I had to do.

‘Killing for some people is fun,’ the killer said. ‘They take pleasure out of hurting others. It’s amusing when they kill someone and the target shits or pisses their pants. They get off on it. I knew this one guy who used to collect things from his targets. Little objects they’d owned – a knick-knack, a photo, a piece of jewellery. Sometimes a body part: a swatch of skin or a finger.’

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