Murder in Suburbia (Chapter 16, The Expressionless Killer)

by Alec in Michigan

I turned around to see a tall man, dressed in dark clothing, lowering a Walther PK2, a light wisp of smoke rising from the barrel.
His jaw was dark with stubble, and his short hair was combed back neatly.
“Come with me, or stay and die.” His voice was flat, yet deep, without a hint of any accent, or faltering.
The voice of a killer.
I was still wondering if going with him was the best decision, when I heard helicopter blades, and an amplified voice.
“This is the NYPD! Your under arrest!”
I made my choice.
“Let’s go.”
We began to sprint down the stairs, and not even twenty feet into our journey, we were stopped by a security guard, pointing a gun. I paused, raising the Desert Eagle, which I had picked up from the woman’s lifeless body.
“Go!” The unknown man shouted, his voice still flat.
I obeyed, and began to sprint. The security guard fired, but the bullet passed harmlessly by. As I spun by him, I saw the man hit him with his elbow in the neck, and picked up the pace as the unconscious body of the guard tumbling towards me.
Five minutes later, and three K.Oed security guards later, we were outside.
But we weren’t safe.
The helicopter whirled overhead, and we were surrounded by police and security alike.
The man’s expression did not change.
He raised his gun.
He emptied the clip, and somehow remained accurate.
But when the smoke cleared, there were no casualties.
Other than the helicopter.
It smoked and spun wildly. The officers did not fire, in too much shock to act.
The man began to run, and I followed suit. Bullets began to fill the air around us, and I could hear hurried footsteps behind us.
Then there was an explosion, and the gray air was lit up with a bright yellow fireball as the helicopter hit the ground behind us. Debris came flying at the man and I, but we kept moving.
“Come on, move!” He shouted at me, still sprinting.
“Where are we going!?” I responded.
“Just follow me, or you’re going to get yourself killed!”
He took a sharp left turn, and I found we were heading towards the edge of the island.
“Uh, I…”
“Shut up!”
We were closer than ever to the small wall that separated the fifteen foot fall into the freezing Atlantic.
Five feet. Four feet. Now three, two…
The man took a flying leap over the wall, and disappeared.
I paused. This guy was insane.
And then I heard another helicopter approaching.
I jumped over the wall, my limbs flailing as the sea rushed up to meet me.
I was under, swallowing lungful after lungful of water. The water was absolutely the coldest thing I have ever felt. It turned my heart to ice. But then the feeling reversed, and I began to feel a warm sensation, and drift into happiness.
Oh no. Hypothermia.
I had to keep moving.
I began to propel myself to the surface, and I suddenly broke through the gray sheet above me, gasping for air.
There was no sight of the man.
I was dead. Oh crap, I was dead.
But then, a sound. A sound that may have been the most beautiful thing I have ever heard. It was a boat.
I couldn’t see it yet, but I knew it was approaching.
There it was, coming from my peripheral vision like a bright beacon in an inky black sky.
The man was on the deck of the small fishing boat.
I started to swim.
The boat’s engine whined, and it lulled towards me.
In a short minute, I was pulling myself onto the deck, shaking wildly, my teeth rattling inside of my skull.
The man looked down at me, and picked my body up almost effortlessly, using only one hand.
He raised the other one, and his hand formed a fist.
Then there was darkness.