[listopencil]

About seven years ago I was flying back to the East Coast and I had a layover in Chicago. This really annoyed me as I had asked the travel agent for a more Southerly route and she just didn't get it done. And yet this was a service I had paid for. Bitter disappointment...but I digress. I had some time to kill. Funny how certain phrases pop into mind. Time to kill. It kept rolling over and over in my mind as I slipped the serrated pocket knife from my boot, passing through the terminal exit.

I hailed a cab, told the cabbie I wanted to get something to eat so I'd have time to find just the right person. It had to be a loner. Someone that wouldn't be missed. They give off a vibe. They have a certain defeated aura. They know that, in the grand scheme of things, they are utterly unimportant. No close relatives to call them at odd hours. No friends other than the casual acquaintances that one collects, fellow flotsam and jetsam heaved forward by a roiling city. Gathered onto an asphalt coastline at the end of every dark day.

We circled a block, nameless streets gliding past the window. I spotted my target as she rounded into view. Shabby overcoat partially concealing a polyester house dress. Faded sneakers, the original color unknown. Now drab like the streets they caressed. Dirty dishwater hair hanging in a mop across a furrowed brow. Expressionless face, dead eyes staring at nothing as she found the curb. Good fortune shined upon me as I noticed the deli behind her, reflecting her soulless husk in the grand front window. Shadow of a shadow, already a ghost.

I paid the cabbie and he left. Chasing another fair, I was already forgotten. I followed behind her and matched her pace. I took note of her gait, her size. Her movements, subtle as they were. With each step I could see where my knife would dip and lunge. Once to the throat for silence. Again to her tired bosom for the shock of pain to render her powerless. A slash at the leg to keep her still. All these I saw as a vision while she picked her way from crack to crack along the sidewalk. Finally she turned towards an alley. Dark and empty, reeking of urine and vomit, a black cave in the metropolis. Portal to another world.

Three quick strokes and she was down. My blade like that of a surgeon. Flesh fell away from bone as I dug through her body in a dervish, the alleyway debris swallowing a river of blood as she lay choking and struggling for breath. It wasn't enough. I had to reach into her body and feel her bones break beneath my fingers. Her gurgled screams now audible mixing with that crack of the splintered bone, sweet music. Like a symphony of human expression. The last light of life leaving her corpse. Then it was over and I was empty. Spent.

As I walked away a small reflection caught my eye. Not a reflection, a bit of light. It was her cell phone. She had tried to call for help. A bloody thumbprint on the "9" key remained. And something else. She had activated the recording device feature. I stopped and listened, playing it back. She had recorded it. Her last moments. The symphony would live on. Now I could recall her struggle at whim for my amusement. Again the bones cracking and the gurgling scream. Heaven.

I still have this recording. Shame? I have a feeling like shame when I listen to it.