Young Writers Society

*This is going to be fantasy/sci-fi, but I am just going to post it in fantasy.*

Lethero wiped the blood off on the white shirt of the dead man laying on his back in front of him, before returning it to its scabbard on his left hip. He walked over to the victim’s feet and picked up a handgun and put it into the holster hidden under his jacket. He knelt down and searched through the pockets of the man’s black business pants, looking for a wallet. Though he was paid gratefully for every victim, it helped to have some extra pocket change.

The wallet was in the man’s tight backhand pocket. It was black leather and very thick. He pocketed it, walked into the kitchen, and picked up the cell phone he left on the rosewood table. He pressed one on the speed dial and listened as it began ringing.

“I’m assuming he’s dead?” asked a female voice.

“You want me to email you a picture of Mr. Ulin’s corpse, Sue?” Lethero replied playfully.

“No thank you, Leth.” she said. “And can you please stop taking their wallets. The Administrators are already labeling your actions as serial killing, and this organization needs to stay underground. We’re lucky they haven’t heard of us yet.” She sighed, and noise came from the other end as she shifted around. “The money will be transferred to your account as agreed. Just be sure to be out of their before the Administrators arrive.”

“I hear you,” Lethero said, walking through the entry hallway. He twisted the brass knob on the blood red door, and opened to the door into the cold night air. The moon was high and the sky, one day from being full. “And Sue . . . I won’t be available tomorrow.” He shut the door behind him and leaned against it with his eyes closed. The familiar ache came to his bones as the moonlight shone down on him.

“I understand,” Sue replied. “Call me when you’ve recovered.”

There was a sharp click as she hung up. Lethero shut his phone and put it into the front breast pocket on his black leather jacket. He removed his wire-rimmed glasses and rubbed his eyes. Sirens wailed from down the street. Lethero replace his glasses, ran around to the side of the villa where he bounded over the six foot high fence, and disappeared into the shadows of the thick pine tree forest.

Lethero collapsed onto his bed fully dressed, every muscle in his body was screaming for rest. Glancing over at his clock he saw that it was three in the morning. He hadn’t slept in over two days. Finding where this man lived had turned out to be a more daunting task than he first thought. He had traveled between three countries and searched through four major cities before getting an address.

When Lethero arrived, the man was expecting him. He barely had enough time to draw his draw his sword and fend him off. One piece of information Lethero gathered on this guy was that he was a professional fencer, and he knew he wouldn’t win in fair swordsmanship. So, he pulled out his gun and unloaded a full clip into the guys chest.

Without getting up Lethero removed his belt and sword, dropping them onto the floor beside the bed. Slowly, and without realizing it, he drifted off to sleep.

Lethero’s mother stood in front of him. Her golden blonde hair, pale skin, and bright blue eyes shone in the light from an unknown source. A frown hung on her beautiful, unscarred face. She tried to say something to Lethero, but no sound cam from her lips.

“What’re are you trying to say, mother?” Lethero asked, but his mother continued to remain mute.

Suddenly, a sword ripped through the front of her clothes, the surprise was evident on her face. Blood pooled out from the wound, staining her dark blue dress. The sword was pulled free from her body, and she fell to the ground as a deadweight.

Lethero dropped to his knees, tears flowing from his eyes. He looked up at the man and felt a rage he had never felt before. His eyes flashed golden. He lunged at the man who kill his mother, and . . .

. . . Woke with a start, sitting straight up. Tears flowed from his eyes and he could still feel the rage that had taken control of him in his dream. He looked at the clock again, and saw that it was only five in the morning. With a sigh, he fall back onto his bed and let his dreams take over once more.