My name’s Rain. I’m about 22 years old, and I’m currently unemployed because of the fact I quit college. I live in a shitty, studio apartment in a smelly building, but I can barely scrape by enough money to pay my rent. One Friday night, I was looking to go out to the local bar because I was a lonely fuckboy as usual and I didn’t have any family or friends to hang out with.
I hopped in my car and drove into the center of city, parking outside the first bar I could find. I brought my purse full of cash as well as having my phone tucked inside of it. I pushed the door in, and immediately got hit with the pungent smell of liquor and firewood. The floor was an old rackety wood floor that creaked as I stepped towards the counter. Men of all ages and looks were sitting around the bar.
The oddest part I caught onto was there was only one bartender, a frail man who was just a bit older than I was. He had bangs over part of his face and had a couple piercings on his ear. He had the most brilliant green-blue eyes I had ever seen.
When I sat down, he looked me over for a moment before asking, “What would you like?” I looked through my bag to see how much I had and quickly replying. “Scotch on the rocks.” He nodded, and anxiously looked around before running to the shelf to pick out a glass. I blinked, and folded my hands and waited. While I waited, a man sat down next to me. He was a lot older than I was, probably about 50, and had a heavyset build and green eyes.
He acknowledged me with a nod. “Kid,” he said. He had a strong Irish inflection when he spoke. The bartender passed me the whiskey across the table and his eyes darted around the room again before he began serving the other man. I heard another guy across the bar scream for a refill, and the bartender hurried over.
“Bartender,” I called as he trotted back to wipe up a spill where someone had left. He looked over at me tiredly. “Come over.” I said. The bartender shuffled over, and leaned on his elbows. “What’s your name?” I asked, trying to be polite. “Mitchell,” he replied in a hushed voice. “Well…” I said. “I’m Rain.” I took a sip from my glass.
Mitchell checked his watch. He glanced around warily before walking out of the bar and taking a seat next to me and the Irishman. “Shift’s done,” he said. I chugged my glass and nodded. “Why don’t you make yourself a glass?” I asked him. “I don’t want to,” he replied, his eyes looking anywhere but my face. I shifted uncomfortably a bit, and took another chug from my glass. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he replied. He looked around again. At that point, I saw a woman walk into the bar. I saw Mitchell’s face go pale. I looked confused, and he leaned in close to me.
“I’m a cop,” he whispered. “Get down.” Suddenly, before I could react, he sat up, whipping a gun out of the back of his belt and firing at something across the bar. I ducked down, and pressed myself against the counter. I heard angry screams, and more firing before I heard panicked footsteps leaving the bar.
Then, another gunshot, and I saw Mitchell keel over a bit and grab his waist. We made eye contact, and he gave me a look urging me to run. I blinked, and mouthed. “I’m not going to leave you here.”
The woman suddenly strutted over. Looking at her now, she was thin, and her dark hair was cut to be about shoulder length. She looked to be of Japanese descent, and appeared to be only 28 or 27. Her fingers were curled around a revolver, and she looked around before pointing it at me and then at Mitchell. Mitchell’s chest heaved, and the woman stared at him with a grin. “Detective Lynche,” she said.
Mitchell’s lip curled, and he wrapped his hand around his pistol before pointing it at the woman’s forehead. “Ah-ah,” she said, a placid smile on her face. She glanced at me again. “Run while you still can,” she offered. I got to my feet, trembling, before backing away. I heard her begin to speak again.
“Lynche, dear, you’re not going to try and defend yourself from me, are you?” Her voice was sexy and relaxing, and it almost calmed me listening to her speak. I saw Mitchell open his mouth. “No, of c-” The woman didn’t waste a second before shooting him right in the stomach once. “Sayonara, Sherlock.” He slumped over, those brilliant eyes open wide wide with terror, and he screamed a horrible wretched noise I never hope to hear again before she shot him in the head. His body fell onto its side, and I could see his limbs twitch before he went still. The woman began to giggle. She crouched down, tenderly kissing the corpse on its neck before dropping his head with a thump. She stood upwards again, stepped on his face and began slamming her foot down on it.
She stomped and stomped and stomped until his face was a bloody mass that was barely recognizable. Watching the bloody process was sickening – yet extremely satisfying and almost hauntingly beautiful. She stepped back after she seemed to be satisfied, but gave his face another smash for good measure with the back of the gun.
That’s when she turned to look at me.
“You won’t tell anyone, hunny, will you?” she asked sweetly, running her hand down the side of my face. I froze, staring at this beautiful woman who had just killed a man right in front of my eyes. I swallowed, and smiled. “Of course not.” I reassured her.
She leaned on me and smiled. “Let’s keep in touch.”
The woman whipped out a piece of paper and a pen, and wrote madly on the surface of the table before handing the slightly crumpled paper to me. She smiled, and walked me out of the bar. “Bye-bye,” she said, before turning away and walking away into the darkness of the city.
I looked at the piece of paper.
Himitsuki Tamii – cop killer – redacted number] <3
I glanced up again, and looked at the direction she walked off in. She stared back, winking at me with a brilliant smile and a red face. And I smiled right back.
I didn’t know why, but after meeting her, I feel like I’m not going to be so lonely anymore.
Credit: Captain Sullying