The Assassinator - Part I

Dressed head to toe in black, Mark trudged through the 3am woods, his immaculate hearing and keen eyesight warning him of every tree, every branch, every thorn in his way. The bag of wooden stakes, thrown delicately over his shoulder, was light and bobbed against his ass as he walked. He could smell the frost in the air and inhaled it deeply, filling his lungs with its bitterness and invigorating himself as he thought of the morning ahead.

Passing the little, broken shack, where Bertha Shears still rested miserably, he snorted a clod of snot into his throat and wondered if Eli Manning would be ready for the Giants' next game. A quarter of visualized football later, he crossed over the spot where he'd left Phil Wii's remains; the area was empty but for the retarded boy's final echoing cries, which only he could hear and enjoy. He walked on, snapping his elbows out in front of him - ah, there was nothing like the feeling of loosening those joints of his, as if he'd been reborn, his bones re-formed and stronger than ever, locking out of, then back into place so he could snap them out again five minutes later.

When he arrived at the giant tree, he dropped his sack and pulled a small shovel from it. Ten paces away, he cleared the leaves to one side and began to dig, his well-adjusted eyes measuring the hole's circumference and depth with each shovelful of hard dirt. Finally hitting the perfect depth - the hole covered the entire lower half of his body - he made his way back to the foot of the tree and grabbed his bag. One by one, he extracted the stakes and hammered them into the hole's bottom with his shovel until the points were just under the hole's rim. He grabbed the fine mosquito netting from the sack, laid it across the top of the whole, then covered the net with the leaves he'd earlier discarded.

Finished, he swung the bag over his shoulder again and sat on the other side of the tree. And waited.

Oh, Really?

Mark, his book bag slung over both his shoulders, walked into the classroom, stopping at Professor Eden's desk. He surveyed the other students - 3 fat girls, a black dude who was half-asleep, and a white guy with a lazy eye - and stretched his arms out wide. "Where is everybody?"

"This is it," said Professor Eden.

Mark nodded. "You must be tough."

Professor Eden giggled, her slight breasts shaking under her lilac blouse. Her cheeks reddened. "Yeah, right. Tell my department chair that."

"So where is everybody?"

"Honestly, our enrollment has dropped substantially since the murders began-"

"The murders?"

"Yes, the unsolved murders of the past 4 or 5 years-"

"Oh." Mark watched the other students shuffle in their seats, then turned back to Professor Eden. She was already looking in his eyes. "So what, do you think somebody's offing your students?"

"No," laughed the professor. Her voice became a whisper and Mark had to bend down to her to hear her. He could smell her breath - toothpaste and coffee - and could hear her plump ass adjusting itself against the plastic of her chair as she leaned up towards him. "Nobody wants to come to Cedarville CC anymore because they're afraid."

"Ah." Mark nodded again. "I'm afraid too." He smiled and raised his eyebrows, then looked into his teacher's cleavage before meeting her eyes again.

"You shouldn't be," she said, her cheeks filling with blood again. "My honey'll get him."

"Huh?"

"My boyfriend-"

"You have a boyfriend?"

"Yes-"

"Oh-" Mark stood up and dropped his book bag from his shoulders.

"He's on the Cedarville Task Force-"

"A cop?"

"Yep! He was on the SWAT team - the other members called him "The Assassinator" - but he just got promoted to the Criminal Investigations Department, Cold Case Division." Professor Eden's chocolate brown eyes reflected the light from the fluorescent light-bulbs overhead into Mark's eyes, slackening his semi. "He's actually the lead investigator on the unsolved murders-"

"Oh, really?"

"Yes. I have no doubt that he'll catch the guy-"

"So it's the same guy - and only one guy - that's done all these?"

"That's what my honey thinks. He says he's getting closer every day-"

Mark took in an unnoticeable deep breath through his small, turned-up nose and let it out just as imperceptibly through his teeth. He returned the professor's wide, shit-eating grin. "Well, that's great! I hope he gets caught then!" He plopped his book bag under an empty chair-desk in the front row, then returned to Professor Eden's desk as she was rising to begin class. "You want a coffee?"

"Huh?"

"Coffee. I'm going to get myself a coffee from the machine in the hallway real quick. Do you want one?"

"Sure." Professor Eden grabbed her purse and fished out several coins. "Just cream please. Thanks."

Mark grabbed another handful of coins from his jeans pocket and snapped his elbows with short, rapid punches as he made his way to the coffee machine. When the last drop of cream fell from the dispenser, he grabbed Professor Eden's coffee with his free hand, then made his way to the men's room, the head of his hard-on soaked in pre-cum and needing only a few quick jerks to deposit a full load of his semen into his favorite professor's second coffee of the morning.