Lindsey is dreading school, wishing for a better life and a fairer world. Not terribly uncommon. But when a mysterious man starts showing up around town in a black cloak and people are being found dead all over the united states, she could be the only one who knows how to take the evil cult down. But the real question is... does she want to?
Moonlight spilled in through an open window, the only light in the musty room. A balding man in a now ripped Italian suit was hiding in a corner behind a desk. He had never felt anything like this. It was fear, but that would be like calling the core of the sun warm.
Wind swirled in through the open window, throwing the blinds like some sort of invisible ghost had just entered the room. The man panted and held a deep gash on his upper left arm.
He had just earlier been wearing a pair of glasses that made him look rather intelligent, but some while ago they had dropped from their perch. Now they lay in some dark hallway of the deserted motel he had taken refuge in.
Then the man's heart skipped a beat. The ancient floorboards groaned in the hallway outside the door. He knew there was only one other person who could possibly be out there.
His only chance at survival was not to move, breathe, or make any sound of any kind.
Then there was another step. Another groan. This one so close, he thought he could feel the floor board underneath him give a little bit. The man peered under the desk to see a pair of black shoes and the bottom of a black cloak. He snapped his head back up, trying desperately not to hyperventilate.
He thought of his family, then. He hadn't even said goodbye. Who on earth was this madman? Could his cloaked attacker possibly know what he'd done? What he was planning to do?
Then there was a sharp crack to his right. He turned his head to see what it was, fearing the worst, but was never able to find out. His attacker plunged a 6 inch blade into the man's back as soon as he had turned to look.
The assassin smiled fondly at his work, then took a step back, leaving the blade in his victim. The dead man slumped against the wall now that his assailant was no longer supporting the weight. He pulled a digital camera from his pocket and took a picture of the back, the side not leaning against the wall and the front of his victim.
The assassin put his camera away, then freed his blade with a single tug. He shut the door to the room, the door automatically locking with a metallic clang.
He looked around, letting his eyes adjust before he went to the bed and pulled out a second, smaller blade, which was one of five remaining slim, light-weight throwing knives. He cut a single strip off the bed sheets, no wider than a few inches. He tied one end around his waist then proceeded to the open window.
He tied the other end of the bed sheet around the sharp side of the blade, careful not to cut it, then pushed it into the rotting wood. He climbed out and jumped with all the gracefulness of a cat on the hunt. Half way down to the ground from the second story window, the bed sheet was stretched taut, pulling the window down until it crashed closed.
The sudden jerk of the window closing freed the knife of the rotting sill. The blade shone in the moonlight as it fell soundlessly in the dirt next to him near a chain link fence. He cut the bed sheets from around him, then threw them in a dumpster. He placed the knife back into its sheath, then walked out of the alley casually with his hands in his pockets. He passed several people, none of which gave him a second look.
The body of Professor Altman wouldn't be found for 3 months.