He could hear it all in his mind as it was typed. She was seated in her chair, one hand on the keyboard and the other down her pants, the elastic waistband straining against her arm. He let out a mirthless chuckle as the irony of the song blaring from her ear buds hit him. He’d always been partial to Ghost in the Machine; he didn’t much care for Synchronicity, but “Every Breath You Take” fit this situation well.
My body quakes as he attacks my clit with his teeth. I moaned, ignoring how painful it was to have him brutalizing such a sensitive area.
“Fuck me,” I begged, but he refused.
He plunged his fist into me, stretching me out like a rubber balloon.
Outside the window he cringed, enraged by how she besmirched his honor. He felt violated as her body shook momentarily and she eased down in her chair.
The door behind her opened, and a gangly man in a pair of oversized white briefs stepped out. “Darlin’, the kids are asleep and I’m feelin’ frisky.”
She waved her hand dismissively. “Honey, he’s done more for me than you ever could. Just go into the bathroom and handle yourself. I have to finish this chapter before bed and send it off to my beta. Do you expect all my fans to wait an extra day because you can’t get your own rocks off? That just ain’t Christian.”
The lanky man’s shoulders fell and he slinked back into the bedroom. “Goodnight,” he mumbled.
The woman tossed her hair and gasped. “Seriously! Men and their dicks,” she sighed.
Scoffing, the prowler crouched down and skulked away from his hiding place in the bushes. Once he was far enough away from the window, he straightened up and stepped out onto the sidewalk where the streetlight across the road outlined him in an eerie silhouette. “I cannot allow this. She and her vile words must be stopped,” he muttered to himself.
His steps were heavy but determined as he charged the front door, smashing it to splinters. He heard the harlot screech in the other room and was on top of her in seconds. His fingers were like a vice on her throat as he held her off the ground, huffing furiously, his shoulders heaving and his gravelly voice hissing past his clenched jaw. “How dare you!”
“Please,” she choked.
With a snarl, he continued. “Don’t bother pleading. I’ve heard the types of things you beg for.”
Her eyes went wide, her feet dangled off the ground as she scratched at the hands wrapped tight around her neck, but she couldn’t loosen his hold. “Who are you?”
With his free he hand pulled away his white zanni mask, leaving his costume shop wig and black pinstriped fedora in place. He reached for his neck and pulled back the second skin mask, revealing his true face.
He was handsome. The terror left her face for a moment to be replaced by a vacant stare. It was obvious that she didn’t recognize his handsome features, hypnotizing blue eyes, or dazzling smile.
She gurgled as his grip loosened, allowing her to fall to the floor.
“You can call me the Fanfic Assassin.” He picked up her laptop and snapped it in half, then quarters. “Your time as an author – and I use that term liberally – is over.”
The door to her bedroom swung open and her husband stepped into the room. He looked at her, then to the assassin. “My god, thank you,” he stammered. “I’ve wanted to leave for years, but with the kids, I didn’t want them to wind up without a father and neglected by their mother.”
The assassin had seen this kind of thing before. So many would-be relationships had been destroyed by the ridiculous perfection that had been attributed to him.
“Please, I’m begging you, just kill her and set me free,” the thin, pallid man pleaded.
The Assassin looked at him, confused. “I’m not going to kill her. I’m just here to destroy her computer. I assassinate the fanfiction, not the author. You two should probably go to counseling. This isn’t healthy behavior.”
“Will somebody just tell me what’s goin’ on?” the woman begged as she struggled to get back on her feet.
The Fanfic Assassin looked back and forth between them, his mouth agape with bewilderment. He pulled his masks back on and straightened his tie. “I’m here to stop you from writing about me…” he said. “Because I’m the one from the story.”
Their absent gaze gave him nothing.
“You’re doing irreparable damage to my reputation, worse than she already has. I can’t abide this.”
“Abide? I don’t know that word.” The woman blinked in stupefied confusion. If only she still had her laptop so she could look up the word on her precious thesaurus…
“Oh, fuck it,” he growled, knocking their heads together. He left the house, grabbing a souvenir on his way out. It was a cheap drugstore cigar, sealed in a glass tube. He didn’t know what to do with it, but he’d figure it out.