The man waiting in the rain was thin, of average height and agile movements. He carried his hair very short, in a crew cut, but the most noticeable thing about him was his eyes: pale, almost white, like an albino.
He wore a black raincoat, to go unnoticed at night. His name was Garol Pereira, but many knew him as The Magician.
The man looked at the six-story building in front of him. One of the many hotels where couples met to spend some time between the sheets.
He checked his watch. Three thirty in the morning.
The Magician decided he had waited long enough, and entered the tower. He gave some cash to the guard at the reception desk and took the elevator. He went up to the top floor, and searched for the room.
He stopped at room six hundred and seven. He pulled a tool out of his pocket and worked quietly in the lock. He did it calmly, since there was no one around in the hallway. He opened the door slowly.
Both kids were sleeping cuddled up on the round bed.
The Magician calculated they couldn’t be more than seventeen. They looked innocent, incapable of harming anyone. The boy was pale, with brown curly hair. The girl, a half-blood with cinnamon skin, long arms and legs that seemed to completely wrapped her partner.
The Magician did not like it.
He pulled his switchblade out of his coat and opened it at the same time the boy opened his eyes.Nov. 3, 2015, 3:45 p.m. 0 Comments Report Embed 0
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