Agents Of Death (standard:horror, 4103 words)
Author: Stephen-Carver Byrd	Added: Apr 22 2003	Views/Reads: 3673/2329	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Two death angels negotiate a deal with a financially troubled woman

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story


“Well, one thing's for sure, I certainly could use a job about now,”
responded Fay while removing the security chain and pulling the door 
open fully. 

She could now see both men clearly. The older man adorned jet-black hair
with puffy shades of gray budding at the sides. He was tall, handsome, 
with a face of strong structure and authority. The second man, yet 
somewhat smaller in stature, bejeweled a similar likeness, including 
the jet-black hair with only the element of missing gray. She gazed 
deeply into their arresting blue eyes as if seductively summoned. 
Within their presence, Fay felt an odd feeling of surrender that sank 
wholly through her. It came with such regard that even her greatest 
might could not resist the gravity of the demand. Cold, shadowy and 
deep, yet brilliant with the light of elegant refinement, its mixture 
was indefinable, both with the splendors of heaven and the rotten scent 
of aging hell. 

“May we?” requested the younger man, nodding one single time toward the
door. 

Fay blocked her doorway, scrutinizing the two well-dressed individuals
before reckoning her decision, a decision that had already been 
determined by the two agents of death. She finally broke the tenseness. 
“I guess I'm pretty crazy to allow perfect strangers into my apartment, 
especially in this miserable neighborhood, but let's face it, you guys 
don't exactly fit the bill of “Jack the Ripper,” she said while taking 
a small step backward. 

Upon hearing Fay's diminutive remark regarding the 19th century, demon
of horror, both men angled their eyes to one another, a slight smile 
presently emerged. 

As the two men walked casually through the doorway, Fay became aware of
a sudden sharp chill that gripped at her, initiating a brief shiver. 
She motioned toward the sofa and they politely took their place where 
the older of the two began making introductions. 

“I'm Rahaud, and this is my friend Toshed he announced offhanded while
rolling a nod in his partner‘s direction. “We are both here on 
assignment and have a proposition that I think could be very 
appealing.” Rahaud lifted a bulky briefcase off the floor and gently 
sat it on his lap. “I'll get directly to the point, Miss Benton, you 
see, Toshed and myself are actually agents of fate and we urgently need 
a favor from you.” 

Fay stood by her kitchen table glaring a confused look at the two men.
“You're agents of what?” she questioned. 

“Of fate,” repeated Rahaud, "or death, however you choose to look at it.
Most people simply refer to us as death angels.” 

Fay began to panic, knowing now that her guests were total lunatics.
“Both of you just get the hell out of my apartment,” she yelled, 
walking toward the door, giving a wide berth between herself and the 
sofa. As her hand touched the doorknob, she suddenly found herself back 
at the kitchen table with both Rahaud and Toshed smothering closely at 
her side. Fay screamed and fell, crashing over a chair and hitting the 
floor in a solid heap. Quickly she rose to her feet and began walking 
slowly backward into a corner that yielded no outlet. Like hungry 
vampires, Rahaud and Toshed steadily stalked Fay into her detention 
where she was ensnared like an animal, ready to be greedily devoured. A 
look of carnivorous instinct excelled heavily in their eyes. Rahaud, 
with a hand as chilling as the grave, swiftly reached forward, grasping 
her by the shoulder. A shirking cry was let forth, but the agent of 
death immediately suppressed it from ever leaving the room. 

“Calm now,“ spoke Rahaud softly to Fay's mind. It took only seconds for
her to respond to his soft, suggestive voice. The two agents helped the 
woman to the sofa where energetically she took several large gulping 
breaths then slumped in exhaustion. “I'm sorry Miss, Benton, we didn't 
mean to upset you, but you didn't exactly leave us with much 
alternative. Shall we get back to business now?” asked the master of 
death. 

“What do you want from me?” Fay asked in diluted voice. 

“We only need a favor,” replied Rahaud. He unlocked the briefcase and
sat it on Fay's lap. “and this will be your payment.” 

Her eyes opened wildly, in total disbelief. “My god, there must be
thousands of dollars in there,” she exclaimed. 

“Actually, there is half a million, all in fifty-dollar bills.” 

“What is it that you request that could possibly pay this much?” asked
Fay while ruffling through the large stacks of bills. 

Rahaud pulled a small photograph from his pocket and passed it to the
woman. Looking into the picture she saw what appeared to be a young, 
unshaven, Spanish male, no older than twenty-five at most. “This is 
Tony Garenez,” explained Rahaud. He has committed a series of murders 
in this area over the last several months.” 

“Yes, I know,” Fay interrupted. “I've been reading about it in the
papers. His victims have all been females and they were all found with 
their throats slit. I guess that's the reason I was sort of skeptical 
of letting you both in here.” 

“I can understand your reasoning, Miss Benton, you see there was someone
who was suppose to have died at the hands of this Tony Garenez, yet 
something occurred with fate that never allowed that particular murder 
to occur.” 

“Oh my God,” Fay cried, “are you telling me that I was suppose to have
been murdered by this. . .this sicko?” 

“Oh no, not you,” replied Rahaud, “that death was reserved for your
landlord, Mrs. Hopkins.” 

Fay wilted in relief then let out a held breath, “Well if anyone
deserves her throat cut, it's certainly that wicked old bitch.” 

The two men glanced at one another then Rahaud nodded to his apprentice
to explain. “Miss Benton, let me clarify something for you, spoke the 
young Toshed. “The vast majority of people do not believe in the 
conception of fate or sometimes referred to as destiny. They think of 
it as some sort of a mythological concept, as if there was a pantheon 
of gods looking down on them through a celestial  keyhole plotting 
tragedies or errors for them to endure. Most people feel comfort in the 
thought that they have some sort of control over their own actions or 
dealings, but this is a total misconception. Fate rules our very breath 
from the instant that we are conceived until the last shovel of dirt is 
thrown upon our grave. It controls every act and thought that we 
perform in our life. When you are first conjured in the womb, a 
blueprint has already been laid forth for your entire life. It starts 
with a beginning time and runs through your decease time. Every second 
of your life is carefully defined just as DNA defines your physical 
body. Fate is the most powerful energy in life, yet no one has the 
slightest awareness of it‘s existence and most importantly, it's 
purpose.” 

Toshed returned the nod to his master who picked up the conversation in
the same sedated manner. “Every now and then something disorders this 
blueprint. We refer to it as a fallacy of fate, but I believe you 
humans simply call it a...screw up.” At any rate, it's our job to 
correct such fallacies before they have the opportunity to augment out 
of control. As I said before, we, agents of fate are often referred to 
as death angels, but that's sort of unfair; we merely correct the 
fallacy, at which point the individual dies as intended and destiny is 
restored.” 

“So what does all this have to do with me?” Fay asked, still espying the
huge bundles of cash sitting on her lap. 

“Apparently there was an error in fate that prevented Mr. Garenez from
performing his task on Mrs. Hopkins,“ Rahaud, explained. Perhaps he was 
held up just momentarily, something small and trivial is usually the 
case. What we're asking from you, Miss Benton, is that you perform the 
undertaking that Mr. Tony Garenez never had the opportunity to 
complete...slit the throat of Miss. Hopkins.” 

Fay's face grew white and trembled with an alarming fear. “No!” she
cried out, “I could never murder anyone, not even an old bitch like 
Mrs. Hopkins. I'm sorry, but that's taking it a little too far. I guess 
you‘ll have to do this yourselves. You‘re both death angels, remember?” 


Disappointed, Rahaud bowed over and removed the briefcase from her lap.
“We can help set up the murder but we can't interfere any further,” he 
explained. “Fate can only be altered through another human being.” 

Toshed stood at Fay's side in a cold shadow, deeply probing her emotions
and thoughts. “Mrs. Hopkins is already dead,“ he finally spoke. “She 
actually was murdered two days ago, yet she just doesn't recognize it. 
It wouldn't be as if you were taking her life, Miss. Benton, you'll 
simply be putting everything back into correct order. And for that, 
you'll be paid handsomely for services rendered.” 

Fay watched as Rahaud snapped the briefcase securely shut. “Wait a
minute,” she said fretfully. “Just suppose that I do volunteer to help, 
how would I go about killing her?” 

“With that, Miss Benton, we need to be extremely precise,” spoke Rahaud,
showing her a hefty size knife that he had seemingly been pulled from 
thin-air. “Mrs. Hopkins fate can only be sealed using this specific 
weapon.” 

Fay took the weapon from Rahaud's hand and closely inspected it. Its
handle was made of snow-white, rigid material that looked totally 
unfamiliar to her. Fine gold veins intertwined and circled the handle 
often stopping to blend flawlessly with colorful stars and moons. 
Embellishing the center were a strange assortment of tiny pictures, 
liken to that of Egyptian hieroglyphics. “It's very beautiful,” she 
said while softly rubbing the hard blue blade. Touching the cutting 
edge slightly to firm, a single drop of blood materialized from a 
forefinger. 

“And very deadly too, reminded Rahaud. “Well, Mrs. Benton, what is your
answer, are you willing to assist us?” 

She looked one last time to the knife wondering what it would feel like
to have one's throat slit from end to end with such a beautiful yet 
gruesome weapon. “Will she feel any pain?” Fay queried. 

“Not if you do it correctly and quick,” Toshed returned. “It's very
important that this be executed in a manner that is certain to render 
total death. The infliction must be savage, methodical and deep. There 
can't be the slightest risk of leaving her only wounded.” 

“All right, Fay vowed in a somber tone, I promise that I will do it by
morning.” 

“No, it must be done quickly, the moment that we leave,” demanded the
young Toshed. 

Rahaud, glimpsed a slight gesture of displeasure to his inexperienced
apprentice. “Miss Benton,” he consoled, “you must realize that every 
hour that Mrs. Hopkins continues to live, the more dire risks that she 
perils to future events. I know this will be difficult for you but the 
sooner it can be accomplished the better for us all. I would strongly 
urge that it be carried out within the next several hours.” 

In one fluid move Fay leaped from the sofa and grabbed the briefcase
pulling it securely to her side. “I already told you that I would do 
this little job for you,” she said angrily, jerking her door open. “Now 
just get the hell out of my apartment and I never care to see either of 
you again.” 

Both agents of death walked from the apartment with a slight beam across
their face. Rahaud stopped briefly in the doorway then turned to Fay. 
“Oh don't worry, Miss Benton, rest assured that you'll never see either 
of us again if the job is done correctly. But should anything go wrong 
or if you attempt to betray us, then I promise that you will see us 
again, and with a fury that you could never imagine.” 

******** Part 2 ******** 

The long hallway that led to Mrs. Hopkins' door was dimly lit. The amber
light lent the small passageway an aura rather like that of a place in 
a dream. With Rahaud's long bladed knife carefully jutting from Fay's 
hind pocket, she quietly inched her way past doorways of fellow 
tenants. From within those confines she could hear faint sighs of 
laughter, arguing but mostly nothing but mere silence. Wide and 
serious, her eyes quickened to adjust to the faint light. Almost 
catlike. Something inside her was boiling. Her blood was bathed in hot 
resolve that beckoned a stiff revenge. With body muscles tightening on 
their own accord, Fay could feel the desertion of the human element 
being quickly replaced by the primitive animal role of her being. Her 
senses, now keen, she smelled her prey, could taste the warmed blood, 
feel it's emotions, even hear it's indubitable thoughts. She stood at 
Mrs. Hopkins' door, craving the urge to rip it from it's hinges and 
devour the old woman within the creature she that had emerged. The rush 
to Fay's brain was swift and exhilarating, a feeling she now recognized 
as dwelling in the heart of all serial killers. To murder was not 
unlike that of a profound thirst. A thirst that could be only contented 
after you've felt the balmy blood on your hands and watched as your 
victim's eyes transforms from total horror into calm inertness. 

Fay's light knock on the door stirred someone inside. The rattle of the
security chain gave a last rush to her new demonist nature. Mrs. 
Hopkins slightly opened her door and peered out. “Who's out there?” she 
questioned. 

“It's Fay Benton, I have your rent, Mrs. Hopkins.” 

The old woman opened the door fully and glanced hard at the cash Fay was
holding. Her tired, worn face weaved quickly into a gay smile. “My, my, 
deary, I see that you do, please come in.” 

Fay walked into the office apartment and Mrs. Hopkins grew a slight
frown. “Oh my goodness,” she exclaimed, reaching to Fay's forehead, 
“how did you get that awful bruise?” 

Fay immediately pulled away from her advancing hand. “I have enough to
catch up for this month as well as pay the next month's rent in 
advance,” she avowed firmly. 

“That just wonderful, but where on earth did you possibly get this sort
of money on such short notice,” Mrs. Hopkins asked. 

Fay silently handed her the rent, feeling it was none of the old bitch's
business where she had acquired the money. “I'll need a receipt since 
I'm paying in cash,” she simply replied, avoiding any unnecessary chat. 


Mrs. Hopkins nodded in agreement then sat down at a table with pen in
hand. Fay carefully studied the back of Mrs. Hopkin's head then slowly 
extracted Rahaud's handsome weapon from her back pocket. She stepped 
slowly in her direction. The instant that she was within reach of the 
old woman, Fay grabbed Mrs. Hopkins by her gray, thinning hair, quickly 
pulling her head back and thrusting the knife deeply into her throat. 
The old woman let out an agonizing scream but it was abruptly distorted 
by the grisly gurgle of choking red fluid. 

The knife melted deeply through arteries spilling blood in huge gushes.
Fay dug the knife in deeper and deeper, cutting almost to the very back 
of her neck. In a fury of anger she pulled the knife free and Mrs. 
Hopkins head fell back over the tip of the chair, it being united with 
her body only by a few strands of skin. 

The job was done with fine competence, yet somewhat messy in nature. Fay
stood over the elder woman for a short period staring into old lifeless 
eyes. A large pool of blood that was forming just below Mrs. Hopkins 
decapitated head and was running steadily to the living room, soaking 
the carpet in a dark crimson puddle. Fay looked down and suddenly 
realized that she herself was covered in a shower of blood. 

“Oh my God!” she screamed, as reality jolted her back to her normal
senses. “What have I done, what have I just done to this old woman?” 
Throwing the knife aside, she bolted out of the door and down the 
hallway leaving a massive trail of blood spattering along the old 
worn-trodden floorboards. Just as she opened the door to her apartment, 
someone called out. A large potbellied man wearing bagging blue jeans 
and a filthy white undershirt was staring in disbelief into Mrs. 
Hopkins' open-door apartment. He turned to Fay, pointing in her 
direction then dashed across the hallway, slamming his door securely 
shut. The police would arrive in only minutes. Fay knew she had hurry. 

Without the luxury of time to lock her door, she quickly jerked a clean
dress from a hanger, snatched up her purse and the briefcase then 
rushed out the door. Within the dark confines of the parking lot she 
fumbled anxiously with her car keys. Somewhere in the distance the 
sound of racing sirens grew louder by the second. As she inserted a key 
into the door lock, Fay noticed a large black shadow slowly fall over 
her, then a massive, strong hand smothered into her mouth and nose. She 
screamed but nothing came forth except a faint crying muffle. The next 
thing she felt was the sharpness of cold steel streaking across her 
throat. The blade cut deep, savaging her from ear to ear. Her body 
strangely relaxed and her assailant likewise lessened his grip. Her 
head tilted slightly to one side and with dimming eyes Fay Benton 
observed the last thing she would ever behold in this life---the grim 
face of Tony Garenez. 

******** Part 3 ******** 

The grand parade of brightly flashing lights was an unnatural phenomenon
to this typically quiet neighborhood. Yellow police tape that boldly 
announced: CRIME SCENE....DO NOT ENTER had been strung copiously around 
the entire apartment building and parking area. Flash bulbs, from 
police and news reporters alike, lit up the late evening liken to a 
majestic firework display. In the parking lot, five detectives with 
white chalk had busied themselves by carefully marking the many areas 
of evidence along the moon-lit blacktop. Inside the blood soaked 
apartment of Mrs. Hopkins, investigators were full of activity, 
scrutinizing every square inch, in search of vital clues. Rahaud and 
Toshed both stood quietly nearby entering notes into their small 
notepads. Finally Rahaud motioned and the two men slowly made their way 
down the sidewalk. 

“Master,” spoke Toshed, “Let me make certain that I have all the
particulars straight. It's my understanding that Fay Benton was to die 
tonight at the hands of Tony Garenez with or without her assisting us 
with Mrs. Hopkins murder.” 

“That's correct.” replied Rahaud. “Only the location was changed. Miss
Benton's fate had called for Tony Garenez to climb through a window and 
commit the murder right in her own bedroom. But it all worked out the 
same. Little was changed and little was wasted. We were very fortunate 
to have found this young lady. Most cases are much more complex.” 

“But the money, Master! Tony Garenez has the briefcase full of money.
That's bound to have an enormous impact upon his own future fate.” 

Rahaud returned a sly smile to his apprentice. “The money was only an
illusion with no final substance. When Mr. Garenez rechecks his 
precious currency, he will find nothing more than a briefcase full of 
live, squirming maggots.” 

“Oh, brilliant Master,“ laughed Toshed, patting Rahaud a congratulate
praise. “Simply brilliant.” 

“Toshed, let me enlighten you to something about the element of human
nature. Even from the cradle, these humans are born sick to the elusive 
craving of monetary tenure. In the future, when your training is 
complete and you're working alone, you will need to use this advantage 
to your own good need.” 

“How is this so?” inquired Toshed. 

“All humans have an extreme craving of money. It follows back to their
nature in it's primitive age; simply a means of survival. It's the most 
important hunger of all of their desires. Use it advantageously, as 
humans can never resist the call of cold cash. They will lie, they will 
cheat, and even commit a blood-spattered murder, as you saw tonight. 
It's our single most weapon in getting them to commit to our wishes. 
Never forget it, Toshed. The element of money is the most single 
strength of persuasion we have amongst these human beings. 

I agree, replied Toshed with a slight factor of shame. “They are so
vulnerable, master, that you almost feel sorry for them.” 

“Indeed,” concurred Rahaud. “Indeed.” 

The two agents of death turned sharply from the muted street, vanishing
into the dark shadows. 

A cold winter chill rustled briefly then died into the hot summer night.


---The End---


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