[ WP ] A murderer kills his victim , but what happens next makes him wish he had n't ...

He sat motionless in the car, eyes fixed on the house opposite. The house was in darkness, no light save for the pale illumination of the moon bathing the street in an eerie whitewash. The large house sat detached from any other on the street, it's large expanse of verdant garden surrounding it like a moat bordered by a low chain link fence. He glanced at the digital segment display clock embedded in the dash, the numbers glowing an ethereal green, momentarily before returning his gaze to the house. Beds of brightly pigmented flowers lined the pathway to the front door and dotted the lawn, a sea of purples, yellows, and reds. A great silver birch tree dominated the scene, rising nearly as tall as the two storey house's slate tiled roof, it's bark gleaming in the moon's glare, matching the house's whitewashed wood panels in luminance. He grabbed the white cigarette box from the passenger seat, opened it, and plucked a cigarette fluidly, placing it between his lips loosely and throwing the box back onto the seat. A click echoed through the silence of the car as he pushed the cigarette lighter into the socket. Moments later it popped back out, the smell of burnt dust accenting the air. He picked it up and brought the glowing orange coil to the end of the cigarette and lit it. Placing the lighter back in the socket he inhaled deeply on the freshly lit cigarette, the tip glowing a deep red as he did so. Nearly time he thought. The exhalation filled the car with smoke, a thick yellowish haze which made him crack a window to ensure a perfect line of sight on the house. Nothing could go wrong tonight, this was his one shot. 
 
 The cigarette shortened as the man waited until finally he flicked it from the window, the used butt smouldering on the asphalt. Now was the time, he thought to himself as he stared into his reflection in the mirror, an empty gaze meeting his own. The car door swung open and the man purposefully stepped out. He stood for a moment, hand resting on the door frame, whilst he surveiled the area one last time. Still as the grave. He might've chuckled had the task ahead not been facing him. Striding forward he flung the door behind him shut, the dull thud the only sound in the still night air. It was a cool night, not that it mattered, it had to happen regardless of the weather. A ball of mist hung around his mouth as he exhaled, only to be displaced as he strode forwards, crushing the still-warm cigarette butt beneath his heel as he passed. Stepping up onto the kerb his black dress shoes grated lightly on some loose gravel kicked up no doubt by some passing car. The concrete slabs that lead to the door seemed of the purest white under the bright night sky. Each step brought him closer to the house, his own plan ringing in his ears; kill them, no witnesses. He approached the door and extended his hand towards the unembellished know. His hand hovered an inch away as he weighed up his options. Turning on his heel he stepped down from the porch and headed to the back of house. 
 
 The back garden was much the same as the front, kept neatly and tended to with much love. A wooden shed stood in the back right corner. He eyed it with curiosity before snapping back to the task at hand. A few cinderblock steps led up to the screen door and he took them silently, unlatching the screen door's length of string from it's makeshift hook and loop configuration. He tried the handle but it yielded no results. Not to be deterred he brought a small cloth roll out of his pocket and laid it out on the top step. An assortment of slim hooked, curved, and straight metal lock picks lined the beige linen. He selected two with a deftness only from years of experience, and put the first into the lock. He tested the pins in the lock gingerly before slotting the tension wrench in, pushing the line again, and twisting. The door swung open, he picked up his tools, pocketed them and went in. 
 
 It took him a moment to adjust to the absolute darkness inside the house, but before long he could identify a kitchen as the room he was in. A pine table adorned with a red and white checkered water resistant tablecloth stood in the centre of the room. He walked by, running the fingertips of his left middle and ring fingers along the cool surface, focused solely on the doorway ahead of him. Inside the house he could see no doors closed, a godsend for finding his target he thought. Stepping through the doorway he followed the corridor into the main hallway of the house, walking parallel with the steps until he reached their foot where he stopped. Listening closely for a minute he could hear nothing. Could it be that they were n't home? No. No, he'd done far too much research for that to be true. Crouching low he began to ascend the staircase, one step at a time, his shoe making little noise on the strip of carpet running down the middle of the stairs. 
 
 He stopped at the top. This was it. Finally. Now he just had to carry out his plan like in so many dreams before. He new exactly where to find them. Stepping towards the only closed door he began breathing heavily. He twisted the doorknob and swiftly opened the door, still maintaining silence, though now his movements buzzed with a nervous energy. There, in the otherwise empty double bed, the rapist. 
 
 Two giant strides and the man was upon his prey. Straddling him on the bed his hands clamped down, crushing his target's windpipe. The shock woke the sleeping man and he began to struggle, hands clawing at his assailant's forearms, torso bucking in an attempt to throw his attacker. Neither man was any larger than average, neither particularly muscular yet the assailant could not be moved, his grim determination set in his eyes, dead in the dim light. As the last ounce of oxygen bled from every cell in the man's body a surge of strength coursed through him, a last ditch attempt to stay on this planet. The two went tumbling off the bed and clattered onto the floor, rolling one on top of the other, each trying to maintain dominance. They traded punches in between grapples, neither willing to relent. The attacker, only slightly larger, used his size to his advantage, sitting on the other man's stomach and swinging wildly at his face. Each hit made a sickening thud and a occasionally even a slight cracking sound. After several minutes of constant abuse the victim lay bloodied and in laboured breaths. The attacker stopped to catch his breath, and in doing so was caught off guard. The man threw his assailant off him and into the wall behind him, stumbling to his feet he threw his entire body weight into a shoulder slam pinning the attacker to the wall by his throat. The drywall cracked behind the attacker and the other man fell backwards onto the bed, keeping himself from falling with a single shaking arm. The attacker stayed slumped back against the wall and coughed, a metallic taste tinged his mouth as he spat and saw blood. The rage boiled within him again. He stepped to the battered form in front of him, it's face barely distinguishable in the dark, though the blood stains on the skin stood out clearly. He reached out a hand, grabbing the man by the collar of his pyjama top, and threw him with all his strength into the ground. He stamped on his skull, again and again, he could feel no more movement but he would n't stop until he was sure. From the corner of his eye he saw a waist-high wooden cabinet leaning against the wall. Perfect. He dragged it along the wall to be next to the man on the floor, it's weight deceptive for the size. With the faintest trace of a smile he put all his strength into tipping it. The crunch was sickening and the mess on the floor worse, his victim's head now split and flattened. The dark red blood seeped into the pores of the wood between which the head had been sandwiched. Chunks of everything this man had been squelched underfoot as the killer walked towards the door, the puddles of blood splashing onto his ankles as he walked. 
 
 As he reached the doorway, head spinning with the delirium of finally killing the rapist he'd planned the death of for so long, his stomach turned to ice and his heart froze. A pair of clear blue eyes looked up at him. Illuminated by a ray of moonlight was the tear-streaked face of a young girl, porcelain skin contrasting long brown hair, reaching down to her pink nightie, teddy bear in hand. The rapist had been a father, he had been a person. So dead set on retribution the man had been he had n't even considered there being a person behind the villainous cretin. Yet here stood the furthest from that possible, here stood innocence and beauty, here stood happiness and life. Here stood a witness. `` Daddy?'' she whimpered. No witnesses, he thought.
