The Year’s Young

It was hard to know exactly when he would arrive. Sather sat, tapping his foot and glancing over his shoulder every few seconds. He wasn’t going to get more than one shot at this, and the sun was already starting to disappear behind the trees at the west side of the park. Had he come back on the wrong day? Surely not, they had run the simulation millions of times. Still, he felt doubt in his gut—and he’d made a career trusting his gut.

He was a few feet from the path, and there was a clear view to his right of about 80 yards. He would have time to prepare once he saw him coming. The only problem was the bend to his left, but it he’d just have to hope for some good luck. The park would empty by this time every night, no one wanted to get caught in it after dark.

Still, that gut of his.

He reached his hand into his jacket pocket, a green windbreaker with a small embroidered golden lion on the breast. He slowly wrapped his fingers around the clothed blade and started singing lightly under his breath. Laughing - The Guess Who is always what came to mind when he was on a case, no matter how cliché Suzanne thought it was.

…you took me by surprise
You didn’t realize, but I was waiting…

A chill rode up his spine as he saw a figure come into view. He didn’t dare move his head to look, but instead removed a blue handkerchief. He pulled off the pair of glasses he wore and started to clean them with the handkerchief, while keeping an eye on the figure as it approached.

…I go alone now, calling your name
After losing at the game, you took me by surprise…

Forty yards. Thirty. The jogger’s footfalls were quiet crunches that pierced what suddenly seemed like deafening silence. Twenty. Sather snuck a short glance at his left, making sure no one had come around the bend. He held his glasses up to the sun for a moment, and reached back into his pocket for the knife with his other hand. Ten.

…time goes slowly, but carries on
And now the best years, the best years have come and gone…

With more dexterity than a man his age should have, Sather pounced from the bench and drove the knife into the jogger’s neck, just below the ear. The blue handkerchief was still wrapped around it, blowing slightly in the wind as he removed his hand and the flailing body fell to the ground. Blood gurgled out of the man’s mouth as he looked up at his assailant without an ounce of recognition but many pounds of horror.

…oh whatcha doing to me?
You took away everything I had, you put the hurt on me, ohhhh…

Sather quickly stepped over the body, but the jogger reached out to grab his pant cuff, smearing blood against the corduroy. As he yanked the ankle away, it disappeared entirely, leaving the helpless man dying alone, as the sun dropped behind the tree line.