Rain can be a killers greatest alia

Rain can be a killer’s greatest ally. It can wash away blood, or clean your wounds. It can wash a blade, and lower the temperature of a dead body. It can wash away your scent so you can escape, or wash away the evidence of tears. He counted on it. If it didn’t, then they would find him again. He knew it would work though. It was his art. He had perfected it, he owned it. It was as much a part of him, as the hand that held his knife, clean and sharpened to perfection. If there was one thing he was perfect at, it was delivering a clean blow. He looked out of the doorway, and waited for his target. He had been planning the attack for weeks now. Nothing could go wrong. Nothing, except… No. He shook his head fiercely, banishing the thought from his head. He took his wallet out, and stared sadly at the image it held within. It was of him and a woman in front of the Eifel Tower, smiling, and laughing. He shut the wallet, and slid it back into his pocket. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. As he was opening his eyes, he heard footsteps, approaching him quickly. He silenced his thoughts, and then walked out behind the target. She was just smaller than he was, and was soaked to the skin. Her blond hair stuck to her neck and clothes. “Sarah” he said, addressing the woman in front of him.
She stopped suddenly, almost causing the man to walk into her. “What? Who said my name?” She asked, not turning round. The rain was drumming on the ground and figures, sliding down the man’s black coat. He tightened his grip on the knife’s handle.
“Ore gozen sumimasen” He said in another language. Sarah turned slowly, and looked him in the face. He saw a reflection of his face in her brown eyes, the rain causing his eye length black hair to stick to his face, almost concealing his deep, sea green eyes. He had a thin white scar going from the bottom of his left cheek to the center of his chin, and thin lips.
“Jack? Is that you?” She said, raising a hand to his face. As soon as her skin touched his, his hand shot out and grabbed it. “It is you…isn’t it.” She said, mixed emotions seeping out through her words. Jack said nothing, but turned his head slightly in reply. “…where were you? You were gone for three years… Why didn’t you contact us?” she turned his head to face her.
“…Ore…”he began, turning his head again, before being cut off abruptly.
“What does that even mean, Jack?” Sarah shouted, turning his head back.
“…I’m sorry…” He said, looking her in the eyes. Tears began to form in the corners of her eyes. He took hold of the hand that was on his face and removed it. This was not going according to plan. If he took too much longer, he would be in danger of being spotted. There was only one thing he could think of that could stop the flood of questions. He lifted her head slightly, moved his face closer, and kissed her. She opened her eyes wide in surprise, and struggled at first, but soon accepted it and kissed back. The kiss seemed to last for an eternity, a passionate kiss, more passionate from him, than from her. Slowly she sank into it, returning the kiss more. Jack slipped something out of his pocket, and wrapped his arms around her, pulling their bodies together. Thoughts swam erratically through her mind, happy memories of vacations in Paris and Italy, and Jack laughing at her bad jokes, erotic nights of heated passion in their hotel rooms, and the comfortable nights curled up on the sofa in front of a roaring fire, a cup of hot cocoa in her hands as he stroked her cheek, and murmured sweet nothings in her ear. Jacks hands slid to the middle of her back, and something pressed against her. Sarah jerked as it pierced her. Her eyes widened in pain and surprise. They parted lips, and she stared into his eyes, her face painting a picture of her feelings. Anger, Pain, Betrayal.
“Wh-why Jack?” She said, as she slumped against his chest. Jack’s hand clutched around the handle of the knife that stuck out of her back so hard, his knuckles had turned white, and the band on his wedding ring bit relentlessly into his finger.
“…Because they would have tortured you…just to get me. I couldn’t let them hurt you.” He let her slump, and took out the knife. The blood was slowly washed off the blade, and cleaned his hands of evidence. He turned, took one last look at the woman, and walked down a back alley, disappearing into the shadows. If anyone had seen his face as he made his escape, they would have sworn that part of the water trickling from his features, was tears of sorrow.