Decisions

         I crouch in the shadows, completely hidden by the trees that surround me. The night is cold—snow lightly covers the ground—but it does not bother me. Weather never does when it comes to my job. Through my scope I see the number of the motel room where my target is said to be: 2. The curtains are pulled back, giving me a clear view through the window at who is inside.

         A woman sits on the bed, her eyes focused on the baby sleeping near her. Her expression portrays fear, anxiety, and worry. It’s as if she knows something is about to happen. Perhaps she expects it, that this day wasn’t far off. Maybe she had accepted it long before now. I’ll never know for sure what she’s thinking—I never really care. My job is to find the target, eliminate, and report back for my money. However, the woman sitting on the bed is not my target.

         I shift my scope a little, my trained eye moving to the sleeping infant. I never ask questions about my assignments. I never need to. I’ve also never been assigned a child as a target. No, not even a child. A mere baby, barely a few months old. It’s still in damn diapers for crying out loud. I’m a cold-blooded killer, sure. An assassin for hire—yeah, that’s me. But could even I bring myself to harm this innocent child? To put a bullet straight through its head? Why was this child wanted dead anyway? What could it have possibly done to deserve such a fate? Then it hits me. It’s not the child’s fault. Not at all.

         My scope moves back to the woman. She’s still staring down at the baby who slumbers blissfully unaware of what’s going on. I thought she looked familiar. I recall seeing her in passing a few times down at Headquarters. An assassin like me, a hired gun. Rumor has it that she’s the best in the business. Rumor also has it that she went and got herself knocked up. I guess the second rumor is true. So why is this baby—her baby—on the hit list? What did she do to deserve that? I turn my gaze back toward the sleeping child. Poor kid. If I don’t kill it, surely someone else will come along and finish the job. My finger is on the trigger, crosshairs aimed right where they should be, and still…I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to kill this helpless baby, not for any amount of money in the world.

         I let out the breath I had been holding for only God knows how long now. I shift my sights back to the woman, shocked to find a gun held firmly in her hands. Her sights are on me. Before I know it I hear the sound of shattering glass—the window—and a searing pain through my left shoulder, knocking me onto my back.

         Well, I guess that first rumor was true as well.