AGENTS OF DEATH

~~~~~~~ Agents of Death ~~~~~~~

Two death angels negotiate a deal with a financially troubled woman

By: Carver Byrd
HurricaneWarning



******** Part 1 ********

The knock to Fay Benton’s door was much more than the casual knock of a welcomed friend or stranger. It was loud, aggressive and infected with a sense of enraged fury. Fay rose from the sofa knowing precisely who her nighttime caller would be. Slowly she opened her door, taking careful note that the security chain was in position. “Yes?” she asked, peering through the small door opening.

“I’ve had just about enough of you, young lady,” called the elderly woman from the far side of the door. “You owe me rent and you owe it right this minute!” the landlord demanded.

“Mrs. Hopkins, I told you last week that I got a new job as a waitress. In fact, I’m starting tonight and my boss promised me an advance,” Fay lied.

“Oh, hogwash!” cried the old woman. “Excuses and apologies, I‘m sick to death of hearing them. You’re nothing but a lazy little bitch who won’t work and has no intention of ever paying her rent on time.”

“But I’m only two weeks late, Miss Hopkins, I can catch up by using the advance, then I’ll be able to pay next month’s rent on time,” Fay pleaded.

“I hear that rigged excuse month in and month out, and you’ve never been caught up,” snapped the landlord. “Well now your freeloading time has just came to an end. I going straight to my apartment and begin writing your eviction. If I don’t have my rent by first thing in the morning, I’m kicking your useless carcass right out of that apartment. Furniture and all.”

Fay never gained the opportunity to close the door herself. The old woman furiously pushed it swiftly forward sending Fay backward and delivering a hardy blow directly to her forehead. With an old but vigorous hand, Miss Hopkins slammed the door shut in a piercing boom. “I’d better have it by morning,” she shouted in a muffled voice through the closed door, “or else you’ll be out on the street with the rest of those sorry bums!”

Fay walked slowly into her shabby kitchen and applied a cold rag to her throbbing forehead. Presently, there came another knock to her door, but this knock was gentle, less perceptible, almost timid in nature.

Fay walked slowly in the direction of the door. “Who’s there?” she called out. There was no answer. Another soft tap. Carefully she cracked the door and observed what appeared to be two affluent businessmen standing in the dim glow of the hallway. Both wore expensive looking dark suits, light blue shirts and fashionable ties. “Yes, what can I do for you?” she asked in a curious yet solemn manner.

“Miss Benton, we didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but we did overhear the conversation between yourself and your landlord, “ spoke the older of the two men, his voice carrying the impression of dominance and pleasure within the same measure. “I think we may be able to remedy the situation if you would permit us a few moments of your time.”

“What’s this all about?” Fay questioned. “And how do you know my last name?”

“Let’s just say we have our contacts and leave it at that,” returned the tall, mysterious gentleman.

“Oh, I get it now,” Fay retorted. “You guys are cops, right? Well if you’re after that drug-head, ex-boyfriend of mine, he’s been out of my life for over a year now.”

“I can readily assure you, Miss Benton that we are not in the line of any police duties,” spoke the younger man, who's voice also carried a sense of power yet satisfaction. “We only wish to propose an offer that could greatly help with your financial situation. Perhaps you should consider it a job opportunity.”

“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 had 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, adorned 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 intensity 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 fate. 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, 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 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 life is carefully defined just as DNA defines the 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 has been restored.”

“So what does this entire thing 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 do…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 realize 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 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 she perils to future events. Destiny struggles to restore the ordained patterns as best it can, which can prove rather dangerous should we allow her modified existence to run too far into the future. I know this will be difficult for you, but the sooner you can accomplished your job 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 the door open. “Now just get the hell out of my apartment and I never care to see either of you ever 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’ 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 the 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 lot. Flash bulbs, from police and 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 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 money, 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,” Rahaud stated. “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 all of them.”

“Indeed,” concurred Rahaud. “Indeed.”

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


---The End---

Thanks for reading,

-Trevor