A few more footsteps would do it, so he slowly crawled up and stopped again. The rooftop door was getting closer, so was his agony. Once he pushed the door open, the stream of the fresh cool air awakened his senses.

All exhausted, he slowed down, then ran again, then leaned to the wall, rested, then… He was short of breath, but pushed himself up the stairs; they seem endless – those steps to infinity. Barely, he dragged himself all the way to the top and all feeble, he crashed on the very top of the stairway. A few more footsteps would do it, so he slowly crawled up and stopped again. The rooftop door was getting closer, so was his agony. Once he pushed the door open, the stream of the fresh cool air awakened his senses.

Silence felt golden. Away from the busy streets, the madness of the city, the insanity of his life; things just seemed humble and simple here. Problems? What problems? Why is he even here? The deep blue sky above pulled him back to his senses and he trembled. One hundred twenty floors – Ethan finally got to edge of the roof, looked down, then up, closed his eyes, and…

 “That’s the hardest one,” the voice slurred from the behind.

A tall man in his mid-fifties wearing a wrinkly and tainted outfit was facing the wall. His face was pale and sullen, hands shaking and getting ready to grab another bottle of beer. A few empty bottles of whiskey laying around, lifeless eyes, droopy and pale lips – all that made the picture complete.

 The stranger continued, “I have a theory: there are two kinds of suicides, who prefer the gun or hang themselves, are the ones with personal issues – could be love, guilt, betrayal, hmm, other bull shit.  Those who consider themselves the victims of injustice jump off the buildings. Yeah, man, that is it. That’s my theory, what you say?”

Ethan stepped toward the stranger, then stepped back to the edge, looked down, then loosely mumbled, “I’d say your theory is a bunch of crap,”

“Your first time, right?” the man asked.

Ethan kept quiet, leaned forward and closed his eyes.

 “Wait, please!” the stranger cried out.

His anxious voice made Ethan open his eyes. He stretched his arms to keep the balance and sharply turned around.

“Stoop your nonsense. I need to focus.”

“I am not even trying, man. You think I want to talk you out of it? Nah. I was just thinking you could help me, man.”

Ethan looked confused. “Help you? Do I look like someone who can help you?”

“Absolutely. I can’t even end my misery, man. I’ve been trying hard to end this nasty adventure called life. No luck. Even dying is on me, everything is always on me alone. Can’t get any help from anyone, man. So, I thought, since we are on the same page, maybe you can give me a hand. What you say?”

“Stop asking my opinion, will you? What you say man, what you say man. I don’t say shit, I am fuckin’ tired of you being in my face. Get out of here.”

“Hey, can’t kick me out of here, okay. That is my corner. I live here. I’ve been here for more than a week now, so chill. Better get me some cigarettes, I ran out.”

Ethan suddenly grinned, and started to dig all his pockets.

“There you go,” he said and handed a man a pack of cigarettes.

“Thank you, buddy. You got a lighter, too? Mine is broken.”

Ethan silently turned his back to a man, and walked to the edge of the roof once more. He cautiously looked down and felt as strong as never before. He was going to jump, and that was final.

 “My son would’ve turned nine today,” the stranger talked again. “A murder. A hell of a murder, man. I bet you don’t know how it feels, when your baby is gone, gone for nothing, man. My wife was murdered too… along with him. But why do you care? Nobody cares.”

 Silence. Ethan looked up again.

“I’ve got some Scotch here. Care to join me?” the man continued.

“I don’t think you’re getting it. You can’t stop me; it’s just, ugh, I don’t know why I’m still talking to you.”

“Shut up. Have a shot with me, then do whatever.”

“Fine,” Ethan blurted, turned around and walked toward the stranger.      “I’ll take the big one, give me the big one.” He drew the big plastic cup towards him.

“I am Sean. If you care of course – I am Sean Parker.”

“Ethan,” Ethan mumbled and lit Sean’s cigarette. 

The whiskey had rushed to his head and pleasantly blurred his mind.

“After this, it’s your turn to talk me into jumping. You have to do it, though. You must,” Sean requested.

 “I don’t think so.”

“Really? It’ not like I’m asking you to kill me. Just tell me, I can do it.  You know why? Because I can. I know, I can. Don’t underestimate me, Ethan. I am Sean Parker and I can do anything I want. Almost.”

“No, Sean,” Ethan replied, “I’m only responsible for my own life.”

“Fine, okay, be like that. Then why do you wanna go? What’s up with you?”

“My family needs it. I fucked all up. I need to get them out of the troubles I created for them.”

“I see.”

“I lost everything. Bankrupt. If I die, my life insurance will cover my debts for me, so my kids will have a place to live. Otherwise, we’re all homeless…at least for now.”

Nodding, Sean began to look for something in his little, brown bag. He stopped listening to Ethan, and got busy shaking every little pocket in his bag.

“I can’t do much, man, but here you go,” Sean handed Ethan a plastic card. “There’s around ten grand on this card. Not much, but might help.”

Ethan smiled. “Not gonna do it, but thanks.”

“How much will do?” Sean asked.

“About three million.”

“Three million? You are screwed, man.”

“I gambled all I had. Stock market. The devil.”

“Damn it.”

 “Sean,” Ethan whispered.

“What?”

“There is a reason you’re still alive. The Highest One in heavens has plans for you. Ask him about it.”

“Hah, I like that. Call the heavens from the hell on earth. What’s up there for me in the heaven? Ha-ha, I like that. You made me laugh, man…I haven’t laughed for years.”

Suddenly, Sean got serious, frowned, and looked away. “If there was God, my kid and my wife would be with me. I know, I sound stupid, but, man, I am worthless without them. My heart is a void, Ethan, a big black hole, waiting to be filled with death.”

Slowly, Ethan got up and unhurriedly walked to the edge of the roof.

“Have you ever faced death?” Sean uttered loudly.

“Many times. I served in Iraq.” Ethan responded.

“You killed people?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Great, kill me then. Pull the trigger. I have a good one.” Sean approached him with a gun in his hand.

“Get out of here. You don’t even want to die.”

“Yes, I do, and you know why? Cause I am a worthless bastard, that’s why. Years ago, I witnessed a murder of a gang member and his pregnant wife by one of the well-known gangster Danny Morales or Danny-M. as they called him. I testified in court against him, was very proud of myself, the crook got a life-sentence, but was released somehow. Meanwhile, I got married, my son was born; I became successful, my wife did it for me – supported me the world, and I was the happiest man ever.”

“Did Danny-M…”

Sean interrupted, “Yes, he did. He got a deal with police, I guess, turned in some major drug cartels, and got out sooner than expected. Little I knew the son of a bitch was going to come after me. He did not forget my face. He followed me, he came at night, when we were all in bed, he shot them bad, man, ugh…he skipped me, can you imagine! I begged him to shoot me, I begged him. He didn’t. Son of a bitch. He despised my guts; he looked at me as if I wasn’t even there. He gave me that same shitty look in the court, during the trial. Not even hating me, imagine? How come? I don’t understand, what was he thinking, man.”

Ethan grabbed Sean’s gun and towed it on the ground.

Sean seemed not to care and went on, “After he shot my son and my wife, he tied me to the chair, spit on my face, and left me. When I finally freed myself, I called the police. Too late, though. He was long gone, no trace at all.”

“Did they find him then?” Ethan asked.

“Yes, they did, but there was no evidence of him murdering my family. Nothing valid was found, no fingerprints, nothing. So, it was my word against his, and the crook got released.”

“Shit!””

“Oh yeah, this life is full of shit, man. I wasted my time appealing the court decision, then I’ve decided to go on my own. I followed his ass everywhere. He was never alone, always fenced by his gang. And when I got my chance, I couldn’t do it. He was talking on the phone by his car, all alone. I put the gun to his nasty head and froze…just could not kill the bastard. The fear of death…doesn’t matter who. I fucked it up, Ethan, big time.”

“Don’t blame yourself for not being able to kill. You stayed a human after all.”

“After all,” Sean beamed, “you’re a good man, after all. It’s just I don’t think you can be of help to someone like me – a dead dude.”

Ethan lowered his head and said, “Aren’t we all dead?”

“You think so, hmm, so why don’t you get your dead self together and just shoot me for good?”

“I told you ‘no’, didn’t you hear that? It’s not fair to you, you don’t deserve it.”

“Oh yeah? Of course, I don’t even deserve a damn bullet in my stupid head! Thank you, buddy, your kindness is appreciated.”

“Oh, shut up, you talk too much,” Ethan complained.

“You know what, let me tell you this. Why don’t you be fair to me and to the world? Shoot the bastard that is still out there breathing the same air with you. Get the crook, kill Danny-M, then come back to me and…fine, I will push you down, I promise.”

Ethan turned to Sean. “I will,” he firmly stated.

“Oh yeah? Hey, I am sorry. My bad. I did you wrong, Ethan. My bad. I can handle it myself. I must.”

 “I said, I’ll do it,” Ethan raised his voice.

 “Nah… Think twice, man, cause I may take your ‘yes’ seriously.”

  “Give me more info about your Danny-M. The more the merrier.”

****

The pub was blasting with the drunk crowd flare. The music was fading away, while the chuckling of men was clouding the air. Ethan was sipping whiskey in the very corner of the bar; he was serenely observing the scene with Danny talking to a dwarf-like man with a gray mustache and a few hair on his shiny, oval head.

Ethan felt oddly calm and sober. His worries seemed to disappear; his mind grew flawless and sharp. He knew exactly what he was up to, and sure enough, it made him a happy man. “I’ll grant him with a couple of more minutes,” he thought, looking at Danny in action.

Suddenly, Danny got up and walked straight towards Ethan. “Do I know you?” he asked.

Ethan kept quiet, and emptied his bottle.

“Are you hard of hearing?”

Ethan smirked, “I don’t think you do.”

 No shaking hands. No panic at all. Ethan rapidly took out the gun from his pocket, and fired right in Dany’s chin. Done.

Danny’s bulky body crashed onto the floor. His friends jumped up and pointed their guns to Ethan. Indifferently, he walked to the bar and calmly spoke, “One more shot, please,” he asked the bartender.

“That one is on me, you fuck,” said the voice from behind and flamed the air.

In a few minutes, Ethan’s dead body began turning blue in the middle of the pub, already occupied by the police.

****

Thirty-year-old Frank Douglas had left the hospital with the doctor’s words echoing in his mind, “A few months left to live. The medication will help you with the pain, but no guarantee for your memory. You will gradually lose it.”

All blue, Frank took out the long papers with his test results out of his pocket and tossed them in the trash can. He thought of his mother, and the way her deteriorating condition had made her suffer and become somewhat burdensome for her close ones. Frank had the same diagnosis as his mother, and he really didn’t want his family to go through the emotional and physical hardships he experienced with his mother a couple of years ago. He loved his wife and kids dearly, so the decision to leave was final.

The skyscrapers were in a walking distance from hospital: Frank spotted out the closest high-rise, and walked straight towards the building. Suddenly, he stopped and looked up. “Will you help me, please,” he voiced the heavens, and decided to go closer to those heavens, anyway.

The roof of the building felt hot from the sun.  Frank wished he could have let his family know the reasons for his suicide, but he knew he would not be able to overcome his fear again, so he just closed his eyes and prayed.

“The last moment is the hardest,” the voice behind sounded tired.

Frank turned around. “Who are you?”

“I have this theory,” the voice went on. “There are two kinds of suicide people who prefer a gun or hanging themselves are the ones with personal issues – could be love, guilt, betrayal, or other bull shit. The ones that jump off the buildings are those who consider themselves the victims of injustice. Yeah, man, that is it. That’s my theory, what you say?”

“It’s different for me. I am terminally ill. I don’t want to suffer and don’t want to burden my family with it,” Frank responded.

“I see. I am sorry about that. But hey, you are lucky, I would rather have that.”

“Why? You want my deadly virus?” Frank smirked.

The man smiled back, “Sure. Are you contagious?”

“No, I am not.”

“I like you, what’s your name?” said the man.

“I am glad someone does.”

“I am Frank, and you?”

“Come here Frank, have a drink with me. You are gonna go down anyway, so a shot of whiskey wouldn’t hurt. I’ll tell you my story, and maybe you’ll feel for me.”

Dragging his feet, Frank sank himself next to a man.

“My Sara,” the man started, “my sweet Sara was going to turn ten this year, but, ugh, I can’t even… It’s hard to talk, when you are dead. She got murdered, my wife too. I survived. I don’t know what’s the plan for me up there, but I feel terrible. Will you give a hand to end this story?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean what you think I mean. Pull the trigger, and you’ll save me from hell – the hell on earth.”

“Don’t even go there, not gonna happen. I’ll have a drink with you, if you want me to, but that’s it.”

This was the fourth case with the same kind of an evidence for the judge Liam Henderson: four different people with no criminal background had been committing murders randomly with no obvious reasons. All the victims were well-known people: CEO’s, politicians, or criminals.

****

A man by the name Sean Parker leisurely walked into his colonial house and fixed himself a drink. His bodyguards were still around, but as he entered, he let them go. All exhausted, he was getting ready to meet his partner Joe Balthazar.

Before Sean fixed his drink, the heavy-set man in his early fifties walked into his living room and sluggishly mumbled, “I am not late, am I?”

“I am glad you are on time. I’ll fix you a drink.”

“Great, great. It’s getting cold out there. The season of rains is almost here.”

Joe Balthazar was well known by the state law enforcement as a successful head for the contract- killings.  He hadn’t spent a day behind the bars. There were rumors that Balthazar led a small corporation called “The Mercy”, which conducted exclusive operations eliminating mostly politicians, who were labeled ‘wanted’ for the CIA.

Tasting his drink, Joe oddly stared at Sean and uttered, “What is your real name, Sean?”

“Does it matter, Joe? I do the job well and we can happily leave it at that. You wanted to talk to me tonight, I am all yours.”

“Nothing big, just was curious about the psych-part of your success. I know you’re role-playing an underdog, but what’s the key?”

“Aha, fine, so you’re curious about the inside job. It is as simple as the life itself. I just turn people’s desperation in my favor. These people have nothing to lose; they are pretty much dead when I meet them.” Sean paused then went on. “Why? So many stupid reasons: love, betrayal, money, more money, depression, terminal diseases, you name it, Joe. I make their last breath more meaningful; I give them a valid reason to die and they feel important, not vain anymore. My stories fascinate them and by killing others, they turn into the heroes in their own eyes; they don’t feel like victims, you see. Yeah, so it’s a win-win situation, isn’t it?”

Joe looked rather puzzled than impressed: he moved his lips like he wanted to say something, but didn’t speak. He tried again, “That’s…that’s just so…so…I am speechless, and,” he hesitated for a second, then went on, “here is the new list of the clients, who need your help. Call me if you need me. Your fee has been already wired to your account. It’s getting late, I better get going. Have a good night, Sean.” Joe handed a flash-stick to Sean, timidly shook his hand and walked out.

 In a rush, he stepped out of Sean’s house, walked to his car and drove away. He thought he had seen it all, he had heard it all, he had done it all. He thought he did…not anymore.

Sean has not slept until six in the morning. He was having a blast going through the names of his new victims and googling more information about a well-known spot in the town called “The Cliff”- the cliff, from where Sean’s future heroes often tried their “luck”. All excited, he checked his bank account, then fix himself another drink. The sound of the starting rain has pacified his exhilaration, and he soundly fell asleep on his big soft leather chair.

Part 2- Ray Fisher

 Ray Fisher stood still; he was having a silent dialogue with the people looking at him through the picture frames, neatly organized on the corner office table. Working for the Chicago police for years, Ray was one of the export detectives in the city. The murder investigation seemed to be an unpretentious one, but the butterflies in Fisher’s mind and stomach were quite stubborn. He knew there was much more to these killings. Much more.

Three sleepless nights drained his guts, and he dozed off at his office desk. It wasn’t easy to swallow his wife’s departure; Kelly left him for Canada taking their son with her. Her last words echoed through his whole being, “Your job has devoured not only you, but all of us. You seem to value your victims more than your own family. You can’t live without them anymore, you cannot; even if you quit your job, they will follow you, Ray.”

The sharp, screeching noise of the opening door awakened Ray.

“Did you find the evidence you were looking for?”  The police Chief Scott MacGregor asked him in a sharp voice.

“Not yet, I need some time,” responded Fisher, trying to sober up.

“No time for that. Start Roger’s assassination case. The city major wants that case to be investigated as soon as possible. The one you are working on, needs to go to archives.”

“Boss… but”, Fisher tried.

“Your doubts have no ground, Ray. These are not serial killings, Ray; we both know – the killers and the victims. No need to complicate things at this point.”

“We don’t know the real motives behind the killings, sir, we don’t,” Fisher replied and walked to the table with pictures on it. “Giuseppe Carbone, the godfather of the family of Capaco’s, one of the most influential mafia families in Chicago, in fact, in the country. He was murdered in front of his own restaurant.”

“I know how it happened,” MacGregor interrupted.

Fisher kept quiet. He quickly moved his hand and pointed at the Asian looking man next to Carbone’s face on the photograph.

“Ken Cho,” Fisher started, “fifty years old, immigrated to States ten years ago, is a manager in a pharmaceutical company. I know his case by hard, everything, talked to the relatives, co-workers. Out IT guys scrutinized his phone, and guess what?”

“And?” MacGregor uttered.

“Nothing, sir. Cho did not know Giuseppe Carbone. In fact, he was clueless about Carbone’s existence.”

“Targeted killing does not always assume knowing the object. In this case we don’t even know if it was a premediated murder,” MacGregor concluded.

“Well…Cho has fired five times, and only two got to Carbone. To be more exact the first one injured Carbone’s leg, the second one – his arm, the rest hit the wall and the door. If the bullet hadn’t injured his thigh artery, he would have not even died. Check this out, Captain: when Carbone’s bodyguards backfired, Cho didn’t even attempt to run. He just stood there waiting to be killed. So, who is that freaking fool to make Cho, such an amateur, to assassinate the biggest gangster there is? You tell me!”

MacGregor was silent. Slowly, he moved his gaze to the photograph on the edge of the corner stand.

“What about this guy?” he pointed at the picture.

“It’s the same,” Fisher continued, “Frank Douglas, thirty-five years old, married, has three kids, a loan officer in a local bank, never had any problems with law, only some minor traffic violations. He shot Liam Henderson, the prosecutor judge right in his face. Just like Cho, Douglas had no clue who his victim was. He just shot the man. Just like that.”

Ray walked to the big, velvet chair and made himself comfortable.

“The court guards, who shot Douglas, reported that the guy couldn’t even hold the gun properly in his hands.”

“Did they arrest him?”

“They tried. They told him to surrender,” Ray said. “But Douglas did just the opposite; he pointed his gun at the guards, so that they would shot him on spot.”

MacGregor wanted to lecture Ray some more about the situations that might arise not in their favor, but he decided to stay quiet. He knew Ray too well – nothing could stop him from finding the underlying cause of the case.

Noticing MacGregor’s reluctance, Ray rushed to the corner stand and pointed to another photograph.

“Morgan Owen, forty-four years old, divorced, the owner of “Owen Technologies”, a self-created corporation, a friendly and a cool fellow. On April 4, he entered a restaurant, where Harvard Luis was having his dinner…Luis is the CEO of the North Capital Chicago bank. So, Morgan approached him from the back and put three bullets in his head. Making sure that Luis was dead, he blows his own brains out.

“Well, I am sure you didn’t get to find the connection between Morgan and Luis, did you?” MacGregor asked.

“I did. Ethan Beck, thirty-eight years old, divorced, one of those two killers who is a professional shooter, a former paratrooper, served in special military operations in Afghanistan, Syria, and Iraq. After demobilization, he started his own transportation company, but wasn’t successful, went almost bankrupt.”

“Does Morales have anything to do with the failure of his business?” MacGregor asked. “At times, cartels get involved with transportation guys to do the job, you know.”

“There is nothing on them, though. Couldn’t get much info about them dealing with each other. Maybe they served together, I don’t know. But, no. Out of these four, Ethan was the only qualified one, so after shooting Morales, he could’ve escaped. Instead, he asked for more drink. Why?”

“Cause he was there to kill and die,” MacGregor mumbled to himself.

“Yes, he was. Four murders in two months, and all of them are strange, and I mean strange; and all the weapons were illegally obtained. Hmm, I don’t know, man, I just need more time.”

MacGregor was silent. He realized that Ray was right about most of the facts, and it was obvious that something was up with all these cases, but he was reluctant to make any conclusions.

“I’d just called them anonymous killers,” Ray suggested, slowly getting up from his chair.

“You have ten days, Fisher, and if there is nothing more to this, we’ll transfer the cases to the archives,” MacGregor replied and left the room.

The scandalous crime, that happened next day, made Fisher jump at it, leaving the rest of the cases behind. The news about the attempted murder of Congressman Neil Walsh was blasting the media, which was full of opinions, statements, and the pictures of the killer.

It happened at night, when the congressman with his assistant and the bodyguards was leaving his office. From across the street a taxi driver by the name Vahid Sadath (in his mid-fifties) jumped out of his car and shot the congressman. Neil Walsh was injured in his arm; the killer was shot dead by the congressman’s bodyguards.

An urgent investigation had to be done, since the crime was committed by a Muslim, and the congressman was a possible candidate in upcoming presidential elections. The motives of the crime were to be identified as soon as it was possible; it did really matter, if they were political, religious, or personal.

Chicago police was on its feet twenty-four-seven. Fisher and his colleagues conducted all possible interrogations trying to figure out if there was any connection between the killer and the congressman. Nothing was found; nor Sadath, nor his immediate family were religious; none of its members attended a mosque. No connections with any terrorist groups or organizations. Nothing.

Early in the morning, Fisher decided to go up the roof of the police station to get some fresh air and finish his morning cup of coffee. Before he sipped his coffee, MacGregor called him to the office for an urgent talk.

Fisher didn’t even get to sit down, when MacGregor informed him that the congressmen’s case was taken by the FBI for more detailed investigation.

“The FBI agents will be here soon, so I want you to gather all the available information and turn it in to them, Ray.”

“Fine. Will do, but don’t you want to hear my version of the story?”

“Did you find anything good?”

“I did. I think we’re dealing here with another case of the anonymous killer scenario,” Ray replied.

“Don’t even go there, Ray. I have no time for your fantasies.”

“Vahid Sadath is an ordinary guy, a taxi –driver, has never done anything wrong. All of a sudden, he gets the congressman? Nonsense!”

“You need to stop right there, Ray. There is always a motive behind the crime, and if you can’t figure it out, it doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

“You’re absolutely right, Captain. Sadath was never interested in politics, had no clue about Neil Walsh’s existence. Moreover, he is not even religious; no one in his family has ever done anything wrong. His wife is Christian, there are no personal reasons for him to kill the guy, None.”

MacGregor sighed, “Possible.”

“Okay, then tell me who is that fool, who finds a guy, who had a stroke, and who can’t even hold the gun properly in his shaking hand to kill a congressman? Hah? Tell me, please, just tell me.”

“Well, yeah…and how could he drive a taxi being in such a poor health condition? You tell me, Ray.”

“Used his left arm, probably. Didn’t want to lose his job; kept it low key. His wife said, he was practicing to eat with his left hand cause his right one was shaking badly.”

McGregor sighed again. “That’s not enough, Ray. Not enough proof.”

“Good enough to see the obvious – all those anonymous killers lived the last couple of days or even hours of their lives. All of them, no exception.”

“Are you sure?” McGregor lifted his eyebrow.

“More than sure, Captain. Ethan Beck confessed to his friends that the only way to save his family from the financial disaster was for him to commit suicide. Frank Douglas has killed the judge after he found out about his terminal illness. Morgan Owen was going through a dark depression; he was suicidal and was seeing a therapist and a psychiatrist. On his last visit to his therapist he confessed that he might put an end to his life soon. Ken Cho became suicidal after he lost his wife and the baby in a car crash because of his reckless driving. Vahid started having frequent episodes of psychosis and aggression, so most likely…”

“No need to go on, Ray. I understand,” MacGregor interrupted. “According to your reasoning, none of the killers had any clue about their targets. So, there is someone who knows about their intention and uses them to commit all these crimes. Am I right?”

“That’s the idea, but I am not sure if these people are forced or convinced to go for it, or just…most likely they’re convinced.”

“And where do you think that someone gets the information about their suicidal thoughts? From Facebook? You think, these people are announcing their intentions?”

“I don’t have the answer for you, yet. I will though. Give me some more time.”

“No. The congressman’s case is going to FBI. Period. No need for your input.”

“Fine, but you know better than me how the system works. They’ll just call Sadath a fanatic terrorist, and Walsh will use it to promote his views.”

“We don’t know that.” MacGregor sounded frustrated…

“I just explained how Sadath is not an isolated case…”

“Ray, please. The congressman’s case is not just a criminal case; they’re blood thirsty up there, and I have no desire to become their donor. Just let it go.”

“So, you don’t want us to find the real killers, do you?”

“Of course, I do. I am not closing the case completely. You may continue the investigation, and if you get the undisputable proof of your story, we will report it to FBI, no doubt. For now, get everything ready, they are going to be here soon.”

As Ray Fisher predicted, the face of Sadath was circling media in a couple of days. It was boldly announced that Vahid Sadath was closely working with the group of terrorists. Since the congressman intended to continue his campaign against the terrorist activities, the attempted assassination made perfect sense. One of the headlines mentioned, that the congressman planned to deport every terrorist suspect and his family out of the country.

“I don’t like that either, Ray,” MacGregor uttered, unlocking the door to Ray’s office, then walking in. Snappishly, he threw the newspaper on the desk; it had a big picture of Sadath on the first page.

“You may go and tell about your feelings to his family, which is being deported from the country as we speak. We’re putting these people through a hell for nothing, and I mean nothing they’re guilty of.”

“It’s out of my control, Ray and you know it,” MacGregor responded in a harsh and loud voice.

“Not good enough, but hey,” Ray grinned and sat down.

“Then do something about it; get the bastard on the hook,” MacGregor commanded, walked towards the door, then walked back to Ray. He wasn’t feeling himself; he knew that after nine-eleven things were different for many. He didn’t want to carry the guilt of messing up people’s lives for no valid reason. He did not.

“What would you do if you were to commit a suicide?” Ray asked MacGregor suddenly.

“Hmm, you think it’s time?” MacGregor mocked.

“You won’t do it; you are not the type, you’re too resilient.”

MacGregor grinned and went on. “I’d put the gun on my head and pull the trigger.”

“What if you have no gun, don’t know how to use it?”

“I’d hang myself in a trailer or…I’d jump from the roof or a bridge.” MacGregor replied.

“Per statistics, the most suicides are done with the gun shot, then comes the overdose, then hanging, then the roof or a bridge. In the case of our killer, the first two versions are not on the list, since in those situations people isolate themselves from others.”

“Okay, so you’re saying that the killer is waiting for those poor folks somewhere on the roof or a bridge, talks to them, plays with their mind, then…”

“Exactly.” Ray sounded confident.

“And how exactly does he do it?” MacGregor insisted.

“I don’t really know, but he knows human psyche very well.”

“Yeah,” MacGregor mumbled to himself. “Interesting…something is pushing those men to kill someone before they end their own lives, but what?”

“Good questions. I don’t know yet, but look,” Ray said and opened his tablet. “I did some research and highlighted the areas where for the last year the greatest number of suicides were committed. I need your help here, boss. I want to get a team of guards, who can watch the area and report the activities for a month at least.”

“Hmm, sounds like a plan. I’ll get you a team, and if that won’t help, then,” MacGregor paused, “Then we’re done.”

“Thank you,” Ray replied and shook MacGregor’s hand with the gratitude and the smile.

The next day, the sharpest watchmen were assigned to keep an eye on the given location for twenty-four-seven. Any suspicious activities were to be reported immediately to Ray Fisher. The time was passing, but no evidence or account of any dubious activities was being recorded. Things did not look good at all.

Ray Fisher was emptying the last drops of whiskey at the local pub. He would usually go there after work just to chill and get the stress out of the way, but, recently, he hasn’t been doing that.  All weary and exhausted, he called his wife.

“Jake is asleep, I can’t wake him up, Ray,” Kelly spoke in a very soft voice.

“I am missing you guys a lot,” Ray muttered in a sad voice.

“Yeah, I understand, but…we are over it, aren’t we? For the first time, Ray, I fell in peace and I feel I’m back to my real self. Ten years of agony, that’s what we had.”

“I know, I always knew it, Kelly. You weren’t happy with me. I always knew that.”

“I always loved you, but hey…that’s not enough. The self is more important I figured that out, yeah, it is. Gotta go now. Have a good night, bye.”

Ray stayed still for a while, then dropped the phone on the table, closed his eyes, and fell asleep right on the table.

“Are you okay, Sir?” The voice of the waitress woke Ray up.

“I am fine, Thank you, just tired.” Ray mumbled back.  “Can I have the bill please?”

Driving home wasn’t fun. Ray tried his best not to fall asleep on the wheel; he forced his eyes wire- open, but the whiskey seemed to be doing its job better than his brain. About to doze off, he suddenly heard the loud siren of the police car. Then he saw the white car was speeding towards him. Before pushing the breaks, the car crashed into his vehicle with massive force, Ray jumped out through the front window and all unconscious bumped flat onto the ground.

MacGregor silently was standing next to Ray, when he finally opened his eyes and realized that he was in the hospital. He wasn’t sure how he ended up there, but he could remember the crash and the police car siren quite well.

“Hi Scot.” Fisher mumbled, forcing a smile.

“Hi Ray, how do you feel?” MacGregor asked.

“I feel it,” Ray mumbled.

“I know you do. You are fine now. Nothing serious, Ray. You’ll be better in a couple of days. You had your seatbelt off, and that saved your life.”

“I remember…I remember I didn’t get to break on time. I didn’t.”

“Yeah I know. There was so much alcohol in your blood, no wonder you didn’t,” MacGregor spoke in a blaming tone. “People died because of your recklessness.”

“People?” Ray repeated.

“Yes, you didn’t stop at the red light. The car from the opposite directions crashed into yours.”

“God. Oh my God. What…how many people?”

“Two,” MacGregor muttered.

Ray closed his eyes and silently let his tears to roll, and roll, and roll.

“You know the DUI laws in this state; there is no way around them. I’ve been told to arrest you, but I asked them to give you a break for now. The case against you is already opened, and you know how that goes, Ray.”

“Does Kelly know what happened?” Ray asked.

“I think, you should tell her yourself. Besides, you need a good lawyer, and I mean a good one.”

Two months passed like an airless wind above the earth. Ray Fisher was admiring the auburn-haired sunset, standing on the edge of the cliff – The Cliff of Hope located in the northern part of the city. He was trying to comprehend what had happened to him; how he became the source of pain and suffering to others. At what point his negligence overpowered his senses and caused death of two people? Where and how did he go so fatally wrong? Nothing intentional, but who cared. He was drunk, and he killed two people. “As simple as that,” he whispered to himself. All these thoughts and the feelings were chocking his mind and vibrating through his veins. Going through lengthy trial, seeing faces of the victims, trying to justify his shitty driving, and more crap, and more. There was a way out, though – to end it all in a couple of seconds. He loved his son, but he was far away, and would eventually forget about his dad. Time cures everything. “People put an end to their life only when there is no one on Earth for whom the desire to live is stronger, than the desire to die for that person,” thought Ray lifting his heavy gaze to the sky once more.

“Your death is going to hurt others regardless, but you’re going to do it, right?” the voice interrupted Ray’s thoughts.

Fisher sharply turned around and saw the man behind the voice. “Is this the one I was looking for?” he thought. The man’s voice sounded cold and indifferent. It seemed that the man knew well about Ray and the reasons for his decision to end his life.

Slowly, Fisher got his gun and felt the trigger.

“No need for that, Ray,” the man went on, “I know who you are and I came here prepared. I guess you also know who I am.”

Fisher turned around and stared at the man. Sean Parker was standing in front of him.

“It would be funny if you shot someone who is here to kill himself,” Fisher sneered. “I’m not trying to kill you here, but I guess you want to get rid of me, don’t you? Put down your gun, so we can talk,” he suggested calmly.

Fisher threw his gun in front of Sean, who quickly grabbed it and hid it in his tiny leather bag.

“Thanks man,” Sean uttered.

“Who are you working for?” Fisher asked.

“Really?” Sean smirked, “that’s what you want to know right now?”

“Yes,” Fisher replied.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t give you their names. I work for different people, organizations. Let’s seat down man, I have knee problems.”

They sat on the big flat rock and lighted a cigarette.

“So, what’s the deal?” Fisher began, “How you do it? You’re good at it, aren’t you?”

“Do what?”

“Make people kill before they end their own lives? What do you tell them to make them do it?”

“It’s simple. I just turn their desire to die into a meaningful one. I give them a purpose to die. I come up with some bullshit story of mine and ask them to help me to get rid of my enemies before they jump from here. They do it, Ray. They love doing it, believe it or not.”

Fisher looked a bit puzzled.

“Yeah, Ray, most of them haven’t even done much in their lives. Just the usual…so I give them a chance to feel themselves important, like a hero.”

“Yeah, right. So, you’re saying that a murder is a heroism? Crap! You’re just playing a saviour, a compassionate guy and you get paid well for doing it. Just a bastard, nothing more.”

“Getting paid feels good,” Sean interrupted.

“Those people could’ve changed their mind; they could’ve stayed alive. Things always change you know. But you take away their last chance, the last hope. You do, you fool.”

“Oh, stop. I am a good man, Ray. I try my best to make them change their mind before I even start my phony story. I am honest. I try. I’ve saved many lives, you know. Some of them are my friends.”

“Am I just another case of…?”

“No. You are not. You’re different, Ray. “Unanimous Killers,” is a good name, I like it.” Sean smiled and continued. “I am getting paid for the information.”

“A human life is nothing to you,” Ray stated coldly.

“What about the lives of all those people who get killed? Pedophiles, drug cartel magnates, bigot-judges, blood suckers, you name it. Justice is blind to them, but we are not. After killing ten people, he was released from prison. Why? Those are all criminals enjoying their freedom and having a blast. Is that fair?”

“Fair? Who are you to decide what is fair? Why don’t you kill them yourself? Hah?”

“I tried, man. I tried twice,” Sean mumbled back. “When my first love broke up with me for my best friend, I tried. I was done with myself.”

Ray looked at Sean sideways. “And?”

“And I still feel sick, when I remember her.”

“What stopped you from the suicide?” Fisher asked.

“When I was standing on the edge, I felt something moving in my feet. It turned to see what’s up, and it turned to be a little puppy. I lifted him and looked in his eyes; he licked my face. Something dead woke up in me, and I changed my mind. Soon I left the town. My puppy became my only friend.” Sean paused, lighted a cigarette and continued. “I was about forty, when I had my second attempt. I was already twice a divorcee and was into drugs a big time. I was slowly dying. My friends turned their backs to me, no one would lend any money; they all knew I was slowly killing myself. I started stealing. Once, I seriously injured a man, who was trying to resist me. I needed his wallet; I was ready to kill him. I realized that soon my dead body was going to be found in a trash can. So, at the time, the overdose was the only answer to my struggles. I don’t know why I decided to jump from the roof? Maybe get closer to the heavens, who knows.”

“Yeah, I can imagine…being high all the time doesn’t help, does it?”

“That girl…the girl in white appeared on the roof out of nowhere. You’d think, I am making this up, but no. She was on the roof; I saw her run, then I pulled her dress and stopped her. Her face looked awful: she had bruises all over it. She tried to free herself to jump, but I held her tight. Her name was Masha, and she was only eighteen, I found out. She came to US after American dream, she said. Instead, she got her American pimp abusing and beating the shit out of her. The dream, hah, that dream. When you wake up it’s gone, isn’t it?” Sean winked.

Sean lighted up another cigarrete and continued. “She wanted to end it; she wanted to go back home, but said had no documents cause the bastard pimp took everything away from her. She she’d be killed one day, anyway, so why wait. Hey, I was there, I could help her, and I did. I found her pimp and shot him. That simple. For the first time in my life, I felt really good about myself; I wasn’t just a useless piece of shit, I saved a life. I was a hero, man.”

Ray interrupted him, “So you went on with your heroism?”

“Almost,” Sean uttered anxiously, “I had a list of crooks, who deserved to be killed. But you know what was going wrong? I lost my desire to die. Imagine that, Ray.”

“So, you found a solution, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did. I used people, who wanted to jump. Meanwhile, I got rid of the two heavy criminals. The cops were after me, and I loved the chase. I ran away to New York, name change, and all that jazz; I found a job, and still had no desire to die. If I continued killing, I’d get caught fast, so I stopped.”

“So, you decided to use those miserable fellows to continue…”

“Don’t call them miserable; they’re people who made a decision, that’s all.”

“Oh really?” Ray mocked, “That’s how you convince yourself, so that you can sleep well at nights?”

“Whatever, man. I have no regrets,” Sean replied.

“You’re being paid to kill. Nothing can justify that, Sean, nothing!”

“Good people don’t get murdered, Ray. Hardly ever. The profit…I share it with the families of the victims. I have the paperwork, care to see?”

“Why are you here, Sean? Why? To confess or what?” Ray sounded very upset.

Sean kept quiet. He removed a flashcard from his pocket and handed it to Ray.

“Here you go. You’ll find here everything you need; all the information you need for your investigation, Ray. Happy?”

“I quit, Sean. I am not a cop anymore.”

“Vahid is a terrorist,” Sean went on.

“I know that,” Ray uttered.

“Then you should want to know who is behind the assassination attempt.”

Ray looked straight into Sean’s eyes and read his thoughts. “Are you trying to say, you’re going to take his case to the end and kill him?”

Sean nodded. “The girl’s name is Regina Miles. Her father wants the congressman dead, and he has the right to it. Neil Walsh molested his daughter, and I mean seriously molested…a sex scandal.

Ray protested, “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Well, you have no choice. We are talking a pedophile here, the serial one. Regina is just one of them, Ray. He is filthy reach, though, he can lobby and win the elections.”

Ray got up and slowly stepped away. “I don’t believe you, Sean. Those things can’t stay unknown.”

“Yes, they can,” Sean replied. “There is a price to pay for anything you do.”

“I am not buying it. I am out,” Ray blurted and continued walking away from Sean.

“Hey, you’re gonna do it anyway. You will, trust me. You feel guilty, and that’s the only thing that will get you down. You’ll end your life. I see it in your eyes, Ray. But before you do it, make this world better. You can. I know you will.”

Sean sounded determined; he put the flashcard back on his tiny leather bag and walked away. Ray thought that Sean forgot to take the bag, so he approached it, got the gun out of the back, and pointed at Sean.

“I can’t let you go just like that Sean,” Ray yelled.

“Then do it, Ray, do it,” Sean muttered back.

“Fuck you! You came here to die…and why now? Why today?”

“I am terminally ill, Ray. I’ve seen many people go, but I wish I could kill Walsh first, then finish this business of mine. I am physically weak though; I don’t think I can do it.”

“You won’t get away that easy, Sean. You’ll go to court and confess. You’ll name every single name you got across, you’ll tell them how you used poor people to commit all those terrible crimes. The families of the victims must know the truth about their parents, husbands, wives, and children, for God’s sake.”

“Your people won’t know shit, Ray; and if I happened to get locked out, my inmates will kill me on a spot. Your people won’t know shit, I’m telling you now,” Sean slurred. “You better end this now; better for me and you. Do it.”

Slowly, Sean walked away from Ray. He was getting closer to the crosswalk. Ray stopped for a second, then pointed the gun to Sean’s back. He did not have the right to let him go. He could not. Sean fell hard on his back and was gone in a few seconds.

Ray felt a strange relief; he sat on the pavement grabbed Sean’s leather bag, and got the tablet from it. He inserted the flashcard into the tablet.

 Sean was telling the truth. There was enough information proving the congressman Neil Walsh’s criminal activities. There were also many facts supporting the crimes committed by Daniel Morales, Giuseppe Carboni, Liam Henderson, the judge, and the bank CEO Howard Luis.

It was late at night, when the congressman Neil Walsh, accompanied by his bodyguards, entered the restaurant – the most prestigious and the prominent one in Chicago. He was planning to discuss a couple major financial operations with the CEOs of the two major banks of the state.

There were a few police officers guarding the restaurant entrance; Ray Fisher waited in a taxi across the street. He was watching the scene with an acute attention. He succeeded getting in, but he was stopped at the entrance to the main dining hall.

“I am a detective, Ray Fisher, and I need to talk to the congressman,” Ray suggested.

“We know who you are, and we also know that you’ve been suspended from you job, sir,” the bodyguard countered.

“I am here as a private investigator, not a cop.”

“You have no invitation, sir, so you cannot join the congressman for dinner. If you need to see him, you have to contact his office and get an appointment.”

“This is a matter of highly confidential information; hence I cannot wait for an official appointment. I have an urgent data regarding the recent attempted assassination.”

“FBI is investigating the case,” the guard responded coldly.

“You think, I don’t know that?” Ray got irritated.

The bodyguard paused, then slightly nodded as if calling the other guard standing across the hall, then muffled, “Just wait here.”

Ray watched one of the guards approaching the congressman and whispering something in his ear. Soon, the congressman got up and walked towards the restrooms. In seconds, Ray Fisher was told to follow the congressmen.

Neil Walsh was washing his hands, when Ray, accompanied by the guard, walked into the restroom.

“I heard your story, but I can’t really help you. Unless,” the congressman looked at Ray with curiosity, “unless, you have really important information for me. Do you?”

Silently, Ray threw the flash card right onto congressman’s feet.

“There is enough information to prove your pedophilic tendencies and your direct involvement in the disappearance of Regina Miles.”

The bodyguard rapidly approached Ray, but Walsh stopped him.

 “Leave us alone. Wait outside,” he commanded. Brusquely, he lifted the flashcard of the ground and looked at Ray with hate.

“Where did you get this toy from?” he asked, paused and added, “Who cares, right. What do you want? How much?”

“Your life, sir. I want you dead, Neil Walsh,” Ray raged, got the gun from his pocket, and fired right onto Walsh’s head.

In no time, the restroom door wide-opened, and the guard pointed the gun on Ray’s face. Ray fired first, but he was the first to fall down dead. Two bullets ended his life fast.

The news about the congressman’s murder was blasting the media headlines. But the flashcard with all the scandalous materials on it, turned to be the braking news on YouTube first, then on TV, then everywhere else. In one of the recordings, Fisher talked about the secret club named “Unanimous Killers” and its organized criminal activities. Disclosing Sean Parker’s continuous illicit actions, Ray also talked about his intentions to kill the congressman.