When the Sun Goes Down

Blaine can’t say for sure what the best part about killing is.

Maybe it’s the rush of adrenaline that shoots through him as he stalks his prey through the dark streets of New York, a chilly night wind whipping across his face and watering his eyes, the streetlights illuminating the cracked, gray pavement with an eerie glow. Maybe it’s the way he feels as though he’s in his own movie, a terrifying action flick starring himself as the villain. His pounding heartbeat is the edgy, dramatic soundtrack; the display of twinkling city lights all around him is a blur of watercolors on a realistically painted background set. 

Maybe it’s the thrill that surges through his veins, the thrill that comes from doing something he isn’t supposed to do. Maybe it’s the way he can taste his victim’s fear, can scent the anxiety coming from the woman ahead of him, as though she knows she’s being followed by a murderer—as though she knows her life is about to end.

Maybe it’s the tingle of nerves that shiver through him as he hunts, nerves that are on fire—nerves that make him feel so awake. Maybe it’s the high that comes from being on the edge of danger, the reckless drive that derives from risk. Maybe it’s the allure of playing with fire, the fever that accompanies dancing on the blade of a knife.

Maybe it’s the fact that nothing else makes him feel as alive as this does.

Whatever the reason, Blaine loves it. He loves the sense of power it gives him to tail his unsuspecting victims, to close in on them like a cat pounces on its prey. He feeds off of the fear of his kills, drinks in the beautiful expression of surprise and terror as he reveals himself and attacks.

It was so worth moving to New York for this, even if he didn’t expect in the slightest that he’d have this type of job.

The young woman he is tailing quickens her steps and darts a wary glance behind her. She can’t possibly know that anyone is following her—Blaine is too skilled with stealth for that—but she has a reason to be anxious. Any woman who wanders alone after midnight in this part of the city has either a death wish, or an extremely naive state of mind.

Her fleeting scan of her surroundings does not reveal Blaine’s figure; he is wearing dark clothes and keeps to the shadows. He has had enough practice to make himself as invisible as the night.

The young woman turns into a dark, deserted corner, and Blaine’s heart leaps with anticipation. This is it. This is my moment. He slinks out of the shadows, purposefully making his footsteps loud now. The woman stiffens when she hears the noise.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he purrs when she turns around, his voice low. She stares at him, her eyes widening with the usual horror, but she does not move. She appears to be too paralyzed with fear to find the use of her legs. Pity, Blaine thinks. It’s so much more fun when they try to run.

Scratch naive. This is a stupid one.

“Are you lost, sweetie? Don’t you know how dangerous it is to be walking around here by yourself at this time of night?” He leers at her, taking slow and careful steps toward the spot where she stands frozen. He enjoys showing her that he has all the time in the world and she, unfortunately, doesn’t.

“Don’t worry, darling. I’ll help you find your way again.”

He stops an inch in front of her, and still she doesn’t move. Making sure the movement is as slow and exaggerated as possible, he reaches inside his coat and pulls out his knife. Her eyes flicker to the shining blade, and that’s when she finally screams.

Blaine doesn’t let her finish.

“Goodbye, gorgeous,” he whispers, before plunging the knife into her heart.

She falls to the floor like a marionette with all its strings snipped, and lies there as the life drains out of her by way of the blood spilling in a pool around her. Blaine laughs and steps over her body, grinning wildly—partly with the fervor of the moment, and partly with triumph. He doesn’t even mind when the young woman’s blood soaks into his shoes and taints the black leather; on the contrary, he enjoys it. It’s a mark of his achievement. 

“That was faster than usual. I’m impressed.”

Kurt’s voice is colored with approval, but it has a tinge of mockery to it. Blaine turns to see his boyfriend standing on the side of the scene, with Rachel accompanying him. They are also dressed in the same type of dark attire that Blaine has on. He takes their identical smirks to mean that both of them have been successful tonight.

“How long have you two been watching?” Blaine asks, wiping the knife on his slacks and returning it to the inside of his coat. He speaks in a nonchalant and casual tone; he is abnormally calm for someone who has just murdered a human being.

“Since you announced your presence to the girl. You did a great job of playing with her, though I have to admit that I’m not very happy with the way you flirted with her before the strike.”

Blaine chuckles. He closes the short distance between the two of them and reaches out to take hold of the front of Kurt’s vest. “The only one I ever flirt with or have a desire to flirt with is you, babe.” His hand pulls on the vest and jerks Kurt toward him, and his lips take command of Kurt’s.

Kurt’s teeth sink down onto Blaine’s bottom lip before he pushes Blaine away. “I’ll believe it when I see it.” But he’s laughing as he says it.

“I can convince you when we get back to the apartment, if you like.”

Rachel clears her throat. “Boys, how long do you plan on sticking around here before someone discovers us? Someone is bound to have heard the scream, or at least they’ll be drawn to all this blood.” She turns her nose up at the crimson streaks on the sidewalk.

“Calm down, Rachel. No one’s around, and we never get caught.” Kurt rolls his eyes.

“I forgot to ask. How did your kill go?” The ghost of a smirk brushes Blaine’s lips.

“Flawlessly,” Rachel responds. “Kurt is a great partner. We get the task done brilliantly together.”

“She’s right, but next time I’m working with you.” Kurt gives Blaine the twisted smile that Blaine loves so much. “It’s more fun that way.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

Rachel seems to ignore the fact that Kurt just brushed her off. “Alright, you two, we really have to get back home now. It’s late, and we all have class tomorrow. Not to mention that I have an audition after school, so I need all the rest I can get.”

“Whatever you say, Rach.” Kurt tosses out the nickname with a laugh.

A slow smile spreads across Rachel’s face. “Let’s save our energy for Wednesday night. Until the next time, boys.”

Blaine spares the corpse of his victim one last glance before linking his arm through Kurt’s and striding away from the street corner with his two companions. “Until the next time.”