The unknown

The knife pressed slightly against the body’s abdomen. Small beads of crimson dotted the incision, ruby rose petals against creamy skin. Fascinating. The knife cut in with more insistence. Under the increased pressure, the skin gave way and the cold steel slid in with the ease of a butter knife sliding through softened butter. Now the crimson bubbled up and spilled over, blossoming over the canvas in swirled patterns. The knife withdrew and hovered over the upper arm patiently, positioning itself for the best cut. Then it went in again, this time with the assurance of a seasoned surgeon…

Jarringly he checked his pocket watch. He knelt for a moment longer, his palms pressed together and his face turned upward as if in prayer, oblivious to the inky stain now climbing up his trousers at his knees. Finally he stretched his knees and stood, cleaning off the knife with a starched handkerchief, painting the bleached surface with red streaks. The handkerchief fluttered through his fingers and delicately covered the body’s face, the only part left untouched by the knife.

He stood for a moment longer, soaking in the scene. Then he stripped off his gloves, carefully placed them in the pocket of his waistcoat, picked up his briefcase, and teetered on the threshold.

At that very moment night had fallen. Stars hung on the black velvet that was the night-sky, and moonlight spilled across the window sill onto the floor of the room, bathing the body in soft gentle tones of yellow.

Perfect.

In the next minute he had melted into the darkness. It was as if he had never come.