Mrs. Hicks

I designed the gun myself.

A normal, off-the-shelf gun requires heating time, close contact with a surface and only releases a small amount of molten adhesive. And, of course, the point is to hold and endure.

My gun heats in your pocket or your hand, using the human body for energy. It can hold and expel enough hot, crystal clear adherent (my creation) to cover the desired target. I love to watch. And, most importantly, it hardens upon contact. The true genius? After thirty minutes, no more, no less, the adhesive reacts with the air and evaporates. No trace. Therefore, no evidence. Genius.

I executed my first test in the field earlier this month. I had been planning for months.

No, years. The woman was a cantankerous, bitter, bi…um, witch. She took every opportunity to belittle and denigrate everyone in the building. Rude, unkind and generally unlikeable, she was invariably, alone. Perfect for my purposes.

Especially after she complained to the landlord about my dog, Zeus.

She had to go.

She lives, lived, in the apartment under mine. Getting in was relatively easy. I climbed down the fire escape. The summer nights were hot. No air conditioning in our rat trap building. Her window was open. Her fan was blowing, it’s whirring loud enough to cover any sound I might make. Although I am quite certain I did not make even one.

I was standing over her when she must have felt an unwelcome presence in her room. She opened her eyes. Before she could scream I sprayed them with hair spray, ensuring she covered her face with her hands. And then I aimed my exquisite creation, and fired. Half an hour later, I folded her hands on her chest, as they had been when I entered, and left as I had come.

The police were called just two days ago, when someone realized no one had seen or heard from Mrs. Hicks in some time and noted that there was the most unpleasant smell coming from her apartment.

I heard she died in her sleep, although someone said they heard her eyes indicated suffocation. However, there was no evidence of foul play. Inexplicable.

So sad.