I AM HERE

Shrinking from a Shrink? Nope.

"Hi! My name is June. And I'm an assassin."

Any sane person that hears those words would tremble from where they're standing. Some would give out surprised gasps. Pale faces, nervous sweat. Stifled screams. Some would even try and run away from me in the hopes of not getting stabbed in the back. A bleeding wound is a bleeding wound. I'm not going to be picky about how I kill the victim.

"Hi, June." three people chorused back to me in dull monotone unison.

But not in this place. Within the walls of the local Louisiana Asylum, the little confession I made, even if it is true, won't even be able to get so much as a raised eyebrow, much less surprised gasps, and terror. I was fairly one of the normal ones when compared to some of the freaks in the asylum. Like Samuel, who is sitting to my left. He is a six-foot-tall Latino who's drool can fill up a medium-sized bucket.

I don't even know where all those fluids come from. He's too busy talking to the tiger that was tattooed at the back of his hand to pay attention to what we are talking about. He can't even do something hygienic, like wiping his own drool off his mouth. I scooted a little bit away from him to avoid getting in contact with his oozing mucus. Eww.

One word, DISGUSTING. But Samuel is one of the typical freaks that can be seen in this fine asylum. ASYLUM. Definitely brings a smile to my face. Such a lovely name for a place that can be considered hell.

It's been one hell of a week for me since I entered. I've been observing everyone here. Been taking note of every orderly, their shift, when and where to do the deed. And also observing my next target.

A woman sitting at the head of the plastic chair circle started to lean forward and initiated the conversation. She was sitting directly across from me so it was easy for her light eyes to land on mine.

"Now, June. You have claimed several times already. We've talked about this already. You only think you're an assassin. You are most certainly not an assassin."

Evangeline Anderson. She's the shrink that was supposed to cure all these crazies in this stupid excuse of a nuthouse. She radiates professionalism and confidence in her tight black pantsuit, baby blue blouse, and kitten heels. Round, grey glasses hung at the tip of her button nose, highlighting her bright green eyes and her blonde hair was in a tight bun. Evangeline was pretty, but you could see an almost hungry look on her face- a look I was all too familiar with. The hard gaze of a cunning predator.

The reason I was here in the first place.

"I am most certainly no mere assassin," I replied. "I'm Lady Violet. You've heard of me, surely."

The b***h just rolled her eyes at me and looked at the orderly who was with her just beyond the ring. He f*****g snickered at my words. Then made a gesture with his fingers for crazy.

"Yes, June. We all heard of Lady Violet." Evangeline said with irritation dripping from her voice. "Everybody in Louisiana has heard of Lady Violet. But you are most certainly not her."

The stupid orderly snickered again in glee. I raised an eyebrow in displeasure. Well, the joke is on him. He just dug his own grave. I do not like being laughed at nor do I like being mocked. Even if I was pretending to be crazy for the past few days.

To be the best assassin out there, you need to get close to your target. Enter their world, be in their shoes. Their habits will also be your habits, their likes your likes, and their thoughts your thoughts.

For this b***h, I need to enter Evangeline Anderson's world by putting myself, oh wait, getting myself tossed in Louisiana Asylum. To her and her underlings, I was just another loon that got dragged off the streets. They thought that I was driven crazy by depression or drugs, or a combination of both. Just another lost cause to the state that wasn't worth their time, consideration, attention, or sympathy.

I'd been here for the past few days trying to convince Evangeline and the others that I was just another crazy person like the others in here. Babbling about being an assassin. Finger painting with whatever was served for lunch. I even had chopped off a considerable length of my long, copper hair during art time to keep my act. The orderlies had taken the scissors away from me, but not before I'd used the very same scissors to pry a screw loose from one of the tables in art class.

I sharpened the screw I got into a two-inch long, dart-like point. The same screw that is in my palm right now. The very same screw that I will be shoving into Evangeline's throat. The weapon rested on my palm, and the steel felt rough against my skin. Hard. Substantial. Cold. Comforting.

And for the record, I can kill her in different ways without using a single weapon. Call it professional pride, but I was known for using the most mundane things as a weapon in killing. Plus I'd made more than my fair share of enemies, it's better they thought that I'm only good at killing with an object that is not considered a weapon.

The only reason I stayed alive until today is by keeping to the shadows. Creeping in and out of places unnoticed. Blending into the background, contrary to my name who should be the center of attention.

"Lady Violet." Evangeline's blood-red lips twitched, and she allowed a small smirk to leak out of her face, "As if someone like you could be someone like that. The most feared assassin in Louisiana."

"In the South." I corrected her. "And I am the Lady Violet. Truthfully speaking, I'm going to kill you, Evangeline. T-minus five minutes and counting down."

Maybe it was the way I stared at her with my green(contacts) eyes level and steady. Or perhaps the complete lack of emotion on my face and in my tone. But the laughter that was coming out of her mouth, died in Evangeline's throat. Like an animal caught in a trap. Well, she's not too far behind.

I stood and stretched my sore arms over my head, getting the screw in a better position in the palm of my hand. The long-sleeved, white uniform I was wearing rode up over my matching pants and exposed my toned stomach. The orderly licked his lips while eyeing my stomach all the way down to my crotch. A dead man standing.

"But enough chit chat about me." I sat again in my chair and gave her all my attention again. "Let's talk about you, Evangeline."

She nervously shook her head. "That's not how this goes, that's against the rules. Therapists are not allowed to talk about themselves in front of their patients."

"And why not? That's just unfair. You've been asking me questions several times a day for the past few days. Trying to get me out of my shell and talk about my past, my feelings. To accept the fact that I'm cold and emotionally unstable. Depressed, you know. Besides, you already did a lot of talking to Christian Guerrero."

The look on her face was priceless. Her eyes widened with shock behind her round glasses, her lips quivered a bit before speaking to me. "Where did you hear that name?" I ignored her.

"Christian Guerrero, age 16. Young guy with a serious schizophrenic disorder. An adorable but slightly confused kid, from what the people who know would say. You really shouldn't have done anything with him, Evangeline."

The shrink tightened her grip around her long, black pen until her knuckles turned white and cracked at the pressure she is giving out. The orderly frowned at us while his eyes kept going back and forth from me to Evangeline as if we were playing verbal badminton. Samuel and the other patients kept on drooling, spitting, and gurgling as if they are the only people left in the world.

"Correction, you shouldn't have made him into your psycho ward s*x slave. Did you panic when he realized that you weren't really leaving your husband to be with him? Did he threaten to tell his parents that you seduced him just like the way do with all the other young handsome men put under your care? Is that why you gave him an overdose of hallucinogens and then sent him home back to his family?"

How I love her reaction. Her breaths came in short gasps. The pulsing of her throat is like how a hummingbird's wings flutter.

"Mommy and Daddy didn't like it when baby Chris had a psychotic breakdown and hung himself o the middle of his room. But before he died, he wrote them a letter. You wanna what was written? And I quote, "Mom, Dad, I just couldn't live without Evangeline Anderson."

I wouldn't normally do this s**t where I reveal why I'm killing them. Such a clićhe move. I would've just went inside this freaking asylum, killed the shrink, and sneak back out again before anyone could say freeze. But letting her know of the reason why she is dying had been part of the job requirement. Plus it will get me another million dollars just for telling her that.

"That's why I'm here, Evangeline. That's why you're dying. You literally f****d with the wrong boy."

"Guards!" Evangeline shouted.

That was the last word that she ever had said. I flicked my wrist and the sharply pointed screw flew from my palm across the room and sunk itself into her throat, thus puncturing her windpipe. Bull's-eye! Her screams turned into laborous wheezing. She slid from the chair and hit the concrete floor. She pulled the screw free from her throat. Blood was splattering on the carpets and onto the concrete floor. I thought she was smart, if only she left the screw in her throat, she might have lived longer.

The orderly cursed under his breath and started running forward. I snatched the shrink's pen and stabbed it through his heart.

"As for you fucktard," I whispered in his ear while he was trying to get me off of him, "I'm not getting paid for killing you but considering the number of female patients you've been r****g, this is a small public service. Pro-f*****g-Bono."

I yanked the pen out and stabbed him once in his stomach and once on his groin. The lecherous light flashed, dimmed, and died from the orderly's eyes. I let him go and he fell onto the smooth surface of the floor.

In less than a minute, everything was over. Game, set, match. Too f*****g easy. I didn't even break a sweat. My eyes flicked to the other people left in the room. Samuel was still drooling and talking to his tiger tattoo, the other two just looked at the floor as if figuring out if something bad happened or not.

I yanked the pen from his groin and picked up my screw where Evangeline's hand was. Witnesses were bad news in my line of work, and I actually considered killing Samuel and the others. But they're not a part of my target list. And I don't consider slaughtering innocents, not even these poor souls who would be better off dead than staying in this pathetic excuse of an institution. At least when they're dead, they're free from their cracked mortal shells.

I pocketed my weapons and proceeded to my next stop before getting out of this place. I need to dispose of these weapons, these clothes and change into a disguise that no one would suspect that I was once one of their patients.