Fortunately for me, Peter decided to abandon his plan to flee California. For the next few months, Peter forced me to observe, watching his method, his ritual, forcing me to try, and memorize it. He made a rule, no more than two a month. This went on for some time, but by the sixth month, he felt I was ready to try again. But we would do it together, each with our own target.
We traveled, and he taught me many things over the next years. He was what you call… an avid teacher. My first lesson was in creating an identity. To be able to catch the type of prey we were after, we would need to seem… lost, for lack of a better word. This confidence, the aura of a child mature beyond their age, that was what we had to shed before we could start any real training. That was the easy part. Next came the target acquisition training, stealth training, knife skills, and an abundance of other seemingly redundant skills before finally it came time to find a real target. After countless lessons, visual aids, and dry runs, I was finally ready.
The day I met him felt no different than any other. My parents had already left for their business trip, so I made myself breakfast, got myself ready and left for school. I walked my normal route, all 17 minutes of it, lined up for class, it was all routine. Yet still, this was my most fateful day to come. The day I met my maker. He was this little blond kid, with blue eyes and perfectly groomed, straight hair. With his slight build, very non-threatening, he had this gentle look about him, dangerously disarming. He had a way with words, always so polite and so very charming. You could say he was that kid that adults loved. Teachers adored him, as did the students. He always smelled.... what was it again? Like maple oatmeal. Not to say that that's why people liked him, but it added to his image.
Hello. I won't tell you my name, because that is of little importance. It gives no… substance to this story. I will, however, tell you how I became what I am today. I’ll tell you just how it happened.