Next Track

By: Audrey Yeung

Blood seeped through the cracks of the floor. The record player crackled, struggling to get through the song. My phone buzzed.

“Are you done?” Jane asked.

“Yeah,” I replied. I cleaned off the phone screen, which was splattered with blood.

“Good work. See you tomorrow.”

“Wait, how many more do I owe you?”

Pause.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

I was about to say something else, but she hung up. I stopped the record player. Grabbed my things. Locked the door. Left the apartment. Left the guy slumped on the chair. That I shot.

I took the train home. It was raining, so I watched the droplets slide down the window, one of my earbuds hanging loosely in my lap, and music playing in my other ear. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that man I’d killed. And every time I saw him, I skipped a song. Next track. It was almost like if I skipped enough songs, I could also skip over what I did to him and move on with my life. But that’s not how it works. Jane texts me who to kill, I kill them, and eventually, I’ll have paid my debt. The whole thing seemed so simple when I started, and by the time I figured out having to live with the guilt all the time wasn’t worth it, I couldn’t get out. Next track.

“Hey,” Jane said, as I sat down across from her.

“Hey,” I echoed. “How many more do I owe you?”

Jane took a sip of her iced coffee thoughtfully. It was winter.

“Your debt’s almost repaid. I’ve got a few jobs lined up,” she said. “You choose. One last job, or three?”

I knitted my eyebrows. The obvious choice was to take the one job. Jane wouldn’t make it that easy. There’s got to be some catch.

“What’s wrong with the one job?” I asked.

“It’s a big one. Remember, if you want that one, you can’t back out.”

I almost laughed. If there were an option to back out, I would have done that for a dozen previous jobs.

“I’ll give you till midnight to decide,” Jane said, standing up and leaving.

It’s 11:47 PM. I’ve still got no idea which job to pick. I’ve been weighing each option for the last two hours, but it’s a little hard to do since she won’t tell me who the targets are. On the one hand, I’ll only have to kill one more person and I can stop for the rest of my life, or I’ll have to do this three more times, and live through the pain and guilt three more times. But Jane isn’t stupid. The final job has got to be a bad one, and the pain and guilt might be worse. I plugged in my earbuds to help me think. 11:54 PM. I could probably handle the suffering one more time, but three? Probably not. 11:57 PM. I called Jane.

“I’ll take the one job,” I said.

“Great. I’ll text you the details,” she replied. “Remember, you can’t back out.” she hung up.

I opened the photo she sent me and I nearly passed out. A woman, late-twenties, with bright eyes, and hair the same colour as mine.

I texted Jane: You’re kidding, right? Her reply was short: No.

I looked back at the photo. Jane was asking me to kill my sister. We had grown apart some years ago because I wasn’t in a great place then, and unfortunately, I took it out on her.

I texted Jane again: Why would you want to kill her??

I could hear her icy tone when she replied: I don’t need to explain myself to you.

And that was that.

Obviously, I didn’t want to kill my own sister. But if I did, I could stop. I was already on the verge of the breaking point. I couldn’t handle it anymore.

Just one more, I thought, crying myself to sleep. Just one more. Just get it over with.

I took the train home. It was raining again. It always seemed to rain after a job. One of my earbuds hung loosely in my lap, and music playing in my other ear. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw my sister. And every time I saw her, I skipped a song. Next track.

I knocked on her apartment door. She opened it, surprised to see me. Next track. I asked if I could come in. She nodded. Next track. She said she was glad that I had come. She had wanted to get closer again for a while. Next track. I couldn’t stop the tears from forming in my eyes. I couldn’t do it. But I had to. If I didn’t, Jane would have probably killed her anyway, then me too. She touched my hand gently as a tear fell. Next track. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. I’m not sure if she heard. I tried to block out what happened next. I couldn’t. Next track.

The rain beat against the window more loudly. My tears streamed down my face. If I skipped enough songs, I could almost skip over what I did to her and move on with my life. Next track. Next track. Next track.