He remembered the family talking to him in the backseat of a minvan at a parking lot 3 days before. They had talked about all of the medical conditions that had befallen his prey. Cancer, hair and vision loss, teeth...gone. The family also believed that dementia had set in, and it was hard to ger her bathed anymore. The smell was overwhelming they said. He knew he would be able to handle any smell short of death, for he had caused death before.
He held the needle down in his right hand. It was a specially designed syringe, with finger holes for a better grip. The plunger had a wide press for ease when injecting chemicals. It was overcast in the suburbs that day, as he slinked down the hallway towards he bedroom group. The family was not joking, the smell was rather rancid. He guessed at least 2 weeks since some sort of cleaning had taken part.
He paused at the closed door, and looked back over his shoulder. After he stuck the insulin into his target he was headed out a window. He wanted to make sure no one was filming "Jenny's Last Christmas" moments. No pictures either. The smell was coming in waves, he figured that a fan was next to the bed keeping her nice and cool. That was what was causing the unconsitent stench. He turned back around one more time to see if anyone was watching, and put his gloved hand on the doorknob. From the interior of the room a grunt or some type of decrepid sound radiated from the vocal cords. He didnt know how to describe it in his head other than a snore. Perfect he thought as he twisted the doorknob counter-clockwise while pushing open the door.
TO BE CONTINUED