I.
He remembered the day they met. He had always admired them – the beautiful curves of a good blade, the edge that he liked to drag over his skin. They never bit him because he trusted them. Knives were simple. People were not.

He saw her in a window, a small shop in the junction between Nowhere and Middle-Of. It wasn’t immediate; he had deliberated, thought, considered. But the way the light shimmered when it hit her body, the way he could almost hear her beautiful laugh – he’d known, deep down, that she was the one.

II.
He hid her from prying eyes - locked the door, drew the curtains. He spent long hours talking with her, looking at her, touching her. She never responded, but she didn’t have to.
People didn’t often approve of his pastime. They didn’t understand what he could see in them. When he had company, he’d stow his friends under his bed, each one wrapped with loving precision. When he was alone, he’d bring them out, spread them out on his bed, polish and caress the metal. But his favourite one would always be in the centre.

III.
He was older now, a man. Free to do what he wanted, go where he liked, but he wasn’t sure what that was. He’d known since he was little that school wasn’t for him, filled as it was with cruel children and their accusing glares. He was the outcast, the loner, the strange one. He left years ago.
So he followed a different curriculum.  Types of steel - stainless, high-carbon. Forging methods used in ancient smithies by long-dead masters. The day he learned to seek solace in his collection – well, that was the day he set himself free.

IV.
Care for your tools, and they will care for you.
He always kept them oiled and sharpened. His whetstones had little dips in them from overuse. He used the softest cloths he could find to wipe them, every day. It was his little ritual, a gesture of affection and worship on his wooden worktop altar.
Well, look at you.
He lifted her up, admiring the way the light played on her oiled body. The carvings on the grip were smoother now, a little worn with time, but each passing second only made her more beautiful.

V.
They started to talk to him. Not literally, of course – he wasn’t crazy, just attentive. He used a few of his friends to carve blocks of wood to earn a living, and they were like old comrades, reliable and solid. Others he used to prepare his food. They were more graceful than the others, although one was surly and strong. But...
She was restless, he could tell. He could never bring himself to work with her, for fear of tarnishing that perfect finish. Besides, he’d never thought of actually, you know – she wasn’t a tool. She was sharp, witty, possibly deadly. That was why he loved her.

VI.
Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea.
After all, she had a destiny. Who was he to deny her that? She had a purpose – he knew when they met, there was no excuse. And she was itching for action.
If there was one thing he had learned at school, it was how to disappear and become part of the background. Make people not want to see you, and they wouldn’t. That part was easy. But volunteers, now, that was harder, yet he thought there was surely a person in every city that wouldn’t be missed.

VII.
The door swung open with a touch and he stalked through the room.  He could hear the water from the shower tinkling merrily as he neared his target. Looking down at her, he allowed himself a little smile.

Yes. Today was a good day for someone to die.
It was over quickly, a small mercy. He wished the shower wasn’t on – blood and water ate away at metal and ruined the oiled sheen. Carefully, he wiped her clean on a towel he had brought.
Five blocks away, the police found a pair of slashed gloves.

VIII.
It was exhilarating, that was what it was. He couldn’t believe it had taken this long for her to convince him to go along with her plans. He was never totally happy with what happened – the shouts, the pleas, the screams. They were so grating, and he learned to gag them first. In the end it never mattered what they said, but he always gave them the quickest ends he could. No need to drag things out unnecessarily.
It was their anniversary today. She was looking more radiant than ever, placed in a decorative sheath he’d spent months making, stitch by painstaking stitch. He knew a wonderful place where they could celebrate. The alley was private and the screeching of passing traffic was somewhat muted.
To us.
Any minute now...

IX.
He was tired, and holding down a job while trying to satisfy her ever-growing demands was taking a toll. She sulked for days on end, but he couldn’t neglect the others. He was the captain of his little band, and he had duties.
Maybe tomorrow, he said. He didn’t want to promise.
In retrospect, he should have listened to her warnings. He shouldn’t have been so attached to the others, to this stupid city and his stupid job. If he just left, they would have been together forever.
Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve.

X.
My client is not to blame.
Excuses layered upon excuses. The lawyer was good, but he didn’t know how good. None of the nine people up on that stand understood. Oh, they pretended to, but behind their gilded smiles and false sympathy he knew they despised him and what he had done. The judge tried to look impartial and stern but he saw right through him. How little they differed from the jeering masses that had tormented him when he was younger. He idly wondered if any of Them could see him now, and if any of them thought it was their fault.
He nearly screamed when they brought her out, wrapped in suffocating plastic. EVIDENCE, the tag said. Evidence or not, he wanted nothing more than to tear the bag apart and let her breathe. They had hurt her when they brought him in, when she tried to defend him. It didn’t look right.
Later, a pool of blood was spotted seeping out from the defendant’s room. He was sitting in his chair, eyes closed, a beatific smile on his face. Twin red lines adorned his forearms, crimson slashes in his too-formal white shirt. A pointed sliver of metal, which matched the broken knife in evidence, was gripped between finger and thumb.
One last time. He knew she was pleased with him.
I love you.