Another Death on Gina's Head

Her scream
Was ripped
From her chest
And was hurled
Across the room.

It was as if
She was using it
As her defense,
That somehow
It would stop
Him in his tracks.

It didn't.
All it made him do
Was clamp his palm
Over her mouth.
He needed silence.
He needed them
To remain alone.
He didn't need
The police coming along,
Asking questions,
Being suspicious.

He whispered
Into her ear,
His breath warming it,
Blowing against
The fine hairs in it.
"I'm not going to hurt you."
"I'm going to remove my hand."
"Don't scream."
"I'm looking for Allan."

Confusion crossed her face,
As his hand moved
From his lips.
He sat back down
In the wing chair.
He was sitting there
When she walked in,
A gun in his lap.
He sat in the dark,
Waiting for Allan.

"Allan doesn't live here!"
"I live alone!"
"This is my apartment!"
He listened as words
Pored out of her mouth.

He pulled out
A slip of paper,
Checking the apartment number.
Gina's handwriting was horrible.
Was it a 9 or a 4?
Obviously, it wasn't a 4.
Another death on Gina's head.

He stood up
And made his way
To the door.
He looked back
At her for the last time.
What a shame,
She was pretty.
She had good taste.
She had her whole life
Before her.
Ten seconds later
He was gone.

The next morning,
The newspapers' headlines
Read "Two Dead
In Apartment Complex!"
It continued to read
That one was a woman in 4B
And the other a man in 9B.
He clipped out the stories
And made copies for Gina.

The copies were
To encourage Gina to write better.
The copies were
To remind him
To confirm all his assignments.
The copies were
To remind Gina
That another unnecessary death
Was on her head.

Another lethal lesson
To be learned