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Sanity |
| Written by Sara | |
| Friday, 25 April 2008 | |
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Share it:      I leaned against the bus window and watched the streetlights flash by like liquid orbs oflightning. Craning my neck to look skyward, I found that the stars were obliterated by the much nearer neon brightness of the city. I sighed but the heaviness within me would not lift. I knew that sighing wouldn't do it. Nothing could raise the black cloud from my soul. Nothing short of committing what I had decided to do would free me. Even then I wasn't so sure. The possibility of a conscience always had worried me. Sighing again, - just for the sake of sound - I tugged at one black evening glove,pulling it up past my elbow, and prayed once again that I was dressed right. I wore flats, just in case things didn't go entirely my way. The gloves held the danger of becoming conspicuous, but they could not be foregone. Anyone who had ever even just browsed the mystery section of a bookstore would know that. Besides, it was a formal affair. I could pull it off. I just hoped someone else wore gloves as well. A fashion faux pas would not easily be forgotten at this party,and I needed to be forgotten. * * * It was almost too easy to sneak through the back door to the kitchen. I had taken the design and location of the affluent Mr. Di Caprio's house to be a sign. A good one for me, a bad one for him. Built into the side of a hill, the front entrance opened into what was essentially the second floor. The back of the revoltingly large house, therefore, provided me with an easy way in and allowed me to access the party on the next floor with no unwanted observation. With the caterer running in and out loading things into his van, all I had to do was press myself against the outer wall and wait for the opportune moment to slip in. My black evening dress rendered me almost invisible. The kitchen was in such chaos that I passed through unnoticed. I found the stairs and ascended silently. The door at the top brought me directly into a dining room, which was empty due to dinner being served almost an hour ago. I slipped toward the doorway leading into a room where I could hear the raucous sounds of a party in progress. On the threshold I paused and took a steadying breath. I was sure, absolutely sure that this was right. He had no right to take Ann's life and then walk away without even paying a price, without even being given the slightest retribution for his actions. No right. He chose. He chose to drink. He chose to drive. He chose the wrong lane and ended up killing my sister. The courts had not seen fit to pass fair judgment, and the only punishment he received was not enough. He should be given what he gave. The Golden Rule flashed through my mind, and I almost laughed. Do unto others. He had done that. He had done unto Ann. He had done in Ann. Now for the next part: As I would do unto him. * * * I stepped into the cacophony of the party, scanning the crowd. I'd have to mingle; he had to be here somewhere, and I'd find him sooner or later. All I could hope was that he'd be alone at some point, or I'd be able to convince him I was invited and lure him into showing me some room in the most remote part of the house. Either one was preferable to shooting him in full view ofhis guests. That was one method that I had determined to be much too obvious. I began to stroll through the clusters of chattering people, keeping the small evening bag that housed the revolver in a tight grip. It would not do to have someone accidentally knock the bag out of my grasp, thus exposing my most important asset on this venture. The famous persons I passed did not even waste a glance in my direction. This was good. The less I was observed, the better. Twice I was offered champagne by wandering waiters and both times I declined. I would most likely only get one shot,and I was not going to be even slightly impaired. I wondered if Leonardo Di Caprio was boozing it up. If he was, maybe I would shoot his glass first. That thought conjured images of old western films, and I giggled to myself at the scene that would have unfolded had I worn western gear. The laugh sounded just a little high-pitched and out of control. Was I losing my grip on reality? Quite possibly. After all, it's bound to stress your nerves just a tad bit too much when you're plotting to kill a major celebrity. I giggled in the same way as before and walked on. Yet another waiter asked me if I would care for some champagne. This time I did not shake my head. Even I could tell my nerves were about shattered from the length of time it was taking to find my target. Perhaps a little alcohol would help. I took a sip and the bubbles fizzled,but amazingly, my hands felt steadier. I wouldn't want my trigger finger jumpy or twitchy. I took another small swallow and once again began to wander about aimlessly in search of the filthy villain who had a date with my gun. I registered that my black dress fit in perfectly and that three other women were wearing glovesbefore I spotted him. His blonde,perfectly-coiffed head came into view along with a couple of other celebrities'that I didn't take the time to recognize. I threw back the remains of my champagne and headed toward him, setting the glass down on a table as I passed. My vision was filled with his image, his fairytale-perfect image. I almost laughed again at the bloody carnage that I imagined as him in mere minutes. A gaping hole between his eyes, but then again what eyes? They'd be bloodied and destroyed. This time I did chuckle. "Excuse me," a voice cut into my gory thoughts, and a touch on my arm stilled my movement. I looked at the one who'd dared to speak to me, my eyes wild and bloodthirsty. "Hello. I don't believe I know you. Are you a friend of Leonardo's?" The blonde's sugary-sweet tones almost made me gag. "Not hardly," I snapped back, resisting the impulse to test my aim. I turned away and centered my gaze back on the murder of my little sister. He stood near a window, smiling, laughing, chatting, and doing a million other things Ann couldn't. The sight caused my anger to rise. Ann was dead and it was this man's fault, this laughing, happy man. I could not contain the anguish that built within me, and I let out a keening wail. A silence fell and the picture-perfect celebrities turned to stare at me. I took no notice what so ever of them and pushed my way towards the one man whose death could still my anxious heart. I saw him began to move towards me, the disruption of his party, and it struck me how unsuspecting he was. As I grinned at that, we came to face one another. I watched his eyes work as he tried to place me in his mental repertoire of familiar faces. Then he asked the question I'd been waiting for. "Who are you?" "I," I began, but realized I couldn't finish. This wasn't the right place for my perfect response! I needed him on his own! Somewhere without witnesses! "I'm a reporter," I finished, pulling up what little sanity I could and pouring it into the lie. I could convince him to move to some quieter part of the house so I could get my story! Yes, this could still work. "I'm doing a story on you," I added unnecessarily. "Very flattering,"he began with a smile. I believe the smile was my undoing. The very fact that he could be pleased and happy and "flattered" tore me up. Ann couldn't be any of those things! Ann couldn't be anything at all! My mind finally became completely unhinged. "'Flattering!'" I howled, "I'm not here to flatter you!" My sanity was gone and all thoughts ofmaintaining my lie were gone with it. "Who am I?" I continued my voice bordering on shrill. "I'm Ann's sister you pretty-boy murderer! The judge didn't have the guts to give you fair punishment, but I do!" My gun had found its own way of my purse it seemed since my fingers were now tightly curled around it with my trigger finger feeling twitchier and twitchier. Apparently the steadiness I had acquired through the alcohol had worn off. I raised it and fired. * * * I saw the blood come as he fell, and looking at my task accomplished, I flung myself through the window into the fresh night air. The glass cut and stung but only for a moment. I was outside and flying down the grassy slope. The cool breeze tasted sweet and I paused to let it all sink in. Then I laughed, madly pleased at my revenge. Perhaps I reveled in success for too long; as I heard the sirens, Irealized they were all too near. Ibegan to run again, but it did me no good. * * * Even as they cuffed my wrists behind me and read me the Miranda warning, I could not contain a smile. My only thought as theypushed me into the police car, was that I had been silly to worry. What had ever made me think I might have a conscience? Copyright 2008 Sara |
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