Reads: 353  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic
A human wants to kill her wife

Submitted: December 21, 2008

A A A | A A A

Submitted: December 21, 2008








The husky voice of Barry White filled the room.

The romantic light anchored magically against the walls while the ten giants candlelight like a sourly river's wave from the ceiling was all over the kitchen with a pleased accent of roses and magnolias. It was more than a scenario for a first date that a choice of murder.

At this moment he turned around to see his sitting on the kitchen with expert eye. All the goodies and meals were on place. The perfect heat and steam of the shrimps-seafood salad; the Italian soft rolls with garlic butter; the fresh vegetables with shirred ham Dijon and with its decoration of spinach leaf, as well as the chilly 1819 Cuvaison into the silver-curbed basket filled with ice.

He recalled it was only a few minutes ago he had been thinking how much he would like to be perfect. At the same time it was the pretty task of making it unshared. The Instruction from the Internet on 'HOW TO KILL SOMEONE' Booklet he had passed thoroughly almost twenty times. What is the matter now? You have followed all these #10 Steps and you have done it accordingly. It must be by accident that you could accomplish this task of killing.

He shook his head and moved around him. It was a habit of thinking. With a weak smile, for what he only believed this would be as the Booklet had said: ACCIDENT ONLY, his eyes followed the direction of the large carpet, which he had bought last Tuesday for this special occasion. He saw its 'end' was quite genuinely beneath the nighttable and made it so perfect.

He expected it would be the last remainder because she would have to get up at certain moments when he began to call her and then it would be the fatal slip and zap! Her forehead would be crashed right on the nighttable.

These were the STEP 7 thru 9. These steps were hard because she would have to stand up, turn around the sofa, and stretch herself off to move to the dinning table room. This was the critical moment that he had to be perfected.

She might ask him lot of questions: Why do you want me to go that way and not this way? Yes, she would be suspicious.

Ah, the Instruction's booklet does say nothing of it. It must be accidental, that's for sure. He grinned. No violence, tell you.

He looked at the right. The lumpier sofa and the armchair had been pushed more closer and leaned them more open to the only path which she could not have any choice to pass. Pointing to any angles of the condo apartment, to each corner, he had seen that he had done a great job.

A long moment after that, he stepped carefully, with absolutely dominion into the middle of the floor, watching if he had put too much pressure to the armchair.

Suddenly, he moved it a little more to the right as well as the chair to left. He looked at it for a few seconds in silence; and slowly, he stepped back and proved it with a grin.

Yes. This it is. It would work, he thought again with an elegant movement of his right hand. Besides, she must walk that way; it is the only way available and I decide to it, he stopped thinking.

Bring then the satisfaction across his face and the understandable seal which he could not keep any longer, he walked back through the same pathway he had took before.

And quite suddenly, a tremor hit him. Instead of warning him what it was, it was accepted immediately as he watched the walled o'clock.

It was not the real time, however.

The time he wanted it should be 9:31 P.M. He looked at it vacantly, because to fill his masterpiece it has to be on 7:30 P.M. But why was then the sharp tremor?

Because he knew about the time; he knew about that changing; and he knew it had to be like that if there were a mistake. But he went back off and looked for another way to finish his job.

Why bother?

After a long try, he didn't bring up what was this meaning of his tremor. That is not important, he thought.

And he decided to wait for a few minutes if premonition would come into his head.

No, it didn't come. So it seemed it had been lost through this second thought of his. He nodded satisfactorily and returned his attention to his watch.

Fifteen minutes to go.

Then, able to endure what it was, he felt almost a sort of relief as he rounded around the bar, passed the dinning table room, crossed the square, and he had come into the large bedroom.

He slapped his hands together and all lights turned this authentic American new look bedroom in a warm, intimate paradise.

Joseph McNight, the chairman of International Enterprise and a Honored Member of Country Club Exclusive, removed his clothes and remained nude in front of the queen mirror. In his sixty-seven he was still strong, virile, unconquered; after his four times marriage. Miraculously, he combed his gray hair, handed gently Calvin Kline cologne around his face and body.

And then, he turned to the bed where he saw all neat, a South Beach Collection: an embossed lizard belt, a Cayman woven slip-on shoes, a stonewashed thong and yellow-lifted trousers.

When he had come back to the mirror, he picked up out his thousand golden-diamond Swiss watch, his former wedding ring of his last wife Anne McNight and smiling broadly.

I've all, bastard! he thought.

His old handsome face, his lighted-blue eyes, filled of Anyone’s eyes waiting and hate, had suddenly fell into seriousness.

As he wondered if she had not told him about marriage and that baby she was saying she was carrying and to have a steady relationship as a future wife, perhaps, he would not do it.

But already the peace and the tranquility of his mind, had been his constant nightmare.

Why did she not accept the three and half millions dollars and leave him alone? That was a lot money, of course; but a marriage, it will be worse. All his former women had been just like that: three millions dollars and get out of his life. Now this bitch, he thought, without change any muscles of his face, wanted more. Now he was thinking coolly. That weekend in Cancun, when he had told it straight into her eyes that could not be possible. He saw her mocking born in struggle. "I'd like very much for us to know each other better," she had said. "I know myself better than you; and this is your child, darling. And now," she was smiling deadly, "you appear you're not still know yourself."

He had finished his drinks and looked at her. She was staring at him with direct honest eyes. As he turned his eyes away he knew she had successfully sent the message across the table. It will be war! Between her and him there had grown so far a unstoppable curtain.

Giving her what she asked for --40 millions dollars! Or letting his baby grows and born as a McNight! It would be Absurd! And at the same way, yes, she was different, alright. Whether it was seriously involved or not, it was without question he could not relax alone because of that unborn child.


For a second, she looked like his last wife; but he knew for the beginning he could destroy her because her naive manner. But this woman in front of him was quite determined.

Sarah Rockfield, that was her given name, considered him openly; her expression lovely under her surgery plastic. Then she thought of those past moments and love, her dream beside him and the painful break and she knew it was it. He wanted young girls, so she will give him. And I've something there belong to you and it will hold you up and it'll keep you for a while right there where you are!

He remembered now that when he looked at her, he had thought it will be. After he finished his business here in Cancun, her baby and her would be finished, and it will be a last chapter.

"Okay, I guess," he recalled he was saying. "For some moments, I feel that way. I'm always sensed it."

The woman picked up the glass filled of natural fruits, tipped his glass half filled of cognac and drunk. It was the moment when Joseph McNight lifted a well-being document and inserted it into a decorative, wrapped box. He reached out a ball pen from his jacket and looked around and moved out of the bedroom.

The entire apartment was into a soundless atmosphere. He knew what it was and stopped in the Sonny stereo and selected a series of violin concerto and took a seat in the bar. Staring at the large hall, his expression changed into rock. He seemed all veins of his had worked hard enough to maintain such rockiness of attention.

But not quite.

Oh, Jesus, what is it now? he thought, looking around for a vacant sigh. Something that tells him there was SOMETHING he had missed.

Two minutes to go.

Don't be a pessimist, he said sharply to his second persona so deep inside him. Everything will be okay. I promise.

Yes, he thought, restlessly, sitting framed in the edge of the chair. As the instruction's Booklet said. So perfect.

Still, he thought of it; and he stood back to allow his drain fluid of his blood running normally through his body.

Almost he got it as the doorbell rang.

It had him a heart. Jesus!

The doorbell rang again. Come, it's time to put plug it on!

Trying to reason calmly, he swallowed. That had not worked either.

As he took a deep breath. That was a little better; and he found himself that he had an imp of mischief in himself. He laughed heavy, and then quieted himself.

So he inhaled and exhaled deep in a finished workup.

My God, be fair! I need you now, he thought. Nevertheless he was concerned and displeased him at the same time and it replied sourly to his second persona, Get ready, goddammit!

Up ahead of it then, he stopped in front of the door and opened it too quick; and his breath had been caught at the ugliness of it.

Sarah Rockfield was standing in the hall. She carried herself freely. Her hair loosely on her shoulders. Her face, with its remarkable change, with its flesh beauty of a young girl, who enjoyed the stare of his, was unbelievable soft like a child.

The sublime of perfectibility was completed.

"Hi, Sarah," he said as he was getting himself together. "Come in." He stopped aside letting her in, watching the concerned stomach of hers. That's the image had followed him until this moment.

When she halted, who tried to be used in getting around what Joseph McNight had done, she looked at him. "I see you've changed the decoration of the living room."

"Quite unconscious, believe me," he said closing the door, crossed to where Sarah was, and kissed her lips slightly. "Do you like it?"

"Yes....Well, it now looks more thorough good."

He glanced at her carefully. "You look a little lost," he noticed, feeling a little relief, waiting to send the last tune what he had in mind. "Come over here," he put out his hand on her shoulder and pressed her walking abominable carefully to the living room.

"There's something very special about it, darling."

"In what way, may I ask, honey?"

"Unusual love set, you know," she smiled at him. "Establishment. Holding it with passion by a untouchable Creole chic. Oh...! I don't know," she laughed lovely.

He grinned. "You pushed me to be responsible in any way by doing it."

Sarah understood.

She studied him for just a moment, not sure why he seemed so concerned. Be carefully, girl, there's still a lion underneath it, she thought.

Joseph McNight had turned away from her as she moved on toward the solo armchair available in that way. Yes! he thought; and then he added, "Oh how lovely you are!"

"Ah, my darling!" she said, "You're a dear. But I'd not hold it, okay? I know I am!"

Joseph McNight froze. Sarah did not decide to sit. As she was about to turn to right, his face went dead. "What are you doing? I mean, honey --?

From that part, Sarah looked at him expectantly. Obviously she's searching for such a reason. Finally, she stopped; as his anxiety and frustration seemed to go down. He had to make it a little romantic, Joseph thought.

"I'm sorry, honey. Did you have a good journey?"

"Yes. I did."

"I hope you see me a little more concern. Do you? It means about that --" he indicated her stomach.

"What else do you look forward to it?"

"All what you got for me."

"You mean that?"

"Yes, yes, I mean that, honey," Joseph McNight walked to the bedroom and reappeared for a few seconds. "This a gift and this will be open later on. I tell you this has been the first time I've done that."

"Oh, Joe."

"No, don't move, please. Sit down there."

Sarah didn't respond in any way to it.

And when he put the ball pen on top of the gifted box, he said, "Oh, yes, there's something else!" Making a circle with his right hand, he pulled off the wedding ring and rested it besides the wrapped box. "Now tell me, are you hungry?"

"I'm afraid I've already ate. But wait --"

Joseph McNight's face faded in white. Impossible, he thought.

Reluctantly he rose his eyebrow and went to Sarah, passing dangerously close to the 'end' carpet and stopped before her. "You did. You cannot!"

"It was earlier, darling. I was starving," she glanced at him. "But how about some drink before that --?"

Oh, boy! How stupid of me! I've almost forgot about it, he fumed cheerfully, glancing at her; but his interest was focused on the site in Sarah's weight.

But, wait-a-minute, he fixed his eyes on her face. A pregnant woman could not taste liquor, he said such a catchy tune and he was afraid he had said it loud enough for Sarah hearing. Well, better than that!

Rather surprisingly, she looked at him. "Is it something wrong, my darling?"

"Oh, no, no, sweetheart! Everything is alright. Just wait for a moment." And he walked downstage to the bar, crossed along the hall and disappeared through he large corridor.

When he had disappeared, the woman was all motion: She got up, self-consciously, reached the clock hanged on the wall. First she set the clock ten minutes past to eight and brought up a light in the upper-corner of it. Now she went to the square, passing dangerously close to the nighttable and out through the left 'end' side of the carpet and looked under it very carefully.

Satisfied what she saw, which it had served also as her second movement. She lent over and slipped it just to the right side. Deliberately, she adjusted the lumpier sofa after she had overplayed the armchair to the guessed trap on what Joseph McNight's be sitting. For a moment she halted, indicating that there was SOMETHING she had forgotten. No, she replied critically at her own thoughts, everything had fixed perfect.

And then, she took a seat and crossed her legs. Oh, how beautifully she look! Just as the voice of Joseph McNight could be hearing. He's moving along the corridor. "I hope you like Perrier."

With an extreme surprise, "But darling, oh mine! You know I can't drink any liquor!"


"Well," she said, singing her words, appreciatively," I guess one glass won't hurt our unborn child, isn't it, darling?"

Joseph McNight approached her, almost hurt, somehow hostile but happy that he had accomplished one of the pieces from his plan, he handed the glass. "I think so --"

Moving to the middle of the living room, he stopped. As if he were watching inside his head of the DESIGNED STAGES he had done. The woman began to stare at him, followed each movement of his. Did she retrieve the lumpier sofa too much to the right side?

Joseph McNight's eyes passing slowly and at the same time, he was walking slowly toward her. No, everything was alright, Joseph smiled. That will be impossible she could know it...

But when he was about to cross as she handed her the drinks. The woman's mind heat up. Oh, mine! The gift!

Reasonably enough, she began to stand up. Joseph McNight froze. "Please, don't get up! I'd get it for you," Joseph was crying out, spoiling somehow the amazed look of hers. She motioned him to sit; then held lightly together, without move!

"Let me help you."

"Darling, please."

"I always want to be a homeboy."

"Can you sit down, please?"

"I can't sit down when you're overexcited."

"Isn't just how happy I am?"

"Are you sure you are?"


"Then take a sit and show me the present."

"It'll be after dinner, remember?"

"I'm most define about not waiting to see it"

The woman found a reason to hold him, talking. It seemed he was perfectly excited. Is he knowing it as the mere horror self-centered share in both of them? she thought.

It was only when the concerto potpourri of violin had ended, Joseph McNight realized he had to changed it. "Wait, okay! Wait!"

He put the glassed on the nighttable and hurried in direction of the stereo. As the woman was waiting by the edge of the square, an apprehensively, yet excited cloud swallowed her. Why, did she not wait for that damn gift? Or it was just another excuse of this comelier?

Again. The music took over for a long moment. When she was looking for something else to make him not to handle the drinks, it had been responding by the man himself. He'd exchanged a quick, light glance to the walled o'clock. The time was perfect. Forgetting about the drinks, it seemed it will be for a perfectly end.

With fierceness and happiness, he crossed around the square as he had planned it and lifted the box and opened it and gave it to her. "My contract to be together. "I'll sign it and I'll throw this wedding ring and then, we're going to eat --"

Automatically, they checked themselves; Joseph McNight, approachable, amused himself, as he was throwing the wedding ring against the sofa; the woman straightened forward. As she opened the gifted box, there was appearing a legal contract of marriage. Responding to all value and assets of his heritage equitation. He signed it and kissed her.

Conspiratorially, he held her face, "I used to dream to be alone and to joy myself. But now, I'll be more --"

Pleasantly, calmly now, "It can mark anyone for life, darling."

Tightly, without understand the meaning of her words, he took it as a happy woman, silly one of course, who had dreamed to take it so easy as any of his women. "I'll serve the dinner now."

Joseph McNight turned but hesitated for a moment. He threw a kiss to her. Finally he crossed the square, safely to the kitchen.

And as he began to walk round the circle of the square, the woman consulted her watch. She heard now him around the kitchen.

Five minutes to go.

Another minutes pass.

Lazily now, she watched the walled clock.

Twenty-five seconds, Joseph McNight's calculation to go.

Controlling herself, more defiantly, she glanced down her wristwatch. Her left hand disappeared into her purse and retrieved a small pill and swallowed it savagely. For seconds, the pill began to work and she started scuffing with her hands around her body. A faint hum started from her.

From the walled clock. It had reached the double call.

Joseph McNight's call.

Joseph McNight's voice was heard. "Sarah, Sarah, the dinner is ready."

Another call.


Sarah! Sarah!


The woman, sweating heavy now, threw herself backward and began to open her mouth, "Joe, please, Joe...Hurry up....Hurry up"

Back at the kitchen. Damn! What the hell happen with that woman! he blamed himself, really vulgar after he'd put down the bowl and ran toward the living room. What he saw that was not he had in mind at all. "Goddammit! What it is?"

He dashed into the hall, abruptly urged himself straight to the square and stepped into the square (a safe ground for his plan). But he horsed off into an imperfectly ground and his head kicked heavily on the edge of the nighttable and still.

In painful shock, the woman knelt and started squatting toward the phone. A kick's horse, holding her about three minutes. Then she began to space out the square again and reached out the phone. She put it down and made a call. "911! Please, 911."

Fourteen minutes later, "911. Where are you located?"

"9710 Road. Please, hurry up."

"What happened?"

"Something terrible has happened to my ex-husband. Please, hurry up." Abruptly she hanged up.

And another plan was now in its way.

The woman began to tail up the walled clock. The pill was working fast now, sucking her out but she kept going until she reached the walled clock and she began to change the time and retrieved from it a small device like as a video camera that had caught all the events.

Then she pushed herself back to the floor and knelt to the table. In the distance, a siren was closing.

She took the glass of Perrier. Oh, this will push you back, honey, she thought, as she poured the liquor and drunk.

With a chained smile, the woman moved back to the phone and fell absolutely still. Just as the door abruptly was opened by a paramedical team. She felt the voice, and it took her out a place that she was difficult to describe; but she knew she was safe now and fell back.

Slowly, she closed her eyes. "Do you hear me, Mrs. McNight? McNight?...This is Detective Dalton.... McNight..."


There's any pretext when he left. Nothing the best response and it was a grave accident.

"Yes, Mrs. McNight..." This must have been a terrible experience for you, Mrs. McNight...."


I don't think I'll ever get over it, she thought, looking at him. And it said to the black-haired young man detective Dalton, "I fell, and then, nothing. Oh! It was so awful."

He knew it was so painful for her, but he's doing his job. "I understand, Mrs. McNight."

And he quickly changed the subject.

Her eye on him.

"I'll come later on to sign these hassled paperwork."

Yes, of course, "I'm still feeling that --"

He stood from the chair next to the bed. "I understand, Mrs. McNight. It could be as long as you wish. There's no hurry --"

"Thank you."

He turned around, sighed off his partner and moved out of the hospital room. The persona of Sarah Rockfield and Anne McNight stood from the bed and watched out through the window. "Bastard! I knew one day I'll catch you!"

Outside, the day began to blenched off. The night seemed to promise to be beautiful, a little virgin, perhaps. But it will be a wonderful night.

© Copyright 2019 Carlet la Lovecraft. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

More Mystery and Crime Short Stories