Death
Sophie should have known something was wrong just by the atmosphere in the cloying air; charged and expectant like there was an approaching storm. She didn’t notice.
Maybe she should have paid more attention when she entered the house. To the front door, ajar like Pandora’s Box. She simply dismissed it, thinking of one of the thousands of perfectly reasonable explanations. Janet Payne must have merely forgotten. She was starting to forget many things now. Or maybe Dennis Payne had gone to the corner shop just down the road to purchase more of his dwindling coffee and had left it; knowing he would be returning soon.
Nevertheless, something was wrong. It was in the very air.
“Mum! Dad!” she called out in the doorway as she slipped off her high heeled shoes. Shoes as glossy and black as beetle wings. Her bare feet sunk luxuriously into the soft cream carpet as she made her way along the hallway.
She was brimming with excitement. Perhaps that was why she paid no attention to the ominous signs. “You’ll never guess what!” she continued, sure that they could hear her. Were they in the living room sipping tee or coffee from china cups? Or were they in the small garden at the back of the cottage, enjoying the afternoon sun on their faces?
She entered the kitchen and dumped her handbag on the kitchen counter. The black leather collapsed in waves on the sapphire blue, hiding the box of matches that her mother must have left out.
She heard a faint hissing sound and turned to see the gas on her mother’s old cooker turned on. She frowned and reached down to turn it off. Yet another sign had slipped by with nothing more than a fleeting moment of curiosity.
She walked out of the kitchen and back out into the hallway, heading towards the living room. “You know that promotion Tucker was talking to me about? Guess what! I got-” she broke off with a choked scream as she entered the room.
Dear God!
She flung herself back against the wall, wanting to get as far away as possible without taking her eyes off the terrible sight before her. She pressed her back against the solid surface like she thought if she did it hard enough she might disappear into the deceitfully calm cream.
There were no words to describe what she saw.
Great arches of blood were drying on the walls. Dark red against pale yellow. It was everywhere. Smeared on the floor. Handprints pressed all over, like a messy child’s painting. Clumps of the carpet were stiff with it. The tangy smell seemed to coat her tongue and make her gag. And then there was Janet and Dennis. Their tangled bodies were together in a final embrace. Arms and legs at odd angles. Surrounded by their blood that had mixed and became a congealing pool. The terror was still in their glassy, open eyes. Eyes that would soon turn a cloudy white from their exposure to air. Janet’s hair stuck out in spiky clumps.
Sophie stuttered and gasped as she saw the yawning bullet hole in her father’s chest. The small wound that had ripped through his organs and tissue. That had caused his death. Just that little hole.
It was an execution.
Something moved in her peripheral vision. Something – someone – rose from the sofa. A man dressed in black, with a long coat that moved around him like a cape. Dracula? Death? Death. He had been waiting for her to come home.
He had been waiting for her.
She saw something silver in one of his hands. Light gleamed on the smooth surface. A gun?
He had been sitting calmly, patiently waiting for her to turn up. Did he know about the apartment she’d been fruitlessly trying to find? Twenty-one and still living with her parents. He knew she had to come back here. Therefore he killed her parents and quietly waited for her.
So he could finish the job.
He stepped towards her and raised the gun in a single, fluid motion. Like a professional. And efficient professional.
Sophie gave a small cry or mortal terror and pushed herself along the wall, towards the door. She had to get out! Get out and away! This man meant to kill her. This man who strode towards her with the gun pointed at her.
She found the doorway and with a gasp ducked out of the room. She screamed as she heard the gun go off. Something splintered into tiny pieces and hit Sophie, like a small explosion. The door?
She fled down the hallway and towards the front door. She ran towards freedom. Towards life.
Why was this man after her? Why had he killed her parents? What had they done? Was this a personal attack? Robbery gone wrong? An old friend wounded at something her parents had done? Something she had done? Why had this man done this awful thing?
She shrieked again as she heard him fire at her once more. The shot screamed out, a terrible ringing in her ears. She heard it thud into the wall near her head. A shot meant to kill. Bits of plaster rained down on her; got in her eyes.
Half-blind, she stumbled for an exit, for safety. Her groping fingers finally found the cold plastic of the door. Then the handle. The door whooshed open and Sophie felt the cool air on her face. Yes! She was out! She was-
Something slammed into her shoulder. A searing blow that shoved her over. Time slowed as she fell and Sophie caught a glimpse of the sky. Grey with overcast clouds. She hadn’t noticed the storm creep up. She hadn’t noticed…
She landed on the front step and banged her head painfully on the slate. A sharp burst of pain, a blazing white light. The taste of gravel in her mouth. The smell of soil and flowering plants. The departing kiss of a sprinkling of rain. The sound of his footsteps advancing.
She stared up at him. Broad shoulders silhouetted against the brooding sky. Dark, cropped hair. A face devoid of emotion. Only cold efficiency in his eyes as he pointed the gun at her face.
Sophie could only stare. She was in shock. Numb. Had her end come so quickly? Would she feel anything when the bullet was fired, when the bullet obliterated her? Would she see it spiralling towards her? After she was dead, after she was little more than a headless corpse, would he simply walk away? Would he go after someone else or hang his hat up and go home to a family of his own? Would he feel anything about ending her life?
She saw his fingers tighten on the trigger. Any second now. Why would her last moments be looking up at the object that would kill her? Couldn’t he have come when they were sleeping? She wouldn’t have known then. She wouldn’t be consumed with such dizzying fear.
Let it be quick and painless, she prayed.
There came a shout. Not from him. From somewhere behind Sophie. She couldn’t see who it was. She was facing the house. Facing him.
“Hey! Holy shit!”
That voice belonged to none of them. Merely someone who had just happened to stumble upon this nightmare. Wrong place, wrong time. Would he include this unlucky person as another of his victims?
Then someone else was heard. “Jesus! Marty! Call the police!”
Call the police.
She was watching him now, not the gun. She saw his animal snarl as he stared down at her. He wanted to do it. He needed to do it. End his job and get out of there. The police were coming.
Good, she thought. I hope you get caught, you bastard.
She saw the struggle in his black eyes as he made his choice. If he killed her then his job would be done. But those people gathering to stand in a circle would block his way. He’d have to take a few of them down to escape. Did he care about innocent people? He killed her family. He wanted to kill her. Why would he feel any qualms about turning that gun on the other people surrounding them?
He lowered the gun and Sophie almost fainted from relief. She was so tired, so weak, it would not take much to pitch her into blackness.
Fear once again roared inside her when he bent down and hauled her to her feet. She cried out in mortal fear. Was he dragging her away to where he could kill her in private? Would he take her to his car and drive off?
Just kill me! Don’t prolong it any longer! I can’t take this fear anymore!
He turned towards the frightened crowd and Sophie saw the terror dancing in their eyes like a naked flame. Not only fear for her but for themselves. He had a gun. He could release a rain of bullets on them.
“This isn’t finished,” he growled. A shock ran through her as she heard his voice for the first time. “You can’t live.”
With a grunt he pushed her towards the crowd. She flew through the air and knocked into several people. There were screams as he used this distraction to dark through them, making his escape.
She fell to the floor and curled up into a little ball. She knew he was gone when everyone surrounded her, eager to see this girl who’d cheated death. Sobs wracked her body as she realised how close she’d come to joining her parents. Grief and terror took her so hard she could only cling to the floor, like if she let go she would fall into their black mouths and never emerge.
“Hey, miss, are you okay?”
“Christ! What happened to your shoulder?”
“Who the hell was that crazy guy?”
“Where are Janet and Dennis?”
A high keening sound escaped Sophie’s mouth. A hair-raising wail that caused several people to step back in alarm. She called out her parents’ names, hardly able to believe what had just happened.
The gas. The matches. They were his doing. After he had slaughtered them he would have blown the house up. There would have been no evidence. Anyone called to the scene would have thought that Sophie’s forgetful mother had accidentally left the gas on and then turned a light on. Whoosh! There would be only charred remains of the bodies; not enough to be able to tell they were brutally murdered. It would have been chalked up as a tragic accident.
If Sophie had not escaped.
He would be back, she realised. To finish what he’d started. He had threatened as much. His voice had been little more than a growl in her ear but his words made her feel as though she had been submerged in icy water.
This isn’t finished. You can’t live.
*I apologise if it's a little long ^^'
)
So, sorry that you reviewed a dead piece of work.
