I was trying to ascertain it if was too
dark to get a shot of some of the best work I'd done in weeks when I
heard the sound. I slid my cell phone back into my sweater pocket and
listened carefully. Someone else was inside the restaurant. I heard
their hard footsteps on the industrial tile floor and I froze,
waiting. The store room door creaked and he saw me, his thickly
accented voice booming into the darkness, "Hey! You're not
supposed to be back here! What the hell do you think you're doing?"
It was Billy Corrigan, the owner of the
restaurant and the uncle of the dead man lying at my feet. He
startled me and I dropped the jagged knife I was holding. I had been
caught; literally red handed this time. I smeared a handful of blood
across the front of my pale pink dress and smiled as he came closer.
It was going to be two for one; this was turning into my kind of
night after all.
He towered over me breathing hard and
taking in the unfathomable scene laid out before him. His rosy cheeks
were now even rosier, and the tufts of gray hair on each side of his
head stuck straight out. He looked like a mad clown. In just a moment
he was going to join his nephew on the floor. I had a quick fantasy
about swapping their heads, but I'd left my tools in the car; this
had been meant to be a quick in and out job. And I didn't have the
luxury of time now, he had probably called the police before he
confronted me. I'd have to make a quick concession to my normal
routine; a substitute for the ritual. Nothing too elaborate of
course; I could take a toe or a finger or maybe just their shoes.
Perhaps if I was quick I'd have just enough time to snap that picture
with my cell phone; my enjoyment of the present moment was marred, I
would have to compensate later.
I couldn't wait to watch the weekend
news. Shawna Brighton would rattle off all the gory details with a
perfect smile plastered on her face and then with a flip of her
bleached blonde hair she'd go straight to Steve Slater with the
weather. Just thinking about it made my heart beat faster and a rush
of adrenaline dumped into my system.
I was far too pleased with myself. I
tried, but I couldn't stifle my laughter and it burst out of me,
first as a girlish giggle and then it escalated into full blown
wicked scream. His anger flooded full force and he lunged at me, his
hands flailing wildly in front of him. I easily dodged out of the
way, but as he fell to the floor he knocked over a stack of aluminum
pans and sent them scattering on the cement with a loud crash. I
managed to regain my composure, looking around in the semi-darkness
attempting to find the murder weapon. I certainly didn't have much
time now; the restaurant had been closed for hours, but the coffee
shop next door was still open and they'd be sure to investigate and
call the police themselves.
I caught a glimpse of the knife handle
sticking out from under a rack of metal shelves. I rushed to get it,
and as I bent over I felt an excruciating fire ripping through my
left thigh. I fell to the floor bleeding profusely, the lucky bastard
hit the artery; I'd been shot.
As I lay there bleeding to death, I
felt the calmness of a job well done wash over my brain. I looked
over at Billy and his nephew. Billy was sat upright, cradling his
nephew in his arms, holding the gun steady aimed at my head. My cell
phone was lying next to me, the blood seeping inch by inch towards
it. In a split second, I grabbed it and took a picture of my pain wrenched
face.
It would never be my best shot; Billy
Corrigan had taken his, and because of it, this would be my last.
©2013
Garden Summerland
