Cendae Mortis

“Goodbye.”

The man’s eyes opened, and he inhaled, sitting up as he stared down the barrel of the gun centered on his forehead. He then shifted his gaze to the woman holding the gun, seeing the smile fade ever so slightly from her lips. Her finger loosened on the trigger of the gun and finally let it go.

“I am going to kill you now,” she said softly.

He flicked his tongue across his lips, wetting them. “What do you want?”

“Did you think you could just walk away?”

“Isabella, please-”

She lowered the gun and stepped back slowly. He scrambled forward, scooting towards the edge of the bed before finally standing, his clothes in disarray. Wide eyes and shocked face slowly relaxed and with a yawn, he turned his back to her. Slowly, not hearing the door close behind him, he began to button up his shirt.

He stopped at the final button and turned to walk over to where the corded phone dangled from a desk by its twisted cord. With a growing smile, the man pulled it up to his ear.

“See you soon,” he said.

A woman’s voice on the other side laughed softly. “I’m getting in the car.”

“When are you coming over?”

“I’m out of my meeting now.”

His smile faded into a softer expression; something gentled in his eyes. “How long do you have left? I miss you too.”

“I miss you.”

“Hey, doll.”

“Gavin.”

He set the phone back down in the receiver.

It rang.

Gavin turned away from the phone and walked across the room to the stuffed bookshelf. He reached for a red binder and pulled it out, letting it hang heavily by his side. He returned to the desk and set down the binder open to the middle. His eyes wandered across the numbers and words littering the inside. His head snapped up and he slid away from the desk to head out the door and lock it behind him.

His car was parked in the usual place. When he turned it on, music blasted out of the speakers at him. He sat in the driver’s seat for a few minutes before he turned it off and pulled out of the garage. There wasn’t much traffic this way, and the little house in the littler suburb had all the lights on.

Gavin pulled open the unlocked door, ignoring the smear of blood on the handle, and walked inside. He pulled off his clothes, pausing only to pick up his towel from the crumpled heap on the floor and wrap it around his body, and neatly folded them on the bed before turning on the shower. He pulled off the towel, hung it on the bar, and went inside.

It wasn’t a long shower, but as soon as it started growing cold, he stepped out and left it running. His other clothes lay scattered around the bedroom, so he walked around, pulling on a bloody shirt first, then his underwear, and then the rumpled pants. When he was dressed, he went back into the bathroom and turned off the shower. Then back to the car and he pulled out onto the highway again.

Halfway there, he turned on the music. His face turned pale, and he started breathing faster, eyes widening with stress. Skidding slightly as he turned into the office parking garage, he flung himself out of the car and practically ran up the stairs, ignoring the open elevator. When he reached the third floor, Gavin burst through the door and ran down the hall into an office where a body lay on the floor.

Isabella stood there in the doorway; her eyes widened as Gavin shoved past her and knelt down over the corpse. She screamed, and he pulled a knife out of the body.

Their eyes met.

The man kneeling on the floor stabbed her wife in the heart and Isabella screamed shrilly, panic freezing her in place until he stood and bolted past her, leaving the knife. Donna didn’t move from where she lay, eyes closed and breath seeping out of her lungs in one last weak gasp.

“No- no!” Isabella dropped to her knees, shaking Donna’s shoulders. “Come on, baby, come on!”

But it was too late. Her hands shook as she fumbled for her cellphone. “Hello? 911- My wife- a man stabbed her. We’re at-” and she stuttered out the address and necessary info.

She knew him, of course. They both had known him; Gavin. When Isabella hung up, she sagged over Donna, sobbing amidst heaving breaths and trembling shoulders. Lifting her teary eyes up, she punched in another number, this one longer.

“Hello?”

“I’m going to kill him, Abby,” she snarled through her tears. “Where is he?”

“Who?”

“Your man, that’s who! He-” Isabella choked up again. “He murdered my Donna.”

Silence from the other end before Abby sighed. “Hang on. There’s a hotel where we usually meet; we had plans for this evening. Go there, and I’ll call when he’s back in his room.”

“You’re never going to see him again.”

Abby hesitated. “I know. Go to-” and she named the hotel.

Isabella ended the call and stood shakily. She turned to look around the office, her gaze homing in on that little drawer Donna had always begged her to keep locked. Well, not this time. She stumbled over to it and yanked it open, pulling the pistol and silencer out. They weighed heavy in her grip, the right kind of heavy. A revenge’s weight heavy.

Her own car waited for her out front, and she nestled the pistol in her purse for when she passed anyone by. Flashing lights approached the office as she strode out the front door, but she ignored them. Her tremors were gone. They could return only when she finished what she had set out to do.

It was a dingy hotel; the kind of place she wouldn’t normally be caught dead in. It fit him, especially after all he had done before murdering the only person Isabella had ever cared for. She found her way to the lady’s restroom and stood there, idly washing her hand until her phone buzzed with a text.

He’s back now. On the phone.

Swallowing hard, Isabella went for the stairs, taking them two at a time. She approached his door, pausing before it to screw the silencer onto the end of her pistol. He always kept his doors unlocked. He was just that kind of arrogant bastard.

Carefully, she opened the door, slipped inside, and closed it behind her. He stood with his back to the door, working at the buttons on his shirt. He finished and yawned as he turned- and then stopped, his eyes widening and jaw dropping to see her stand there with the pistol in hand. He backed away and stumbled against the bed, scrambling on his butt backwards. She stepped forward and raised the gun.

“Isabella, please-”

“Did you think you could just walk away?”

He flicked his tongue across his lips, wetting them. “What do you want?”

Her voice turned soft, and she savored the fear in his eyes. “I am going to kill you now.”

Isabella’s finger tightened on the trigger. With no small amount of satisfaction, she watched him pitch backwards and fall onto the bedsheets that quickly darkened with his blood.

“Goodbye.”