The Final Act

TW: Mentions of blood and moderate violence

Three years of searching can do a lot to you.

   I storm into the opera house, the glass doors banging open in the quietness of the night. The walls were white, forever white and unchanging in this environment. There were some gold accents complementing its stillness, but I didn’t care about that.

   It can drive you mad, insane almost, but you get the satisfaction of being able to say you found what you wanted to find.

   Needed to find. I think to myself, my hand clutched around the gun. 

   My dark brown trench coat went down to my knees. It was littered with faded stains from over the years; blood, dirt, and more stuff I probably couldn’t list even if I tried. The sleeves went down to my elbows, since I couldn’t put them over all the bandages wrapped on my arms. I had a pair of leather fingerless gloves showing slightly, just enough to contrast with the white bandages. Under the coat, I had on a dark blue shirt. My dark skinny jeans were with it, my black converse below it. 

   Oh, and of course, one last thing. My mesh blindfold. It was dark blue, covering my eyes to the outside world. It was just enough so I could see somewhat clearly in front of me. It was a tribute to my father. The person who I’d vowed to never be, the person who I’d become.

   I walked quickly, my footsteps echoing down the empty corridor, somewhat softened by the thin, red carpet below me. I threw open the large, wooden door to see exactly who I was looking for.

   “Leo.” I growled, making direct eye contact as I walked faster. My fast walking soon turned into a sprint as he scrambled to put away his violin, trying to get to safety.

   “Your son has ruined your bloodline for eternity!!” I scream at him, enraged as I run faster. 

   Of course, I beat him to it. This old man couldn’t really walk, let alone run away. I press the gun to his head as he falls to the ground, his eyes scared and frantic. I’m panting, sweat running down my neck. 

   “Answer me!” I scream desperately, tears building in my eyes now. I couldn’t cry, not with the mesh cloth on my eyes, it would just make it all wet and heavy. I forced my eyes to stay dry.

   His blue eyes are searching my face, his long lashes scanning me up and down. He had the same blonde locks as his son, with the icy blue eyes and everything. He just looked…older, like the faded wrinkles by the corner of his eyes. He’s wearing a suit, as though he had just gotten done with a performance. Of course, that wasn’t true though, as it was hours after closing. I had no idea what he was doing here, all alone, but I didn’t care. I had to get the job done, no matter how odd the circumstances are.

   He hesitates, not responding at first. I don’t even know if he knows what I’m talking about, or if he’s just accepting that he’s going to die in less than five seconds. 

   “Please, one more performance…” Leo says nervously I press the gun along his head. I don’t know how to respond, as I wasn’t expecting him to be making a final wish. My finger is still on the trigger, the lights white and shining on us. The stage was illuminated with the bright, somewhat iridescent glow, the rest of the room darkened. I could barely see the humps of the thousands of seats aligned together.

   I consider it. I mean, it would be kind of rude if I didn’t allow him to do his final wish. I might be considered a villian, but I’m not entirely heartless.

   “Fine.” I sigh, walking down the wooden stairs as he gets up quickly. I take a seat in a fluffy, red chair in the front row, putting the gun in my lap.   

   Surprisingly, I’m somewhat happy, as I didn’t have to pay a cent for front row seats that would typically cost a fortune.

   It was a good view, as you weren’t too close to the stage like most front seats, and you could see him taking his place in the center clearly. The spotlight was white and bright, focusing on him, the rest of the world dark around him.

   He nods thankfully at me, putting his violin under his chin and playing a few random notes. Then he started to play his final performance.

   His fingers move slowly at first, just picking up the chords. The microphone was off, as we were all alone, but I could still hear every note. Leo moves his bow across the strings carefully, making a beautiful sound that echoes throughout the room, supposedly flying over the thousands of red chairs, lined up in multiple rows.

   His fingers picked up the pace, pressing along the strings, and then going slow yet again. It was an amazing solo, now going faster than it had been previously. Leo’s eyes were closed, concentrating fully on his performance. His performance for me, the last person who would ever hear him make those beautiful noises. 

   His fingertips shimmied across the neck of the tiny violin, and even though there weren't any speakers on, I bet you ten dollars it still echoed all across the auditorium.

   It was beautiful, the music passing through my ears, my thoughts flying. I can’t believe I was about to kill this man, but it had to be done. It had to be, no matter the cost. Even if I was throwing away his music with it.

   I begin to narrate the song in my head, the music flowing through my veins. A little hobby I had on the side of being a “villain” was theater. I loved making dramatic scripts and portraying characters to get out of this dull, blind world, instantly taking their mindset rather than my own. 

   A child gets abandoned by their parents. 

   No…not abandoned.

   I ponder, the music inspiring me, swirling around the room and making a tingling sensation in my mind. 

   A child’s father gets murdered brutally by the same person society calls a “hero”.

  “Too real…” I mutter quietly, biting my lip as the flashback to that terrible afternoon starts.

    She was watching TV. She’d just come home from school, a day after she’d found out a dark secret about her father. Her mother was still at work, the house quiet. The news network was on, and she was about to change it until the headline caught her eye.

   She turned up the volume, listening, terrified at what she’d just read.

   “…that’s how our final battle went. And I remain victorious!” The hero was saying, smiling proudly as his success. His success at killing her father.

   Everyone else was smiling too, as they only saw her father as a villain, even though she knew he was more than that.

   A seed sprouted inside of her. It trapped her, making her feel emotions she’d never felt before. 

   Full of hate. Full of revenge. It pumped through her veins. In that moment she reflected that for once in her life, she knew what her father had felt like.

   I snapped out of my daze, the final chords soft and sweet. 

   “Bravo.” I say, getting up and clapping my hands slowly. “Oh, oh bravo sir Leo.”

   My slow claps echo through the room, bouncing off the walls, going slowly across the walls. 

   My footsteps were silent and soft on the red carpet as I walked up the wooden stairs, the gun now in my hands. 

   “A virtuoso performance, sir Leo, I knew you had it in you.” 

   He was wordless, head low and eyes dark. He was biting his lip, arms limp as he set his violin down. 

   “Why?” He asked, voice grave. Leo looked up at me, eyes wet. “Is this really what needs to happen, Cecilia?”

   I pause, my eyes wide as my arm goes numb. “How do you know my real name?”

  His eyes met mine, even though he couldn’t see them. Instead of answering my question, he asked another one.

   “Is this really what you want?”

  I hesitate, my finger just on the trigger. But then I remember what his son did to me. The pain and tragedy he put me through, and how much I wanted to drag him down into the same state I was in. 

   Desperate. Sad. Devastated... 

   Trapped inside of a mental prison that the little girl couldn’t escape from. That is, until now.

   “Yes. Your son did wrong, and your bloodline must pay.” I say, my voice cold and bitter. “I have no mercy for you, sir Leo. The curtain must come to a close, and this time there won't be an encore.”

   I pull down on the trigger. I laugh, unable to stop the tears streaming down my cheeks. I removed my blindfold, revealing the scar above my left eye. The two brown, sad eyes staring at this man. I strike him right in his stomach.

   He winces in pain, holding his stomach as his knees give out. His breathing is heavy and slow, his eyes blinking slower and slower.

   “Look at the tears he weeps, the blood he sheds!” I yell, smiling as I talk to my invisible audience. The mesh cloth is in my hand as I raise my arms to the ceiling, looking at my invisible audience. “The illusion of his music is shattered! Pity him, for he is gone now!”

   “Oh the tragedy, it moves the very depths of my soul!” 

   I’m really getting into it now, the story spinning itself in my mind like someone crocheting, the climax falling into place.

   I hear Leo murmuring something. I pause my narration to hear him say his final words, taking in this moment.

   “Bravo Cecilia…” He winces, his breathing heavy. A shudder ran through his body as he said his last words. “Bravo…”

   He is soaked in blood now, a puddle forming below him as he takes his final breath and closes his eyes. Then everything stopped. The music, the movement, the sensation of my story…it was gone.

   It was silent and empty, not even the little rats moving in the walls or the empty candy wrappers on the ground. I could hear only my breaths, not anyone else’s. I then realize they’re ragged and shaky, taking in what I had just done.

   I stood still, not daring to move an inch. I’d just done what I’d set out to do for all these years, and yet…I felt so…guilty? Ashamed? Afraid?

   I couldn’t identify this strange sensation, but it took over my body, flowing in my veins.

   The gun clattered to the floor, my hands clammy and sweaty. Scars on my palms from years ago seemed to be taunting me, the horrid childhood memories of the aftermath of my fathers death flooding the mind.

   The smell of alcohol would greet her when she would get home from school. The smashing of a glass bottle making contact with the floor was heard everyday, her mother forcing her to pick up the shards. They cut into the little girl's hands, blood spilling all over the floor. She would get on her aching hands and knees, each shard hurting more than the last. 

   I snapped back to reality, staring at my hands. Scars from years back adorned my sweaty palms, faint but visible. The same hands that had just pulled the trigger, the hands responsible for every little mistake I made.

   I drew another shaky breath. 

   No. This is what I wanted, and I successfully did it. I think, pulling myself together. This is what had to be done.

   I leave the gun on the floor, beginning to walk off the stage. I feel empty inside, as though someone had just stolen my whole life’s purpose. 

   I had nothing left for me. 

   The night sky was empty, the purple and black colors shifting through the huge window that aligned outside the exit of the auditorium. Or maybe I was all the shifting colors, leaving the sky to just be the sky.

   I had done what I’d been working for. Years of searching that originally seemed so meaningful, now seemed futile and pointless. Like it was the final act to a TV show, or a play.

    My pace slowed as I turned around, Leo’s words echoing in my head. 

   “Is this really what you want?”

   Yes. I think to myself. This is what I’d needed. 

   I’d escaped.

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