Black – A short
It was always about the recognition. God forbid I have to do this again. I won’t be able to anyways. I jumped into the smooth texture of the black four-piece suit’s pants. Buttons buttoned, zip zipped, around 50 minutes went by before I was called by my security to inform me my ride was here. I spent another 5 just looking for any missed spots on my style. It had to be perfect. The lights were all put off. I went close to the entrance when my dearest, purred against my new glossy shoes. She knew something was not right. Cats had a thing for luck. It was as if it purred asking me to stay back or maybe it did like it was its last day on earth.
Down in the waiting area, I saw the black metallic painted limo. I got into it and settled into the comfortable back seat. It felt like I was in a business class seat of an aeroplane. Such soft, comfortable feeling. I didn’t want to get off. But the journey wasn’t too long. I was in the limo for about 20 to 23 minutes when it pulled up at this huge gate behind which seemed like a monstrous mansion. The walls of the place were so tall anyone would think twice to find some way to get in. The tall fences were all covered by thick bushes and creepers which made it look as if there wasn’t a fence at all but huge walls made of bushes. There was a very small cabin that was connecting the two worlds, separated by the gate. There, a security guard, all muscled up with a sidearm in the holster right on his waist, came close with a flashlight, asking for identification. The driver opened up to say something which I couldn’t hear. The husky figure of man nodded and he let us into the other side. Half a minute later, we pulled up at the front of the huge mansion, officials deemed as The Morange Mansion, it belonged to the wealthiest family in the state although not a family anymore. Only one person lives now. The only person that matters. The main guest of honour. Not me, if you are wondering. Her.
I was shown inside, with great hospitality like I’ve never experienced, by a manservant or butler, from the looks of it. The first room was quite big and only later did I find out that was actually a useless one that connected other main rooms and the stairways. I was directed to the second room to the left in front of me – the living room. Settees and divans, mostly eccentric or Indian styled, were in the centre while the rest of the living room was more or less like a museum of relics and artefacts. Some priceless painting hung on the walls, I noticed. These God damned aristocrats.
“Miss Kimbellton Dougchant”, said the butler, “will be here in a minute. Please do make yourself at home.” Before he left, he turned back and said,
“And… don’t touch anything in the room.”
Then why even ask me to make myself at home?! I controlled my temper the best I could because I had to meet her whatever the cost. A few minutes later, I heard footsteps. Slow, steady, strong. She’s here, I thought. I pretended to show interest in the artworks in the room.
“God. My God! How wonderful to meet the only investor in the business and my hearty condolence for your family. That was a tragic accident.”
Very tragic indeed, I knew the truth, you can’t hide it from me. Yet, I accepted her words with a smile more facade than her own character known to the outside world. I felt through the left side of my jacket to check it. Nice and easy. You can do it, I said to myself. She turned to walk towards the next room for dinner, for which I was invited. And as calm as a lazy afternoon breeze, I pulled out the silenced pistol that was well hidden beneath my jacket. Safety off. Two shots, point blank, on the back of her skull. Down she fell with a dull thud, her face crashing onto the smooth Arabian or some foreign, imported, priceless rug. Not priceless anymore, you old hag. I went closer to examine the injury. Two more shots on her back just to make sure. And another on her head again, to finish off the ‘fireworks’. The cartridge was suited for six 9mm bullets. One more left. I aimed the gun to my head just as the butler came in to investigate the weird noise he heard. BANG! The 9mm tore through my right and came out through the left. It was spraying crimson red all over. My body felt numb and I fell to the ground, visuals of my past running like flashes in lightning speed. The next thing I remember is myself standing next to my body. Why am I not in hell now? Am I to roam around the world like a lost soul? I kept wondering when I heard some footsteps behind me. Curious, I turned back to find someone standing there in a black gown, head and face covered in a black netted headpiece. She turned to look at me, to which I would have died from a heart attack if I wasn’t dead already. The horrific form of the woman in black came towards my direction, quickly, her demonic teeth – sharp and long, with a wide open mouth – all bared at me. Dark silhouettes crept up from the depths of cracks torn open by something, coming to life (or) death. They joined her and in seconds I was engulfed in the darkness in this afterlife or whatever they call it. Worth it, I would say, considering the fact that I am still able to speak to you from where I am.