Flights of Rage, Page 3

was holding. I smiled at him sweetly while aiming at his chest.

  "Goodbye, George. I should have left you a long time ago," I said, and I pulled the trigger. He did not have the time to talk when I shot him twice, thrice... A couple of times until his blood flooded the floor. I took my time to conceal and dispose the evidences. I left him there with his eyes still open, lying on the stone cold floor.

  I washed my body thoroughly, and dressed casually. I have put my gun, my gloves, and my clothes into a briefcase. I hid it under our bed.

  I went out of our house to see my client and I went home by six o'clock. I called the police and cried over my husband's corpse on the phone in his office. The investigators found me sitting on the marble floor, staring at my dead husband's body with tears in my eyes. One of them helped me stand, and put a blanket around me. They had asked me questions, and I answered them with mastery. I asked if I could stay in a hotel. They granted my request, and I prepared my things, including my briefcase, and got into my car.

  It was already dark when I left the house. I checked in a hotel far away from the house that used to be my home. When midnight came, I went out, with my briefcase, to go to the place where it all began -- where I first saw Carlisle, the man I could have been spending the rest of my life with.

  The sky was dark and the stars in the heaven illuminated the night. I sang one of Carlisle's songs as I stood near the riverbank:

  The moon once saw me standing alone

  The stars are shining brightly

  They guided me before you came

  But your eyes shine brighter

  You are the light of my night

  You warm me when the breezes are cold

  Our story will be the greatest ever told

  "Our story will be the greatest ever told," I uttered as I began to bury the sad memories and George's deception to the spot where Carlisle and I first talked.