The Split Ficlet (another relic)

[donteatpoop]

His Side
Condemned

I once again pulled out the packet of photographs given to me by the private investigator. As I flipped through them again and again I felt a stabbing pain deep in my chest, but I knew it had to be done. I forced myself to examine each photograph closely. As painful as it was I tried to recreate the scene in my head.

I noticed something in the last photograph, something that I missed before. She was wearing the pearl necklace my mother gave her right before she died. A look of depraved pleasure on her face and the pearls once worn by my angelic mother draping off her neck.

There was no longer any doubt. I knew I had to kill her.

I checked myself in the mirror before I got out of the car. I didn’t want it to look like anything was amiss. Aside from the fear behind my eyes I figured I looked okay.

After stepping out of the dodge I started taking steps to the front door of her home. My legs felt like jelly.

It was a pretty big house, I’d been here three times before, but I was amazed at the size of the place on each visit. I stood there for a minute collecting myself, swallowed hard, and knocked on the door.

The door swung open and she stood there with that damned charming grin of hers. That same smile she used anytime she wanted to exert the extent of her control over me. It worked every time.

But not this time. And by the look of her, she knew it. I stepped in and she subconsciously backed away to grant me entry.

"Hello Sophie," I said, doing my best to seem non-chalant about things. I could tell I wasn't doing a good job at it. I'd never been a good liar.

Her smile took on a nervous edge to it. She knew something was wrong. I just hoped I could get this over with before she understood everything.

"Hi, Grant," she said meekly.

I realized that I should have just drawn my weapon and fired upon her right then and there. I should have gotten it over and done with. But I'm a sucker for the deep blue oceans in her eyes.

Maybe there was something I could do. Maybe she didn't have to die. It's funny how resolved I was before I walked in and looked at her.

I interested myself in the stone hexagon and square pattern on the floor. It was colder than I was, but I knew it should not be that way. If this was to happen, I would need to be just as cold as the stones.

A glance up told me she was still wearing the necklace.

"Do you have a drink? Something hard?" I asked.

“Of course,” she said as though nothing was wrong. Her hip brush against my hand as se moved past me, I had to resist the urge to caress her side. “I’ll pour, and you can tell me what’s wrong. OK?”

I nodded, but I couldn’t tell her what was wrong. I followed her into the kitchen. She opened the cupboard and stared at it for a minute. I caught a whiff of her hair as I stood behind her. That fruity stuff she always used. I was going to miss that smell. I briefly wondered if the man she was with appreciated the scent of her hair.

She turned around and met my eyes. Her jaw dropped and there seemed to be genuine concern in her voice when she spoke. “Grant, talk to me.”

I looked anywhere but in her eyes, finally stopping on a set of knives. How appropriate. I began laughing like a madman. Then my eyes met hers and I shook my head. I didn’t have a choice here. I had to do it. Not just because of the way she used me, but not following through on this assignment could mean my life.

“Oh Sophie,” I said, trying to keep the sorrow out of my voice. “What have you done?”

I reached for my gun, expecting it all to end right then and there in some way or another. In truth I don't know whether I would have shot her or not. I may have stood there quivering in the intensity of her eyes.

It didn't matter. Sophie made a decision for me. With my arm half extended, my body told me it was falling and that she had pulled the high bar seat right from beneath me.

My body twisted to protect itself from the impact with the floor. I couldn't see anything but I could tell that Sophie's soft body and heavy heartbeats were no longer in the room.

She was fleeing for her life.

[donteatpoop]

Her Side

This day is so boring, I thought. All I could think of was the past three weeks. So much had been happening - almost like all of the drama from my younger days had been repackaged and compressed into a small timeframe.

I tried to keep myself busy. I must have taken a shower three times and listened to my messages ten. Of course I checked the box every time I imagined I heard something. It was nice to hold.

I have no clue what I'm still doing here. I should be doing something.

I heard his car coming and hid the box under my bed. He’d be so angry if he knew all the things I hadn’t told him.

Old alliances die hard, old dalliances are not soon forgotten. He’d never understand the way things are- the way things have to be.

He knocked on the door. I stalled allowing myself time to check the mirror. He would come in and everything would be normal. Right? I tossed my hair over my shoulder and put my hand on the knob. I forced a big smile that reflected back to myself as weak and wobbly. I tried again and managed a semi- dazzling grin.

I took a deep breath and pulled open the door. A chill raced down my spine, something had changed in him. Something in him had changed, and that changed everything.

It was too late to push him back into the street. He was inside my house, moving from room to room. I’d opened the door and let in the storm. I just didn’t know then how bad it would get. I closed the door and pressed my head against the wood.

“Hello Sophie,” He said, trying to hide the slight quiver in his voice.

“Hi Grant,” I responded meekly.

He stared at me for a bit, not saying much of anything. He seemed conflicted. His eyes eventually settled on the floor and he stared there for a long and uncomfortable amount of time. If only I could figure out what was going on in his head.

Think fast, keep my cool. I’ve been in sticky situations before it was easier with no nasty emotions. They’d warned me it would be this way if I got attached to someone “outside.” Grant had been special he’d seeped into my heart before I even knew what was happening.

"Do you have a drink? Something hard?" Grant asked. I wanted to reach out to him, to brush the hair out of his eyes. I suspected he might not like it.

“Of course,” I said letting my hip brush against his hand as I moved. It tightened confirming all my suspicions faster than words ever could. “I’ll pour, and you can tell me what’s wrong. OK?”

Grant followed me. I opened the cabinet and belatedly remembered my best scotch had gone to Owen at the meeting. Grant was so close I felt my hair tickle his nose.

Seagram’s was all I had. I turned to ask if he’d prefer Wild Berries or Tahiti Sunset and saw his tears. They slipped down his cheeks but he made no sign that he was aware of it. I was scared for him.

“Grant, talk to me.”

His eyes darted wildly around and settled on the knives I kept under the window. I followed his line of vision when I looked back he was staring at me. That’s when I noticed the pistol tucked under his shirt into his pants. I had to wonder: was he here to kill me?

He laughed for a bit, a sad and maniacal laugh. His laugh ended abruptly and his eyes met mine. His mouth did one of those half frowns people make when they are disappointed. He shook his head. He had a resolved look in his eyes, as though he had reached a decision.

“Oh Sophie,” he said, “What have you done?”

His hand began moving towards his gun. I tensed. I had to be ready to make my move.