It was an anger so thick and powerful-- a rage that made my hands shake violently and my eyes stare coldly ahead at the object of my hatred. The fury had taken hold of me and I no longer thought rationally; instead delusional whispers of the loathing spoke from the lips that had once uttered sweet words.
The city’s darkness, speckled with fluorescent lights, stretched above me. The city never slept, but it did turn its head away from all which it deemed unworthy. In that same way, I should have turned my eyes away from the subject of my fury. Instead, I killed her.
She was tall and slender, with blonde hair-- the gift of her stylist. She had a job with one of the most successful real estate companies in New York, and she seemed to have everything I’d ever wanted. Above all, she had Dean.
My eyes cast down at the puddle of scarlet that trickled like an endless faucet from the tears in her flesh. Her abdomen was ripped wide open, and there was a ragged gash in her forehead. The crimson stained a thousand strands of hair as it pooled on the filthy pavement of the alley. Her eyes had remained open during her sudden death, and they seemed to stare up at me. I reached down with a trembling hand and closed each lid.
By some unconscious instinct, my legs drew strength from the ground. They carried my body around the corner, up the steps of Dean’s apartment. I couldn’t wait to tell him what I’d done. I knew he’d be so happy we were finally free.
I ran my finger down the resident list and pressed the button for apartment 4D. No answer. I pressed the buzzer again. He must be out. I sank down against the glass door, my knees clasped to my chest, waiting. I think I drifted off to sleep, because the next thing I remember was Dean leaning down over me, his large hands shaking my shoulders, calling my name.
"Julia! What are you doing here?" His voice was deep and husky.
Silence. I stared up at the man-made stars that filled the rectangular windows of towering skyscrapers. I stared ahead, my eyes glazed over.
He asked again. "Julia? Are you okay?"
His deep brown eyes caught my iced blue gaze. His forehead was creased with concern, and the corners of his mouth were still, tense. I stretched my trembling hand up to touch his cheek.
"I did it, Dean." My eyes clouded over like the fog at the top of a fairy tale castle. "Now we can be together forever."
He must have sensed the significance of my simple speech, but he was reluctant to understand its meaning. He jumped back as if he had been slapped by the intensity of my words. He ran his hands quickly along his arms, trying to warm away the chills that had accompanied my news. He turned away from me and started pacing the sidewalk.
"I don’t understand, Julia. What did you do?"
A catty cascade of laughter erupted from my lips. My strength was returning. "I killed her, Dean. . . just like we’d planned." My right hand clasped the wrought iron railing that ran along the staircase. I pulled myself up, onto my feet. "Don’t you remember?"
He had a puzzled expression on his face, but then the dark evening came back to him. It was a Friday night and we were sitting in the corner table of the Globe, the revolving restaurant atop the Nigel building. We were on our second bottle of Burgundy, and the numbing effects of the wine had convinced our bodies that we were more than an affair of convenience; we were a couple in love, with one tiny problem: his 5’ 4" wife.
That night we decided that we wanted to be together for eternity, and we hatched a scheme to get rid of her. He was influenced by the alcohol; he didn’t know what he was saying, but I meant every word. Talking and laughing, we stumbled back to the hotel. That night was wonderful, but as he slipped from the bed, the effects of the alcohol had faded and he told me he couldn’t see me again. He had to support his wife; she was three weeks pregnant.
"I couldn’t stand to lose you, Dean," I whispered as I leaned against the staircase railing. "I couldn’t let her have you."
He stared at me, unblinking, as if he were in shock. "Julia. . ." His voice trailed off into his thoughts. In the distance, barely audible, a siren wailed. Though not uncommon in the crime-stricken city, it had a strong effect on Dean that night. He shook his head and seemed to snap out of his daze.
"Come on, Julia," he coaxed, pulling my arm. "Let’s get inside."
A few minutes later, I was in Dean’s shower. He said it would calm me down, and he was right. The hot steam seemed to fill my lungs and evaporate my tension. Everything was perfect; Dean’s witch of a wife was dead, and now we could be together.
I leaned my head back and rinsed the shampoo from my hair. At first the only sound was the stream of the shower, but then I heard a strange murmur through the thin walls. It was Dean’s voice. . . but why would he be talking to anyone?
My curiosity aroused, I stepped from the shower, water streaming from my hair down my body and onto the hunter green bath rug. Two matching towels hung on the rack beside the shower, monogrammed in white. I took his wife’s towel, the one monogrammed HLS. She wouldn’t need it anymore.
The walls of the apartment were thin enough that I could hear his voice, but I could not discern the words. I cracked the door and peered out into the hallway. I could not see Dean, but I heard him; he was in the living room, hurriedly talking in a hushed voice.
"She’s crazy, I swear. . . I don’t know why she did this. It’s all her fault. This wasn’t planned, really. . . she’s just insane. . ."
At first, I didn’t realize what he was talking about. After all, I was perfectly sane. I had planned this, methodically. This was not the work of a crazy woman; I knew exactly what I had done. At the same time, I knew that Dean was talking about me.
My face grew stern, flushed with fiery anger. The man whom I’d trusted, whom I’d killed for had betrayed me. I would make him pay for every lie he’d uttered from his soft, beautiful lips.
I pushed the door open quietly and padded with bare feet down the carpeted hall. The rage was so intense that I could not think conscious thoughts. Perhaps that was the point where I broke through the thin ice of insanity to the dark, twisted world beneath it. I operated purely on instinct.
To the left at the end of the hallway was the kitchen. Dean was in the living room on the right, pacing back and forth before the window with his eyes staring out the landscape, the phone held in his left hand. He had his back to me; I turned into the kitchen. My hands were still and determined as my fingers clasped around the wooden handle of the carving knife. I pivoted and stalked deliberately toward his vulnerable back.
"Please, come right away. . . I can’t deal with this. . . I can’t deal with her. . . She’s so crazy. . . I don’t know what she’s going to do next. . ." He was caught between feeling frantic and impatient, his fingers tapping nervously on the windowpane. I was right behind him now, my stiff fingers locked around the knife. "Please. . ." he repeated, pleading into the receiver.
I was just inches behind him, my breath hot upon his neck, the knife raised high above his scalp. I tilted my head to the side and whispered huskily into his right ear. "Hello Dean."
He swiveled around to face me, the phone from his left hand falling to the floor. In one swift motion, my arm flew forward and the knife plunged through his right eye into his brain. I watched in curiousity as his emotions revealed themselves in his left. First came surprise, then anger. . . clouded by the deep anguish of debilitating pain. I drew the knife from his eye, dripping with fresh blood.
His hands flew to his face and they were immediately drenched with the blood that gushed from his eye socket. He fell to his knees, then slumped face-up on the white-carpeted floor. I watched, fascinated, as his life escaped, seeping into the shag. His mouth moved slightly as if to protest, then ceased. I bent down and kissed his limp, bloody lips.
My heart died with him, as did all traces of remorse and emotion. I sank down on the floor by his body and clasped my knees to my chest. In the distance, I heard the sirens again.
This time, they wailed for me.
