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Wednesday
Found some beer in the back of the fridge. Smells funny but it will have to do. Tuesday was miserable. Without alcohol I was up all night thinking of Raskol. The image of his dorky, happy face falling to its death…
I opened the first can of beer.
Thursday
10:00 pm and I’ve stopped throwing up skunked beer. Probably because I ran out of stuff to throw up. It was a nice distraction.
Friday
The ass-print on my couch officially has its own area code.
Saturday
Out of alcohol again. Out of vomit. Either going to sink into my couch and become one through symbiosis, or get even.
I opened up the planner I’d stolen from Riley’s. It had been exactly a week since I’d taken it. The odds of it still being accurate were slim, but it was all I had.
According to the planner, the next day Morris would be at the continental breakfast at a downtown hotel. I shut the book with a new, blacker determination on my mind
Raskol, my rape—it couldn’t all be in vain.
Mitch Morris needed to die.
The thought was crystal clear as I watched him across the street, eating Sunday brunch as if it was any other day. I supposed to him it was any other day, though. He wasn’t battling with crushing grief. His psyche wasn’t sinking into charcoal. He was just eating his goddamn eggs and sausage.
Every Sunday Morris ate brunch with his family. Sunday he took off, because it was the Lord’s day. His election offices were closed, or at least that’s what Morris led you to believe. Morris closed the office on Sunday because he liked to make a show of taking the Lord’s day off. In reality his PR team was always working and so was Becca Riley.
My fingers inadvertently twitched the trigger of my gun at the thought of Riley. I used to think my mission would be complete once Morris was ruined, but now I wasn’t so sure. Morris truly was Hydra. Cut off one head, and another emerged. I glared at him as he shoveled eggs
into his mouth. Once he was dead, I would have to cauterize Becca Riley.
Perhaps it wasn’t the most compassionate thing in the world to kill a man in front of his children and wife, but I was through with compassion. I was through with caring. I knew I needed to end this man before his dry rot spread beyond Utah. He was like a fungus that spread with wind; if I didn’t stop him now, he would infect everything.
Raskolnikov was the straw that lit my haystack on fire. I wasn’t going to spend any more time attempting to frame a man as vile as Morris. The most compassionate thing I could do for Salt Lake City was end Morris.
I watched him eat brunch, laughing with his wife and children as he made the salt and pepper dance. Morris had no idea that one building over his forgotten regret sat lurking, waiting. I felt like the nameless shooter perched behind the grassy knoll. In my darkest dreams, assassination had never crossed my mind, yet there I was with my self-defense gun, aiming it at the head of Morris.
Life really had been turned upside down.
Just as I was about to pull the trigger, a creeping sensation spilled down my spine. I didn’t have to turn around to know I wasn’t alone. I could feel it by the hairs standing on end and by the way every sound suddenly dimmed to nothing.
I was caught.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Law roared, pulling me from the window of the abandoned storefront and throwing me against the decayed walls. Bits of the tiled roof fell on my head on impact.
“None of your business.” I pulled my arm from Law’s grasp, rounding on him before he could respond. “How the hell did you even find me?”
“Why won’t you let me help you?” Law grabbed both my shoulders, forcing me to meet his eyes.
“I don’t need help,” I said, averting my eyes. I struggled to pull free of him, ripping my shoulders from his grasp again. I looked through the window to see Morris and his family getting up from their brunch. Fuck! I kicked a loose piece of debris. I’d missed my opening.
“What you don’t need is to go full kamikaze on this!” Law yelled. I glared at him. I’d had enough of him and his righteousness. He had no inkling of what I was going through. He didn’t understand the black quicksand pulling me under. Law saw me like others saw endangered tigers at a zoo. They watched through plexiglass, always safe from danger but close enough to feel like they were doing something.
Grabbing my gun and shoving it into my bag, I attempted to brush past him when he said, “There are other ways to get revenge.”
“True revenge consumes the spirit,” I whispered, eyes trained on the exit.
