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I fired again.
It’s that second shot that makes me a murderer to my mind. The first? I’d been terrorized for weeks at that point, scared past the point of endurance that night, and I can forgive myself for reacting. Maybe anyone could.
I think you can.
But the second bullet… that’s when I adjusted my aim. That’s when I knew exactly what I was doing.
That’s when I sent a bullet straight into the heart I thought would be mine forever.
It was so quiet after. My ears wouldn’t stop ringing, and Duke was slumped on the carpet, his eyes staring. His chest moved up and down in a jerky movement, once, maybe twice. There was a sound in his throat I never wanted tohear again, and I was glad when it was over, when he was still.
I knelt beside him for a while there in the darkness, like I told you. His blood soaking into my nightgown while I waited to feel something. Horror, remorse, fear. Anything at all.
Relief came first. It was over now. I’d never again wake up wondering if this was the day he went too far. And then, a flicker of sadness followed. Not for the Duke he’d actually been, but the Duke I’d thought he was.
But that was it. No shame. No grief. No worry or frantic thoughts of police and punishments, and good god, did they still have the guillotine in France?
It was more like I’d just solved a math problem that had been vexing me, and I wondered if this was what it was to be in shock. That was it, surely.
All those feelings—those natural, human feelings, like grief and regret—would come in time.
Or so I thought.
For now, however, there was one last thing to do.
I went to where I’d left the gun, and moved it to the top of the stairs, taking care to wipe it down with the unbloodied hem of my robe. Then I went back to Duke’s body, wrapping my arms around him, letting more of his blood cover me, pressing my cheek to his so that his blood soaked into my loose hair.
And then I began to scream.
You know the rest, darling. Or you can look it up. That part is less important to the story I’m trying to tell you. There were police (my “Conversational French” from Agnes Scott was sadly inadequate when it came to discussing something like this, it turned out) and of course it was a bit of a scandal, but the official story was that someone had seen Duke flashing hiscash at a seedier casino he’d been in that night in Montmartre, and followed him all the way home with the intention of robbing him.
Duke himself assisted with this version of events by conveniently leaving the front door wide open when he came home, so eager was he to show me his new prize.
A scuffle, a loaded rifle, two panicked shots, the cash Duke’s friends swore he’d had in his jacket pocket that night all missing (tucked inside a hideous china dog I’d bought for Nelle, buried deep in one of my trunks), and there you had it.
Tragic, made more so by our youth and beauty, our clear love for each other. And on our honeymoon, too! Married less than two months.
Did people believe this story, or did Daddy’s money make it go away? I’ve never really known. It doesn’t matter.
I got away with it. That was all I cared about.
It feels good to write that down, I must say. The clear, pure truth of it, no excuses, no explanations.
I had gotten away with murder, and I was glad for it.
Is that enough truth for you, my dear?
-R
AVAILABLE SCHOLARSHIPS
The Duke Edward Callahan Memorial Scholarship was established in 1963 by Mrs. Ruby McTavish Callahan, Duke Callahan’s widow and a generous benefactor to the Preston Boys Academy, her late husband’s alma mater.
The scholarship, totaling $25,000, is presented to a graduating senior who best exemplifies the qualities Mrs. Callahan says were most present in her husband: a love of knowledge, a curiosity about the world, a skilled analytical mind, and, most important of all, kindness to his fellow man.
“While my time with Duke was sadly too short, it brings comfort to know that I can keep him alive with this scholarship to the school that shaped and molded him into the man he became. It is my dearest wish that every recipient of the Duke Edward Callahan Memorial Scholarship will use this opportunity to make the world a better, gentler place.”
––Mrs. Ruby Callahan
