Newton's Third Law of Motion

Merikh. Friday, February 13th, 2015. 11:59. Creede, Colorado. *Flashback*

It’s approximately 10:40pm when I climb down my apartment fire escape. The wind slices through my coat no matter how tight I pull it around my shoulders, screeching in my ears and nearly knocking off the ladder. I cling to the ladder for dear life. It seems strange, thinking back to how desperate I was to not fall off the fire escape, when now I’m plummeting like 160 feet, how the icy, rusty metal had stretched my callouses, how my shin hit the rung, sending sparks leaping across my vision.

            I have to jump from the first floor fire escape down the concrete below. I do. It feels as though both my feet cracked everywhere, sending waves of pain up my ankles and shins. My vision goes red as I collapse on the concrete, scraping my cheek. Any normal person would have given up then, too hurt to continue. But I couldn’t. Ever since Renata died, my heart had been shredded by grief, fury, fear, solitude. I needed to avenge her. I couldn’t save her the night she was killed. I should have known better than to let her walk alone at 2 in the morning around our sleepy, jet black neighborhood. Should’ve kept a closer watch over her. Should’ve gone with her. I SHOULD HAVE LISTENED TO MY INSTINCTS, TO MY HEART, WHICH HAD BEEN BEATING A FRANTIC TUNE IN MY CHEST.

            It’s the failure. I had failed at loving someone. Again. First my father, who divorced my mother and cast us into debt. And now Renata. The guilt, the tiger who would kill for her cubs, claws at my senses. Sick and tired of fighting, I let my anger go unchecked.

            I scramble desperately to my feet. Pain from the impact washes over my ankles and soles, but as soon as the image of my girlfriend flashes into my mind again, my pain senses go numb.

            I run. I was on the track team. My training and instincts kick in. The world shifts to black and white, probably from the nausea, except for the direction I’m heading in. The path is a crimson red flame guiding me through the night.

            I must have stubbed my toes more than 6 times on random loosened chunks of asphalt, but I hobble on, fed by a horrifying, inhumane, thrilling, delightful vision. A vision with blood on my hands, dancing around in triumph with a knife in one of them. Seeing bliss on Renata’s face in Heaven, proud of me for finally doing something for her.

            For a split second, however, the complexion on her face turns grim. Disappointed. Shocked. In that fraction, that unit of infinity, her face hovers strongly in my mind, stronger than any of the nights that I had spent crying till the wee hours of dawn picturing her beauty. The perfect oceans in her irises become the uncertain blue depths of the night sky, her coppery red hair darkens to a golden hued crimson, and her lips turn down in a frown. But this lasts less than a second. I carry on.

*Time of Death for Arsen Ichtacas was pronounced later by detectives to be around 11:03 pm.*

            I stand perfectly still. Not a muscle twitches. My right hand, once numb and stiffened by the cold, is warm and wet with crimson liquid. It’s not my blood. There’s a corpse with a knife lodged in his throat lying in front of me. I must have been the one to put it there. But I don’t remember doing it… why was I out of bed again?

            I look down at my bloodstained hand and clothes. Oh my god. I release a string of cuss words. What the (–) did I just do? I retrace my steps, trying frantically to find my motive. I remember the sting on my feet as I jumped off the fire escape. How the world went black and white except for where I was going. How I picked the lock. I inserted the syringe with the anesthetic. I can’t remember after that.

            Then the grim, haunting image of Renata’s face appears in my mind again. This time, it remains. I had let my emotions go unchecked…

            My entire body shudders. I taste salt and water on my lips. Then my stomach churns, the nausea overpowering everything else. I cough and retch until I have nothing left. I gasp for air. Then I run to the cliff.

            I hit the rock face first, my chest cracking and crumpling, being smashed against the rock. Every single bone curls in on itself, seemingly in slow motion.

Pain never felt so good.

3 more thoughts.

I think I see Renata. There’s a hidden emotion in her eyes. But I decipher it immediately. Forgiveness.

I am a 22-year old cold blooded killer.

I think about how Evey was reborn in V for Vendetta. There is always room for forgiveness after vengeance. Because every action will always create an equal and opposite reaction.

Later, the investigation reveals that Merikh Kabou died at precisely 12:00am, on Valentine’s Day, 2015.