THE END OF THE ROAD by Natasha Preston

A story written in realtime during the Nibfest weekend 12th - 14th April 2013

By Natasha Preston 

He stood looking down at the street below from the third floor, waiting. It wouldn’t be long before Jason would appear, he was sure of it. He had done everything he had been instructed to so far, he wouldn’t falter now.

Jason: bastard, philanderer, murderer, traitor.

It was a little less than two hours ago that he’d seen the bastard last; at the house Jason had shared with his wife, Beth. A house which had once been filled with fun and laughter; a house that he and his own wife, Clarissa had spent many nights at, a house now burned to the ground.

He had watched the bastard standing in his back garden as the hot amber flames licked at the walls. The sound of Jason and Beth’s two howling Labradors still lingered in his memory: Jason had wept as he heard his pets begging for help.

The fire fighters had arrived fast, but it was too late. Petrol fuelled the fire, and it took over in minutes. Heat poured out from the building, and he could still feel it pricking his skin. He had watched Jason staring at his house, and had felt such great satisfaction it had scared even himself. He could barely believe he would enjoy causing someone else so much pain, but after Jason and Clarissa ripped his heart and his seemingly perfect life apart, he had little humanity left. He simply did not care anymore.

Jason had been his friend for almost twenty years. He was the one who had introduced him to Clarissa, and the best man at their wedding. If there was one friend he thought he could count on, it was Jason. When he’d caught him with Clarissa, it broke him. His life was stripped away in an instant, and he was left falling into the darkness.

Clarissa was the perfect wife. She took care of him, cooked his dinner, and never complained about him working late. In return, he’d supported her as she tried to make it as an artist. They’d worked well together. They were a team and deeply in love, or so he thought. Knowing she wanted another man, his friend, tore his heart to shreds. 

The memory of that day, the day his life ended was still fresh in his mind. Chic Freak was a shop his wife had adored, and he had planned to buy her the lace lingerie she wanted. When he’d arrived he’d spotted her with his best friend kissing on the black velvet sofa.

Revenge; revenge was what kept him up at night; it was the only thing on his mind night and day. It wasn’t enough for him to just divorce Clarissa and cut off his friend. They had broken him. He was dead. There was nothing else that could possibly make him feel any better: revenge was all he had left.

For the last two months, he had meticulously planned how he would make them both pay and now was the moment.

Clarissa was dead. As instructed by phone call, Jason had pushed her from a bridge the morning before the fire. He had been present at the time watching at a distance, and he didn't bat an eyelid as his wife fell into the icy water. In that moment, Jason had chosen his own wife, Beth over Clarissa.

The affair that ruined his life had meant nothing to the bastard, and now he wanted Jason to have nothing left. He wanted to take everything from him, and he wanted to be there every step of the way. He had followed him back from the bridge. The smell of freshly washed clothes lingered long after he’d passed the launderette. In the dead of the night, he could still hear the clattering from the café, similar to the canteen at the station. Every single part of that day had been burned into his memory, the sights and sounds evocative of the day.

Jason came into view. He looked exhausted, hunched over, panting, leaning heavily on his knees. A sadistic smile swept across his face as he saw how down and out Jason was, and in that moment, he knew he had won. Jason had nothing left. His own wife now knew about his affair. His house was ashes, and the only clothes he owned were the ones that clung, sweat drenched to his back.

He picked up his mobile and dialled Jason’s number. It took him just seconds to pick up. Neither of them said a word, but they didn’t need to, he already knew what he had to do to get Beth back. The bastard had a choice now: his wife or himself.

Hanging up, he watched Jason reach into his coat pocket, smiling as he saw him pull out the six-inch dagger that had been left in his post box for his use.

His heart started to race as he saw the light reflect of the blade. Soon the philanderer would feel as much pain as he had felt when he’d seen them together. Jason looked up as if he knew where they were. Perhaps he did, but that didn’t matter. Jason believed Beth’s life was in danger so he would never cause a scene or call the police. Who would believe such allegations against him anyway?

He watched Jason take a deep breath and extend his arm. His heart rate spiked as the bastard drew his hand back sharply and doubled over the blade. Closing his eyes, he pictured the knife piercing through his skin, blood gushing from the wound, the way it did in horror films. He knew better than that, of course, but he enjoyed the thought too much to allow what he knew to interfere.

Opening his eyes, he was just in time to see Jason fall to the hard floor and flop against the building in front of the station. It was only when his arms dropped to his side that he could see the bright red blood seeping through his clothes. It wasn’t as much as much as he had pictured, but it was enough.

Jason clutched his chest. With every laboured breath the bastard took, he felt empowered. Nothing would take back what he had lost, but the end of his and Clarissa’s life healed something inside he never imagined he would have.

As Jason slumped to the floor, facing the station with his eyes and mouth open, he realised it was over.

It was now his time.

Turning around, his eyes settled on Beth. She sat on the chair, tied; a makeshift cloth gag embedded in her mouth. Beth had a good family so she would be okay; he knew that. She deserved a fresh start. After all, she was the only innocent party in the whole mess.

Beth’s tear stained eyes pleaded with him. She had overheard the many conversations he’d had with Jason, and by the terrified expression on her face, she truly believed he would kill her if Jason didn’t do exactly as he had been instructed.

He had wanted to comfort her and explain that it wasn’t going to happen like that, but her whimpers and muffled cries were what he needed to make Jason believe he was one hundred percent serious.

He stepped closer to her, and she whimpered, alarmed. “It’s okay,” he whispered to reassure her. “Shh.”

Reaching out, he removed the gag from her mouth. She would need to be able to call for help soon; he wouldn’t be able to let her go himself.

Beth remained silent, too scared to scream for help. He could tell she desperately wanted to call for someone; they were in a rarely used top floor room at the police station after all. This was a place where she should be safe, be helped. Without uttering a single word to Beth, he placed his helmet, official ID, and mobile phone on the floor and opened the window. His phone contained his last message and full confession needed for the police incident report.

The cool air hit his face, and he closed his eyes. This was it. This was the end of the road. He stepped onto the ledge and jumped into the rain.