Dark, Empty of Life, and Dirty

               The mansion was beautiful. Its two story walls were built with black marble and slight rivers of gold sprinkled down upon it. There were green vines that slightly glazed the mansion’s walls. A yard as big as a soccer field circled the great mansion and a mini lake sat on its left side. The lake was dark, empty of life, and dirty.

                Ronald Stephen McKensey’s eyes grew wickedly wide as he watched the black Porsche appear in his rearview mirror while he sat in his pink and white Toyota. Ronald was a real estate agent and his clients had just arrived. His job? Show them the house and make a sell.

                Mr. and Mrs. Chapman stepped out of their Porsche wearing diamonds on their wrists, pearls on their necks, furs on their backs, and gold everywhere else. They walked slowly up to Ronald and scowled at his jeans, white button up shirt, and stupid black tie with its yellow poka dots.

                Ronald saw their silent insult but the smile remained permanent on his face. “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Chapman! My name is Ronald McKensey and I will be showing you both this spectacular house this morning. Please, come this way.”

                They walked up to the mansion’s cast iron gate and Ronald unlocked it with a black key. Inside the great mansion there was a vast amount of open space surrounding them.  Stone statues, hand crafted vases, and original painting from Michael DeAngelo and Picasso decorated the wall space.  They were standing in a semicircle then suddenly Ronald sprung around with his arms wide as he glorified the house, “isn’t this perfect?” He stopped, walked over to Picasso’s painting of a riverbank and said, “this place has class…just your style right, sir?”

                Mrs. Chapman gave a “hmmp” noise with her throat, turned her nose up and strolled over to the hall’s other priceless items. Mr. Chapman was skeptical. He didn’t just invest his millions anywhere. He looked around the room. “Is it always this dark in here?” he asked Ronald, who was watching Mrs. Chapman from the corner of his eye.

                “No! No, sir!” Ronald was nervous now. He quickly ran over to the few giant windows at the end of the long stretched hallway. As he drew the curtain back he noticed the ancient dusk build up. He spat on the window and wiped as much of the dusk off with his sleeve without the couple noticing. “Just a little sunshine needed,” he said as he returned to the center of the hallway by the door.

                “Well, are you going to show us the upstairs or not? For bloody hell we’ve been standing here for two whole minutes!” Mrs. Chapman spat out.

                Ronald closed his eyes, rolled them, and reopened them. He walked to the middle of the hallway where the staircase was. “Absolutely, ma’am.  I’m sorry for the delay. Right this way.” Ronald swore he was going to hang himself if that stuck up bitch kept asking stupid questions.

                They climbed up the stairs then Ronald showed them the master bedroom. It was fully decorated with a king size bed dressed in its comforter as if the recent owners stilled lived there. “Go on,” Ronald urged, “take a seat on the bed and see how it feels.”

              “As if I would really sit on that old piece of rubbish! We are going to order our own custom made bed! I mean really! It looks like someone died on it!” Mrs. Chapman shouted with her eyes as big as apples.

 Mr. Chapman nodded his head in agreement as he pulled out a cigar from his pocket. He lit it, inhaled, then blew the smoke in Ronald’s face. “She’s right. Now show us the bathroom before I get bored.”

Ronald’s eyes twitched as he gritted his teeth and spoke, “sure..right to your left.” As the couple turned their backs to walk into the bathroom, Ronald slowly followed behind them.  The room was a pearly, marble white and there were flowers aligning the countertops which held the matching white, marble sinks. The toilet was white also and by the far wall held a huge walk in--Ronald reached into his side pocket pulled out his pistol and fired one shot into the back of Mrs. Chapman’s head and one into Mr. Chapman’s back--shower.  Ronald laughed as he reached into Mr. Chapman’s coat and pulled out the keys to his Porsche.

He left the mansion that morning, but he didn’t go far. He locked the front door and the iron gate behind him again and walked to his car. “Piece of shit,” he said to his car, well old car. He drove the car two blocks away and tossed the keys.

He walked back to his new Porsche, sat in it, and waited. Then his eyes grew wickedly wide as he watched his new clients pull up thirty minutes later in an ink black Benz. He’d have to tell them the bedroom was under construction and wouldn’t be shown this morning. Or whenever he could get the Chapmans’ bodies into the lake. Ronald was only glad the Chapmans didn’t ask to see the kitchen.

Ronald got out the car with a permanent smile on his face.