East St. Louis
The four-door Kia sedan skimmed the curb as soon as it entered the upscale residential subdivision, aptly code-named "Laconic Cove". It was the sort of area that boasted rows of McMansions flanked by Ferrari, Lamborghini, and perhaps a few Mercedes for the impoverished members of the community. The driver did not hesitate, did not stop, but instead hugged the edge, meandering down the rows of perfectly manicured lawns until the area rounded off, steeply peaking at the edge of an asphalt driveway. The lightbulb-shaped area, for all of its residents and avant-garde security-systems, boasted one major advantage over the other developments, one that made the individual further relax. Eight p.m. would create an unfavorable situation with countless witnesses only hundreds of yards in any direction. And for many cul-de-sacs, the same could be said for ten a.m.. Wealthy retirees would be waking up, perhaps enjoying a cup of coffee, perhaps enjoying it outside in the fresh air. "Laconic Cove" was not a community for retired individuals. It wasn't, and the driver of the sedan knew this. In fact, it had been the simplest information to ascertain. The subdivision consisted of seven mansions with a grand total of 25 inhabitants. 11 of these 25 individuals were adults who were high-ranking executives, surgeons, and other elites. 14 were children of school age. That was precisely why it had to be done now, early on a Tuesday morning when almost no one was at home. There could be no collateral damage, no horrified kids, and most of all, no witnesses. Except for one. And that was about to be remedied.
Jacob Decker had spent his life railing against criminals, doing everything necessary to put down those who had themselves done the same. To Decker, the old man and likewise old-fashioned prosecutor, there was nothing more vile than a criminal pleading. Mercy was not having seven years cut off your sentence but being permitted to die. It was a principle he had spent six decades fighting for, and had been prepared to until the day he died. This morning was nothing out of the ordinary. He woke up in his king-sized bed in his king-sized mansion that faced away from the De Gray Lake. It was a house he loved, not only because of its regality, but also its sentimentality. While being a stone-faced prosecutor, he had raised two children and once had a beautiful wife. They were all gone, each in different ways and for different reasons. But it didn't hinder his ability or desire to cherish every memory. It was sometimes the only way he could believe he was still human and still alive. At the age of 86, Decker was still battling vehemently and hadn't even begun to slow in his crusade. But today was a different matter. It was a Tuesday, which now entailed a day of rest before going back to the grind. Unable to slide out of bed any longer, he slowly sat up and stretched, groaning as muscles popped and began to remember their respective purposes. Only then was he able to stand and to shuffle into the bathroom to start the shower.
The individual parked the car horizontally across the driveway, blocking entrance and exit in case of a mistake. This way, the job could be insured. But it wasn't as if the task was too difficult. It was a 90 year old man, secluded from anyone who could even possibly help him. Being reminded of its simplicity, however, was almost disheartening. It was an unfair advantage, but then again, would poor old Mr. Decker have had it any other way? Once the car was parked, there was no use further stalling the inevitable or mulling over plans, so the key was yanked from the ignition and placed into a deep pocket, concealed deep within the beige trench-coat. In its place was a .380 ACP, one rounded loaded into the chamber. The time was now or never.
After showering, Jacob Decker, decided to shave, knowing fully well that procrastinating it would lead to perhaps forgetting, which would, in turn, lead to looking unprofessional. That was another thing that he simply would not permit. Fifteen minutes after getting up out of bed, the old man was dressed in sweatpants and a sleeveless tee-shirt, making his way cautiously down the marble staircase. After reaching the main floor, he turned and ambled down the primary hallway connecting the main first-floor rooms. About halfway down, Decker froze, his outstretched hand only inches away from the door to the kitchen. Except, something was wrong. He hadn't closed the door the night before, that was almost a certainty. But that didn't make sense. The security system obviously hadn't been tripped, so that meant that entire it was just paranoia, or the old man had hastily opened a door and forgot to close it. Opening the door and stepping through the threshold, time stood still. Each second felt like hours of fear and dread but it all ended quickly. After moments of anxiety and dread, Jacob remembered that the door had actually been closed on account of the painters' advice the preceding morning. Relief flooded through the man as the whole experience began to lose its gravity. Then the phone in the kitchen rang.
"Decker speaking", he said into the receiver, waiting for an answer.
"Dad, you alright"? came the Philadelphian accent belonging to a man who created such a strong emotion within the man that he needed to lean against the doorframe for assistance.
"Yeah, John, I'm ok. How are you? Big '60's coming up".
"Don't remind me", the slightly younger voice said with a small laugh." But Alex called me earlier. Said she's takin' the Jane to see her great-grandfather".
The emotion boiled up on Decker and was only halted by a harsh effort to do so. In fact, it was such a strong effort that the man didn't notice the short pinging of the alarm being tripped, nor the sound of it coming to an abrupt stop a few moments later. The old man, leaning against the inside of the doorframe casted a short shadow over the ground, and by the half-second, a new shadow grew closer. And closer, until it stopped. Then a new shadow rose from the side of the second, filling the gap.
"Dad, gotta go. Stay safe. Love you".
"John, you do the same. Love you too".
" How beautiful", a third chilling voice said from behind the old figure. Then a single gunshot rang out across the kitchen, blasting through the empty neighborhood.
How peaceful the man looked, still smiling even in death. The shot had killed him instantly, as had been desired. The blood had been cleaned and the wound properly bandaged, not to try to save the geezer but to make it less brutal. Then the body was placed on the parlor couch and finally, a white rose was placed on his chest.
"Let the same be done unto you as unto His son".
