Mr. X's Revenge: From The Grave

9- Impossible

I finished my sangria and left the booth. I was already out and about so I figured, no harm, no foul, I'm going to relax a little bit on the boardwalk. Was I supposed to feel some sort of remorse for having to kill Sam? I wasn't sure. So then the only problem I come to is, how to do it.

Well I could strangle him in is sleep, but how cliche is that? I could, stab him in the chest... again. Cliche. Wait a second. Cyanide! Enough cyanide can kill a fully grown human in.. 3 days! I pulled out my phone and clicked on my Google search bar. 'Where to buy potassium cyanide in Long Beach.'

Bingo. Right on the boardwalk. In fact the store was two shops away from where I was at now. As I entered the store the doorbell rang and a small woman looked up at me and smiled. Maybe Im not crazy, because that lady was Mazikeen. Name tag even confirmed it.

"Hi! How can I help you?" She says.

"Hi, I need to get some potassium cyanide for a science project." She smailed again.

"Of course, about how much?"

"0.55 grams." I replied as genuinely as I could.

"Not a problem, but I just need to warn you that this amount is enough to be lethal so I'm going to need you to fill out this liability form." I smiled.

"Of course." She slid a clipboard across the counter. Line one, name.

Sam Mercies

I filled out the rest of the page and then made my payment and turned to leave, but this woman was nagging on my mind, so I stopped.

"Other than today, have we ever met?" She shook her head 'no'. So I nodded and left.

************************************
"Maryanna, where have you been!?" Sam asks as soon as I enter the door. I ignored him whilst putting up my purse and keys, the tip-toed to the cabinet to get two glasses and a bottle of Chardonnay. "Hello?!" Sam asks sarcastically.

"Hey!" I reply just as sarcastic. "If you must know, nosey, I was out having a drink."

"With who?" He questions.

"Mr. X and I."

"You were out with George?!" I nod  my head. Raising the glasses I say,

"Chardonnay?" Sam nods his head in agreement, and I pour the glasses.

"What did he say?" I stayed on the far side of the counter where Sam couldn't see my hands from the couch. Quickly I untied the little baggie of cyanide and stuffed the folded paper pouch in my pocket.

"He told me some of his back story. Why he kills. You know, same old."

"Your telling me, you had a civil sit down conversation with the man holding your best friend hostage?!" He shakes his head. I at that point had taken my seat beside him on the couch sipping my wine. He covered his face with his hands and the violently scruffed his hair foward. He reached forward and took a big sip of the Chardonnay.

My dad used to call Chardonnay, a dream killer, because that's what he watched his fellow dreamer die drinking. I call it a taste of sweet relief. Without saying a word, Sam got off the couch and went into the bedroom. I raced into my pocket and unfolded the packet of powder, and spilled it into his drink. Just before he re-emerged from the room, I stashed the paper packet in between the couch cushions. He sat down as the last bits of powder dissolved into the wine and he picked up his glass.

I was mentally fighting myself, telling myself this was wrong. This is my husband and I love him. He lifted the glass to his lips.

"WAIT!" I yell.

"What?" Sam looks confused. He should be. Im trying to kill him. My mind still bickered back and forth, and my palms were starting to sweat, I was completely losing my shit. I forced myself onto him and pressed my lips to his, embracing either side of his face. Something snapped inside of me. I pulled away with an evil look on my face.

"I dare you to finish your Chardonnay in one shot." He laughes. My body breaks down. This is not me. This is something entirely different all together.

"Challenge accepted." He lifted the glass once more and I was trying to scream out at him and tell him not to drink it but something beyond my own persons was holding me back. Suppressing me like a disease. He starts to chug the wine and I slowly watch the glass empty. Not a single word escapes my forcefully sealed lips, but a tear escapes my eye.

'Neat trick isn't it, Maryanna? '

It's George.

Sam licks his lips as he sets the glass down on the table.

"Satisfied?"

"Beyond words." I respond. George took advantage of my feelings and murdered my husband. His body is living and breathing right now but in 3 days, he wont be anymore. I begin to cry as Sam leaves the room once more, but this time the tears burn my throat and I regret having ever been born. I regret the day I was diagnosed a dreamer. I regret the day I met Angela, and the day Angela met George. I regret the day I met Sam. If I wasn't around this shit wouldn't be happening. I guess its to late to share some of your poisoned Chardonnay with me isn't it Sam?