The Reckoning

He hated him for what he had stolen; countless years of love, children, grandchildren. They were never to happen, and may as well have stayed a figment of his imagination, now that she was no longer there. How could he forgive, when his beautiful gem was gone?

They had argued that night, though he no longer remembered what about, and she had driven off in the rain, never to return. He had gone to sleep, determined not to be the one to stay up all night worrying, only to wake up the next morning to an empty house. The police arrived not long after, and his world shattered.

Days, weeks, months went by, as he tried to wrap his mind around the idea that she had-. He couldn’t even think it. There was no way; not his Scarlett. Slowly, the shock turned into silent rage. The tiny dog they’d bought together, only months ago, burdened him with its memories.

He’d found himself hating the yapping thing more and more each day, until one day, the yapping had driven him over the edge. In one fell swoop, he bent down, gripping the beast, and tossed it with all his might. He watched, horrified, as it hit the wall, snapping its neck. Who had done this to him? He had to know! He began gathering information, eventually hiring a private investigator, who had soon quit, weary of his obsession.

The man’s name was Brad. The name itself infuriated him; what could it possibly stand for? Bradley? Bradford? Either way, it disgusted him. He’d found the address soon enough.

She opened the door, hands full of groceries. Bradley would be so happy; she’d gotten all his favorites. She called out for him as she reached the kitchen, eager to see his reaction. A note was found on the counter. ‘In the bedroom…’ Smiling, she shed her coat, then headed for the stairs. But the lover she met there was not the one she had expected.

“You know, I knew there had to be someone else. You wouldn’t put a restraining order on me. I knew.” He sat on the bed, twiddling the gun in his hands. Beside him lay Bradley, eyes wide open, blood still streaming from the hole in his head.

She couldn’t move. There was no way this was happening. She tried to whisper his name, almost forgotten by now, yet no sound would leave her.

“This is who you left me for? This is why you never came back? I’m disappointed, Scarlett. I really am.”

Still seated, he shot her in the leg as she made to run. Eying her as she struggled to crawl away, he shrugged, anger almost fully gone. Standing, he dropped the gun on the bed, in favor of the butcher knife he’d brought up with him.

“You’re next, Scar. And boy, am I gonna leave a scar.” He was the only one to laugh at his little joke. Just like old times.