The Deviant

Eleven Fifty Two

Maria stared up the barrel of a gun and into the face of her tormentor, her death would be on her knees today. Her end measured in millimetres and the pressure of a man's finger hovering over the trigger. The taste of metal pressed against her lips, kissing the tip like a sick farewell.

In this line of work you either die at someone else's hand or your own, her father's words interrupting her thoughts. It sat on the tip of her tongue like a bad taste she couldn't spit out. The phrase coating the back of her throat, a thick poison choking any pride that remained.

Two bullets filled the chamber, the trigger clicking as the masked man gambled between shooting Maria or her husband, Alfie. She watched the ammo spin around in the revolver waiting for her number like it was the lottery, the only difference being her life ending at thirty-three and not her lovers.

The gun jerked back to Alfie, the silver weapon engraved with intricate swirls and cursive letters of Pulvis et umbra sumus; we are but dust and shadow. Maria wondered how something so beautifully crafted could cause so much damage.

Fear locked onto her like a hand had grabbed her stomach and twisted it in its hold. The scream building in the back of her throat stilled at the sight of blood. Maria dug her fingers into her thigh, her nails piercing her bare skin as she attempted to distract herself from the pull of her heart. The second man behind her nudged the gun to the nape of her neck, her breath hitching as she realised Alfie took a hit.

The colour red wasn't a rare sight, the patch on the back of her jacket was both a target and a shield. The blood spread through his white shirt, the stain darkening as the fabric clung to the wound.

Eleven fifty-two, the black numbers on her digital watch faded to grey as the battery died.

"Hey, I got you." Four simple words, a phrase he repeated throughout the ten years they had been together.

Maria's gaze snapped up to his amber eyes, reminding her of the warm whiskey he first offered her when she walked into the bar all those years ago. Tears blurred her vision, the ringing in her ears drowning out Alfie's smooth voice. She didn't know how he could be so calm in the face of death.

Blinking away the tears she focused on his pale lips trying to listen to his every word. Her jaw locked, her tongue swelling with all the things she wanted to say but she couldn't move. She flinched as the trigger clicked, "No!"

Alfie's body slammed to the floor, his dark brown curls concealing the entry wound, the bullet buried in the side of his head. Maria closed her eyes, the gun on the back of her neck lifting off and she hung her head, blonde hair shielding her tear streaked face.

The buzzing in her ears cancelled out the two men's muffled voices, the creaky floorboards in the hallway whined as one of them left.

Fingers tangled in her hair yanking her head back, one man remained in the room. His rough hand rubbed the tears from her face, his thumb pressing down on the gash on her chin. She clenched her jaw, swallowing the blood in her mouth.

He rolled the mask over his face and rested it on the bridge of his nose. "Maria, what are we going to do with you?" He whispered in her ear, the dark stubble on his jaw scratching her cheek. Pulling away from Maria, he loosened his hold on her hair and picked the gun up from the bed.

She stared up at the man, the black balaclava shielding his face did nothing to hide his identity. His striking pale blue eyes revealed who the bastard was.

His finger tensed over the trigger and he lifted it up, resting it against his chin and tapping it deep in thought. Maria blinked, a rush of air sweeping her off her knees and onto the stained wood floor. Pain spread through her forehead, the cold biting down on her hairline to feel the trickle of blood trailing down to clump in her eyebrow. She only just registered the gun smacking her in the head before she felt his boot on the back of her neck, holding her down in her place.

Maria's eyes flickered to the body on the floor beside her, blood seeping through her husband's white shirt. She winced as the man's boot pressed into the back of her neck and lifted off. "Fucking scum," he muttered spitting on the floor in front of her face.

The gun fell to the floor beside Alfie, the clink of metal shooting through her as she watched a lone bullet roll around a foot away from her. She remained frozen in her spot until his footsteps faded and the front door slammed shut.

Her body trembled with sobs, the ringing in her ears amplified by the silence hanging in the room. She crawled to her husband, "Alfie," she whispered brushing her hand through his raven hair. Her fingers traced down his nose, faltering on his lips as she leant down to kiss them. His blood coated her lips, the splatter from the first bullet leaving the barrel stained her blonde hair.

She felt the side of his neck, chewing the bottom of her lip as she waited for some life to breath through him. "No, no, no you're not dying on me. You die, I die too." Maria ripped his shirt open and covered the wounds on his chest, the red spilling through her fingertips. She slumped over his body and leant her forehead on his chest wishing to hear the beating of his heart.

Maria scooted away from his body, her hands clawing at the bullet and the gun. "I swear to you they will suffer." She slid down the wall and pulled her knees to her chest.

She patted the pockets of her leather jacket and took out the crumpled cigarette packet, placing one between her lips.

The oversized leather jacket, his.

Swirls of smoke clouded her vision of him, the gritty taste of tobacco coating her lips and filling her lungs with more poison. Her wrists laid limply on her knees, the cigarette between her fingers burning away at her flesh as the fire consumed it. The gun in her left hand was nothing compared to the weight on her heart.

We are but dust and shadow.

Tears rolled down her cheeks, cutting through the thick layer of foundation and she scrubbed them away, the butt of the cigarette falling to the floor. Her fingers wrapped around the gun as she lifted it up and pressed the tip to her throat, her gaze fixed on his lifeless body. "You die, so do I."

Her bottom lip quivered, finger hovering over the trigger as she tilted her head back and stared at the ceiling, there was no God in a place like this.

Boots stomped up the stairs in the distance, the jingle of his keychain hanging from his belt was all she needed to hear, to know who had arrived. She scrunched her nose up, his sweet scent overpowering the smell of cigarettes. The shadow looming over her crouched down, his rough hands covering her own as she clung to the weapon.

She studied the Governor's hazel eyes, unlike his son they held no warmth for her. "Do it, girl. Go with your man." He nodded his head to Alfie, his tongue licking the scar at the side of his mouth.

"Don't be afraid now."