the emptiness :: l.s.

Part Nine: It's Happening Again, It's Happening Again

As I strolled back to the home I, honestly, didn't want to enter, I continued seeing images of Louis in windows, his gorgeous face enveloping my pupils with a look of lust. I passed a great amount of shops, as well as the barber shop, to see Louis once again, this time a beautiful, shy smile plastered upon his porcelain face.

He waved at me in a coy fashion, bringing his head back, the throat that belonged to himself slitting as The Thespian appeared, laughing over his fallen body. I ran and ran, hoping to find his image again, staring at windows like a madman, in everyone's eyes, but no sign of him. No sign at all.

Things felt completely off. Familiar faces gave me disgusted looks as I would pass them. Too familiar faces. Could it be true that the innocent people I had killed for no reason, once or ever, had come back and reunited with their loved ones? It couldn't be. If that's the case, why didn't my beloved Louis come back to me?

Am I not forgiven?

And as those memories of the murders passed through my mind, the pub did the same. The horrible scene that shouldn't have happened in the first place. How could I have done that? How?

Could the murders not even be known?

I don't want to be a memory.

But somehow my feet led me to the pub where the terrible incident had happened. But this time, it was filled with more laughter, smiling faces, piano playing, people drinking their sorrows away and having great times once more, no sign of my disgusting masterpiece. None at all.

I walk in, ordering another whiskey as I chug the small glass down, before rimming the glass with my pointer finger, honestly, thinking about the past things I have done recently. Things I obviously regret.

And most of all. Did I love Louis enough? He obviously loved me too much. And I won't lie, he did drive me to a great amount of insanity because of that, but in a good way. Not to an extent that my murders were his fault. Because they weren't. It was The Thespian's power over my emotions. He did this. It's his fault.

And as I leave the pub, every last movement becomes frozen, Louis' image appearing once more through the window, where his face is filled with worry and sadness, his eyes producing more tears than mine have for the last few days, his lip being bitten by his two front teeth as his voice cracked, the five words I would have never wanted to hear. "You let him kill me."

And then he vanished with a fall.

I really didn't love him enough.

Did I?

This has become far too clear. The puzzle is solved, completely. I'm never going to live with peace again. All I can ever think when something horrible happens is why it has happened. Why? How far am I from repair? How long shall this take to heal again? To live a tortured life without my husband? To actually be able to inhale a fresh amount of oxygen? To live? To love? Where is this all going to go?

And how has The Thespian managed to alter my thoughts into thinking I'm crazy enough to kill my own husband, the one I have ever truly loved? The one I couldn't go without? I had become crazy, eventually. But that reasoning was because I didn't have Louis by my side. It's true.

And as I eventually make it back to the home that smells all too familiar, looks too familiar. Looks too empty, sounds too empty. Sounds too broken. I slip on my coat, after ridding the dead man's, and taking over my own body, rather than The Thespian doing that work for me, and set off for my new purpose, before I join my sweet BooBear:

To kill the man who killed Louis.