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... It really happened?
It has been many days now that my rational being is involved in a continual pugilism with unknown pulsions. It has been days that indicible thoughts have been battering me relentlessly. The crane enveloping my brain has been subjected to atrocious throbbing pressures. Over and over with an insatiable will, it hammers the remnants of any clairvoyance. The ramparts of my life tightens up around the minuscule nucleus of what once was, me. The fear would be that it takes over. Then what? Will I finally be subdued and lash out the irreversible or will an existing ray of conscience save me from the sinking in the Coriolis force of Evil? Somewhere, somehow I wish not! The seed of Evil has germinated already, no turning back, it's a relief.
The inexorable has to occur with the ineluctability of a Greek tragedy. To accomplish what hangs up like the sword of Damocles, the sharpest compartment of my cerebral cortex has still to be stimulated. Electric waves. Why? I guess the endeavor requires mint objectivity.
Who I became doesn't interest me anymore. I accepted the invisible entity to choke me. It is comforting to surrender the ties of self-control. I did not decide anymore. It is safe not to cogitate therefore not to be. It is a thin line between fiction and reality. Its reality likely to be reached. The plan is set, the details studied for one last time. Infallibility smiles at me, fires at will. Tonight is the fatidic sentencing. I admire my determinism, my cold blood. Easy, easy.
The room is silent. He sleeps like a baby with intermittent snoring. His breathing bitter and warm. The popping of an opiate derivative ensured the fluid progression of his fate. The tenderness that used to transpire from the image that I had of him vanished for the benefit of a darker object. Dehumanized eyes of mine contemplate quietness, vulnerability. He is so cute! His placid portrait awakens brutally the litigious and tumultuous past, swiftly diluted in a vengeful hatred. Without an hesitation, the stiletto acquired recently at an auction house, pierced the epiderm, plunged in the superior layer, on its way through sectioned the indispensable aorta and shipwrecked in its respective ventricle. As stoned as was his heart, he had a heart.
Can the curtain fall?
Exorbitated eyes, hemoglobin geyser, final convulsion, his grabbing hand sealed their farewell. Such emotions emanated from the picture! Romeo and Juliet would be envious. The impeccable routine of death followed stoically its military course. Step by step. The humidity and the gentle warmth of the blood, splashed on her face, made her brain conscious of her criminal torpor and, mechanically fixed the damages done. A constant pressure of the agonizing ventricle to avoid the effusion (he never had for her) is applied. Fifteen minutes are necessary for the blood to coagulate. A residuum of her favorite "Forensic Files" show.
Packed with velocity in an ordinary plastic trash bag, the corpse is heading against its will, following minutial logistics, to high seas for the pleasure of its fauna. At destination, the North Pacific marine currents will do the rest, will keep the secret. The forty minutes trip to the Marina Del Rey harbor and its ocean will weigh the burden of proof to the opposite party if trial there is.
No body, no trial. It was every investigator's nightmare. But, in most of those cases, the death of one is the revival of the other.
What does urge the quidam to such level of indifference after years of intimacy? Years of abuse, of denial... Her case will be easy to build. She will grant herself the trenchancy of Demosthenes' orations, rhetoric. "I entered a dysfunctional ground, I left happy." will conclude her pleading. She will rest her case. She will be acquitted. No past (record) has always been a clean slate for the future, and always will in the judicial system machine.
But why pondering on the inconceivable?
In case of what?
But it would mean conceding a faulty algorithm in the calculation! I can't afford this luxury!
Sunday night as she stares at the clock with the company of Puccini's Madam Butterfly, one fugitive thought crosses her mind, call his family then the police to justify her concern, to set her alibi. Problem solved. It's been a long time that she hasn't slept that well. At peace at last.
Repetitive phone rings troubled her daily habit but nothing alarming. Passively she will play her hand. After all, she initiated the game. It should be at her advantage. Every data entered spitted out success in her regurgitation of the event.
Banging on the door. Undoubtedly the cops' signature. So predictable! After a short introduction, the development became laborious in its factual reconstruction. Twenty-four hours elapsed and no news. Sad report but life must go on, mustn't it? With a monachal discipline, she would convey strict and minimal information concerning the potential victim. When it comes to the disappearance of a person, his closest circle is the first on the hot spot. She was aware of it. And since she was the last one seeing him, the pressure will be on her. Nothing that she can't manage.
The last time I saw him? Sunday morning on his way to work or so he said.
What do I mean? He was always confounding and burying himself under perjuries. Months ago, he stated that his status as a part timer did not allow him the extravagance of extra working hours, and lately three times in a row he left to work extra-hours on Sundays. How would any razor-witted mind analyze and comprehend the info?
That's a motive, there, for murder! It is only an assumption! Never verified!
Let's not go astray. Where was he going? No idea, I wish I knew, he was, he is very secretive, very evasive. Hesitation. But one day, I found a receipt reflecting a financial transaction in pesos. Mexico is close by. For few bucks, you descend the vertiginous slope of forbidden pleasures or Baudelaire's Artificial Pleasures if you will.
She definitely was leading them. Does it help? (Simpering). She hoped than none of the detectives noticed her lapsus. But a sudden non verbal exchange between the two men hovered no doubts as for the use of the past tense signification in her sentence. She caught it in its impetus. The harm was done.
The humorous tone of her "guilty as charged" failed the attempt to ease the suspicious atmosphere. To anticipate any indepth requisitions, she acknowledged the obligatory 24 hours notice before any police involvement, before any investigation. And if investigation there is (isn't it what was happening now?), it opens the door to the possibility of a crime, doesn't it? Few scribbles on their pads convinced her of the cold case. She would make sure that nothing substantial could quench their thirst for inculpation. After all, innocent until proven guilty beyond reasonable doubt is the standard of law!
The extensive and noticeable touring around the neighborhood assessed of the discretion and quasi inexistency of the tracked individual. He was already a ghost, I just accelerated his destiny in the time space continuum. Only the next door tenants reported of domestic disturbances to substantiate his being. The building manager's witnessing, corroborating their affirmation, asserted to their eyes the probable cause.
The unfamiliar premises of the local police precinct destabilized her cocooned environment. It is the asserted objective. The exterior agitation displayed the feverish activity. Left alone in the interrogatory room, it augured the next step to her future. The exiguity of four impersonal and cold walls? And, or the peaceable solitude?
You were said of domestic problems in your relationship! Nothing unusual there, detective. Who doesn't?
To the point of calling the police? I guess this probability is rarer. The manager exonerated me though, and the police threatened us in case of a recidivation. We both got the lesson. Look at our record as white as a linen sheet!
She referred to physical altercations.
Why aren't we surprised? Self-defense nothing else! He is violent. United in the best and the worst. He is at least 6"10 feet. I am 5"5. Do the math. She thought that her statement had to be rectified, "only for the best" summarized the general idea.
And since? Puerile arguments but definitively nothing consequential or of such a scope!
What were the subject of your arguments? Anything and nothing.
Can you be more precise? I don't know! What about him looking at other girls? Being disrespectful? Being selfish? I am sure that yourselves, you've experienced your partners' ire based on the same critics. Does it make you a criminal as a result? La moutarde monte au nez. Listen either you bring something tangible on the table, either you let me go! So far, they are only conjectures! Shall I call a lawyer?
The lack of evidence against her precipitated her case in the cold case dungeon. She left the division light-hearted, conscious of their weighting and disapproving glances. Her imperious face smiled internally. Deep down, smothered laid the truth. Its ties of imprisonment strong. But who cares, enough reflection, she admitted her perfect crime. The walls of her fortress were impregnable now. "Who could have imagined her reach such extreme?" could have been one of the Los Angeles Times titles in its "society" column. She acquiesced. Her fifteen minutes of stardom. Her guilty thrill.
To commit a perfect crime, you have to be denied of a conscience. What are the instances for this allegation to be veridical? Mentally impaired would be one. The number of chromosomes is a variable to be considered. Excessive intelligence would account for two. I will elect the latter to argument.
What will determine it?
Rational mind at its purest state cleared of any obstacles like emotions. Consequently it would only repose on Cartesian logic. Cognition being the only driving force. Cogito ergo sum.
Does it imply therefore to be devoid of humanity? I guess.
What great achievements will come out of such minds! Mine among others... Didn't I complete it?
(All characters are existent and I have to acknowledge to my great despair that it may put into light, to the example of former IMF chairman DSK, a forthcoming future that will lead to my fall.)