Midnight Oil

Midnight Oil

         My name is Maxine. That’s all you need to know about me, anything else is unimportant. What is important is that I am about to commit a murder. Not the kind of murder you read about where there is some elaborate trap or subtle poison but murder like it really is. Murder with a shotgun.

         Why you ask? Why would a seemingly nice woman kill another human being? First, I’m not really that nice. Second, the son of a bitch deserves it. He’s out right now screwing the cheapest whore he can find, and I hope he is enjoying himself because when he gets home he will be murdered, by me, with a shotgun. When he turns his key in the lock, I will pull the hammer back. When the doorknob turns, I will take aim. Not high, but low, so that he will suffer. When I see him in the door frame, I will fire both barrels and in the muzzle flash, see the look on his face. He won’t see me or the look on my face because I am sitting here in the dark. I wouldn’t want him to be able to react or duck and then ruin my plans. I want him to die.

         Now you're asking about the consequences. Don’t ask me that. I’m trying not to think about the police or the useless paramedics. I’m trying not to think about the trial and newspapers. Don’t even mention prison. I don’t want to think about it. I want to think about escaping. Escaping to Tahiti or Cancun or Katmandu. I want to think about fucking some bronze tourist guide’s brains out. It won’t matter if he doesn’t speak English. What will matter is that my bastard husband is dead and I am in Egypt. I can hear you scoffing at the absurdity of that scenario. Really, you know that I’ll be caught. I do too. I just don’t want to think about it.

         I want to think about him fucking some slut with his socks still on. I need to keep my anger up. The truth is, I’ve tried this before. He’s come home with strange smells on his clothes and a stupid grin on his face. He’s gone out for food too often and come back with nothing. His cell phone bill has always been way too high. I just bottled it up. Then I bottled it up into a pistol I bought from a gun show. That was a year ago. This year I purchased a double-barreled shotgun for fifty bucks. It was a very good deal and the kind man even threw in some shells. I smiled and gave him my phone number. I owe him a lot, he did help me kill my husband after all. You’re wondering if I have cheated before. That’s unimportant. He cheated first. He cheated with my best friend, on our couch.

         But enough of that, I think I hear a car outside. Headlights are washing through the window and onto my face. I’m sitting up straight and bracing the gun tight into my shoulder. As I hear gravel crunching, I take aim and let my breath out very slow. There’s a knock at the door. Huh? The bastard wouldn’t have to knock, he would have a key. I get up, cross the room, look through the peephole and see my “best” friend looking back in. I quietly unlock the door, tiptoe back to my chair and yell, “Come on in Hannah!”

         I give her a blast at the knees and watch her body flop straight to the floor. She doesn’t even scream she passes out so quickly. I drag her body to the kitchen, close the front door, sit back down in my chair, and I desperately try to think. Why is she here? If she was meeting him, where is he?

WHAT THE HELL IS THAT???

         “It’s a gun Maxine, you said that one out loud.” whispers Dan into my ear. “More specifically, it's your gun, the pistol you left in the bedroom. I’ve been here the whole time, waiting for a chance to catch you off guard. I called Hannah over knowing what would happen, looks like my gamble worked out eh?”

         “Dan, don’t. I love you. I wasn’t really going to do it! I LOVE YO-”

Maxine was silenced by a .38 caliber bullet entering and passing through her spinal column. She didn’t feel a thing.