tagNon-EroticSam's Short Dark Tale

Sam's Short Dark Tale

byPacoFear©

"I remember you. You're the girlfriend," Jon slurred drunkenly from the couch when Samantha appeared silently in the doorway of the living room and removed her sunglasses. Sam just nodded. They were in his shitty rundown apartment in a particularly seedy downtown neighborhood. He didn't wonder how or why she'd gotten there or why she was wearing a platinum blonde wig. He might have thought he was dreaming or hallucinating. Jon was drunk and/or high and looked like shit, which means he looked just like what she thought of him. She pulled a 9mm pistol from her shoulder bag.

"Come for revenge?" he smiled weakly, "I guess that's fair."

"No, it's not 'fair.' It'll never be 'fair,' " Sam seethed, then regained a grim, cold composure, "and this isn't revenge or vengeance or justice. It's not even punishment. This is theft. Here's why: you're not a person anymore. Not to me. You stopped being human when you killed someone I loved. You're a thing. And when I take away a thing, that's theft."

"Jesus, just shoot me and get it over with... I don't want to live anyway."

"Can't just kill you Jonny, Sweet Peter might take pity on you at the Pearlies," she chambered a round, unflicked the safety, and removed the clip. It left just one bullet in the live gun. It would suffice. "You're going to kill yourself and I'm going to help. You're doing it with a bottle anyway. I'm just here to speed things up. Plus, I know you're Catholic like me. Ex-altar boy right? For us, suicide is a bad, bad thing, isn't it?"

"Come to think of it, I guess 'wrath' is a sin too. Difference is, I'll have time to make amends," Sam mused as she walked up to him, still sitting on the couch, and simply pushed the gun's muzzle into his mouth. She took his hand and wrapped the gun in it, threading one of his fingers through the trigger until he held it in his own mouth loosely. She let go and backed up to kneel by his feet. She focused on his face intently, built up a little understanding of him in her head, piecing together what she knew and what she could guess until she had what she needed.

"They never actually loved you," she started in a soft, purring voice, "Your family, I mean. You know that right? I mean, if they'd ever loved you they wouldn't have left you when you needed them most. They abandoned you the minute you were arrested and charged. That was pretty cold. Were you surprised when they wouldn't return your calls even after you were acquitted? Maybe at first, but you figured it out eventually."

Jon's eyes widened.

"Here's what you realized... you were always a loser. Deep down inside you've known it for a long time too. Nobody with a condition like yours, and who knows about it, drinks that hard anyway. Killing my Stephen that night just made it obvious to everyone around you and gave your family an excuse to get away."

He sobbed quietly.

"You're a worthless piece of shit," Sam growled louder, "that somehow snuck around disguised as a husband and father for a few years. Your wife never shed a tear when she packed and left. Your little girls are already forgetting about you, the littler one won't ever remember your face. The next guy will be her 'Daddy.' He'll be the one who gives her away at her wedding years from now."

He was choking on tears now.

She paused to let it sink in, then smiled coldly, "Nobody cares about you Jonny and you don't care about yourself."

She leaned in a bit closer, "Here's a last small secret no one would tell you but me. Just between us good little Christians... " she whispered this final gift softly into his ear, "...God never gave a shit about you either."

Sam saw the skin of his trigger finger whiten as it began to tighten against the trigger's hard metal. It gave her a split second to jerk her head away from the blast when the gun went off in his mouth.

"Maybe the Devil will," she thought cruelly to herself.

Dizzy, and with the gunshot still ringing in her left ear, she stood up. She collected her shoulder bag. As calmly as she could, she left the apartment building and caught the 4:12pm bus at the next corner. She got off and caught another one. She did this several times, removing a piece of her hooker costume each time until, over 2 hours later, she was at the bus station she started from earlier that day. She got in her car and looked at herself in the rearview mirror.

She fixed her hair. And the next time someone she knew asked her, "How are you doing?" in the sympathetic way they did since Stephen's death, Sam finally said "Better, thanks" without having to lie.

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