Deadly Intent

Author's notes:

This story was written for and inspired by a friend of mine. Hopefully you get a chance to read the final draft.

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I clutched the hard, unforgiving steel in my hand like my life depended on it. The pistol grip felt comfortable; inviting even, like it was made for me. My finger hovered over the trigger, twitching ever so dangerously. One squeeze. That was all it would take. One small squeeze, and I could end a life. Just like that. An overwhelming sense of god-like power surged through me.

It shouldn't be this easy to kill someone. But it is.

Tears streamed down my face as my heart twisted in my chest. It was being contorted in unnatural directions, wringing into a form unrecognizable. I was finding it hard to think straight; all I could do was feel. Feel the pain, the rage, the impotent hopelessness. They were like omnipresent beings lurking inside of me, almost alive.

Kill her.

The rage whispered into my ear with a demonic voice dripping with evil. The pain, in contrast, screamed loudly in agony. The hopelessness just wanted to give up on life altogether. All three of them were forced to bear witness to the same horror show that I had a front row seat to.

Just pull the trigger. My dark passengers chanted. Make us feel better.

My rational brain tried to kick in. The good, decent person inside of me was trying to call me back. He was telling me that after I did this, nothing would be the same. There was no going back to how things used to be. My fate would be sealed. I would officially be a killer.

What was he talking about? Things were already changed. She saw to that when she chose him over me. Her choices were the ones that led the three of us here.

It's her fault! She did this. Now shut the fuck up and let me give her what's coming to her.

The horrific day that she told me that our life together was over was a week ago. With a voice filled with regret and a lump in her throat, she told me that she had to go. She had to be with him. Her love.

I wish that I could claim that I took the news like a man. I wish I could say that I told the bitch to kick rocks on her way out of my life forever, and slammed the door definitively shut behind her cheating ass. But I didn't do any of that. Instead, I forfeited all of my dignity. Every last ounce of it. I laid it at her feet as I begged her not to go. I fucking begged! Sitting there weeping like a widow at a funeral, pleading with her to love me. To love me more than she loved him. We'd been through so much! We had plans for the future. We were going to take our child, and move into that big house that she loved. It was her dream house. She'd envisioned herself in a house like it since she was a child.

And yet, those plans weren't enough for her to choose to stay with me. Our "love" wasn't strong enough to keep her from going to his bed again and again behind my back. It certainly wasn't enough for her to let him go.

"I'm sorry you had to find out this way. I love you, I really do. But I can't give him up. I have to go with my heart." She cried as she hugged me, pleading with me to understand. I could feel the wetness on her cheeks as she pressed into my face. Her ragged breaths danced on my neck with each sob.

What was it that she wanted me to understand? Did she honestly expect me to make this easier for her? Was I supposed to just give her my blessing to go find happiness without me? Was she fucking insane?

I gave her my everything. EVERYTHING! I would have given more had she asked. But this? This was something that I would NEVER give her. I would never give her my blessing to be with another man. How can any man accept that? How can he just sit idly by while the woman he loves lays with another man?

I'm going to kill her. She has to die!

I aimed at her back. The iron sight that jutted from the front of the pistol was perfectly placed between the two in the back, just like I practiced at the rang. It was perfectly level, pointing directly to the spot on her spine that it wanted to obliterate. Bullseye. I could end her at any moment, and she wouldn't even know what hit her.

Her shoulder blades moved rhythmically as her shadow danced on the wall of the candlelit room. Her petite, manicured hands were planted firmly on his chest to give her the leverage that she needed as she sensually gyrated her hips on top of him. Even the softness of her silhouette was beautiful. How could a scene so lovely and erotic be so detestable?

My mind taunted me with memories of me running my hands along the curve of her spine. I could practically feel her soft skin on my lips as I ran kisses from her shoulder blade down to the arch of her butt. The mirage of her eyes looking longingly back at me as we made love was almost real enough to turn my lips upwards into a smile

A soft moan permeated the air, ripping me out of my reverie. She threw her head back and took a breath in after the moan, like she was gearing up to let another one go. Even though I couldn't see her face, I knew exactly how it looked. It was the expression of a beautiful woman on the cusp of orgasm. I'd seen it so many times that I could probably close my eyes and draw a picture. Her quivering lips were open, her eyes were clasped shut, and her forehead was furrowed into an intense expression.

Her hips sped up as she chased that moment of sweet release. Underneath her, shithead pumped his pelvis to thrust himself into her again and again. The two of them moved fluidly together, each one working off the other person. They'd completely surrendered their bodies to the moment. They were like passengers on a blissful ride.

I remembered the days that she and I were in sync like that. Shit, it was only a week ago!

The mother fucker's hands fondling her breasts sickened me to the point of almost throwing up. Hearing him groan in tune with her was another stab to the chest. I could see his eyes roaming lustfully and appreciatively over her curves as her snakelike gyrations used his body for her pleasure. The heat in the room was several degrees hotter than the rest of the house. It was like their fucking was burning at a temperature that defied the laws of physics.

So was my rage.

They were so into each other that they didn't even know I was in the room. They failed to hear me come into the house, climb the stairs, and creak open the door. Now, they faced imminent death, and were none the wiser. They were lost in their sea of nirvana.

I would change that into a river of blood and retribution.

How could she be with him? How could she just fall out of love with me so easily? No matter what she said, she couldn't love me and do this to me. No person who loves someone would break their heart so effortlessly.

Did she ever love me?

My heart beat quickened, both with anger and anticipation. I mentally prepared myself for the sudden bang that would come after I pulled the trigger. I feebly tried to calm my nerves and stop my hands from shaking. Shooting paper targets at the range was one thing, but this...

Tears stung my eyes as my vision blurred. Keeping the gun steady was becoming more difficult with each passing moment. I wanted their deaths so badly that I could taste their blood. But I couldn't get over my inner voice. My demonic passengers tried to silence him, but he was there begging to be heard.

This is wrong.

He was right. This was wrong. But standing there watching their harmonized love making was the hardest thing I ever had to do. It was like they were dancing to their own music. His hands moved knowingly along her body, like they belonged there. His soft caresses along her erogenous zones urged her to continue her journey towards climax. A tweak of her left nipple sent another wave of moans coming from her mouth.

In that moment, I realized how much he knew her. He knew her body. Every inch. He'd been inside of her more times than I cared to think about.

She was a liar. A fucking liar.

She told me that her body was only for me. I was the only one blessed with the privilege of enjoying her womanly form. She told me that she belonged to me. But this asshole was laying there relishing in the thought that he was making love to a woman who belonged to him.

The bullets begged me to be released from their chamber. They had a fervent desire to do what they were created to do. They needed to fulfill their purpose.

They were hungry. They had an insatiable craving for blood. His blood; her blood; they would even take mine if I were willing.

I felt my finger tightening on the trigger. I blinked my eyes to clear the wetness. My sights were once again set firmly on her back. I could plainly see my target once again. I knew exactly where the bullet would enter, and what damage it would do to her. It wouldn't kill her right away. She would still have a few moments of breath left. That would be long enough for her to see him join her on her journey to hell.

Die bitch. Die in pain.

Just before I released hell and torment, I saw our son. He wasn't physically in the room; more like a flash of memory in my head. I saw his face that looked like me. His smile. His hair. Bobby Jr was a carbon copy of me.

My finger loosened as his eyes peered into my soul. How could I do this to him? This act of vengeance wouldn't end with the cheating bitch bleeding in her lover's arms. That would only be the beginning for Bobby. My retribution would be at his expense.

Fuck!

I wasn't the most attentive dad. I wasn't here for him like a father should be. I was virtually a stranger to him. Yet, I loved him. In my own way, I loved him.

Did I love him enough to let his mother get away with burning my heart? Did I love him enough to let bygones be bygones for his sake?

Yes. I did.

At that thought, the gun started to lower. It was no longer set on her back. I died a little more inside as I allowed my opportunity for justice slip away. I needed this. I really needed this. But he needed her more than I needed retribution.

With my decision made, I started to slowly back out of the room. I silently, easily, took each step as I made my retreat. In the background, the two fools continued to make love, completely oblivious to how close they came to meeting their end.

I was almost out. Almost free from the grip of revenge. My soul remained intact. But fate has a cruel sense of humor.

Just when I made up my mind to do the decent thing, I heard it. The gut wrenching sound that was so horrific, so wrong, that it almost killed me.

No, it wasn't the sound of her exploding in exploding in orgasm that sent the deadly shot through me. That did hurt, but not as much as what came after.

"I love you baby."

Her soft voice was barely a whisper, but the words were deafening. Those four words consumed me instantly, filling me with such agony that it nearly crippled me. She'd said those same words to me; in that very tone. They came out in a breathy voice that was shaking due to her orgasmic state, yet they were brimming with love and affection.

She loved him. She loved him?

Instantly, I feel overboard and was drowning in a sea of pain, hopelessness, despair, and white hot fury. I couldn't swim; couldn't breath. The water was too choppy. The waves were too strong. The more I fought it, the more my lungs were burning as they were filled.

Finally, I gave in. I wasn't strong enough to fight it. Fate won. They had to die. I would end their world forever.

But not like this. Not with this gun. I would not grant them the peace that a silent death would provide.

I wanted them to hurt as much as I was hurting. I wanted them to feel the loss that I felt. They would not feel that if they died. One of their last memories would be of the sweet love that they made. That just wouldn't do.

I wanted something else. I wanted to rip them from each other's arms, kicking and screaming. I wanted to tarnish everything about their love. I wanted to take everything that they held dear and choke them with it.

I left them to their love. I would grant them a reprieve for tonight. Just for tonight. I hoped they enjoyed it. It would be my last gift to them.

"The pen is mightier than the sword."

Edward Bulwer-Lytton

I was going to kill them a thousand times over using a more powerful weapon than my 9mm Beretta. I would make them wake up every morning and rue their existence using a simple device. A pen.

Thirty minutes later I walked into my empty apartment with a sinister smile on my face. The sadness and the pain that I felt was masked by my unquenchable desire to see them suffer. I wanted to see her face contorted with loss so deep that it matched what I saw in the mirror when I thought of her.

I sat down at my desk, and pulled out a pen and a pad. Then I began to write.

The words spilled out of me like vomit. My pain was regurgitated and splashed across the paper. It took 5 drafts until I read what I wrote and was satisfied. Then I sealed their fate into an envelope, stamped it, and walked to the nearest mailbox to drop it in. I could have simply put it as outgoing mail in my mailbox, but I had to take the walk and drop it in to ensure that I couldn't change my mind.

Once I dropped the letter into the mailbox, I was left with the lonely feeling of being rejected, as well as the anger of being betrayed. As I trudged back to my apartment, my shoulders sagged with the weight of world.

Goddamit! I hated her fucking guts. I hated her! I...

I still loved her. My pride didn't want to admit it, but I did. I would love her for some time.

However, I had a small nugget of hope left in me. I knew that life would move on one way or the other. No matter what happened to Rachel, the days would turn into weeks, which would morph into months and years. One day, all of today's events will fade into the ether of history. It will turn into a sad story of my past. Tomorrow's current events will overshadow today's.

When I reached my doorstep, I snickered to myself at one final thought. Approximately three days from now, I will have altered her life in such a way that she will never forget me. No matter how much time passed, she will never be able to brush me off as a historical blip on her life's story.

I will be the asshole who changed her future.

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THE LETTER

Dear Robert Hamsley Sr.

My name is Jonathan. You don't know me, so don't bother yourself trying to jog your memory to place my face. We did meet once, about three years ago, but I doubt you even remember me. It was at the Christmas party that the company throws every year. You were so engrossed in conversation with Rachel that you barely even noticed me. The way you looked at her, and danced with her, made it seem like no one else was in the room.

No matter how many times she has professed her love for me, it didn't match the way she looked at you that night. I knew it then. I knew that she was in love with you; more in love with you than she was with me.

That was the first time I even knew you were alive. Before then, she'd never mentioned you around the office. She didn't even wear her wedding ring. Once she stepped foot in that building, you didn't exist.

I wasn't supposed to be there at that party. She tried to come up with every excuse to keep me at home. But I insisted. I wanted to be with her that night. So, I ignored her lame reasoning and came anyway. Boy, did I get the surprise of my life!

I should have tossed her to the curb, and ran like hell. But I couldn't. I refused to believe it, no matter what my head was telling me the truth was. Instead, I believed her lies when she told me that you didn't matter to her, and that I was the only love of her life. I believed them because my heart wanted to.

Even though I know you, you don't know me. However, you know the woman that I love. You know her well.

You see, you know her because you are married to her.

She and I have been having an affair for 4 years now. I know what you're thinking. Yes, we have been together for a little more than a third of your marriage.

Most likely you are chalking this up as a mistake. Maybe this letter was meant to be delivered to another loser of a husband. Or maybe I am confusing your Rachel with another woman who shares the same name. That last shred of hope that you are desperately trying to cling to won't let you believe that your wife would ever do that to you.

At this point I could prove it to you by describing intimate parts of her body. You know, parts that a man wouldn't have knowledge of unless he had seen her in the throes of passion. I could indeed do this, but I don't have to. I have proof that is far more accurate.

My son. All you have to do is test Bobby Jr. What am I saying? I am saying that your son isn't your son. He's my son. I am his biological father. He may have your name, but he has my blood. Don't believe me? Well, it's a good thing that we live in a world of opportunities to get to the truth. All it would take is a swab of his cheek. But, I'll save you the time. Enclosed with this letter is a copy of the DNA test that your wife took a couple of years ago. She doesn't know that I have it. She destroyed the original. However, as she slept in my bed after she showed it to me, I made copy. Maybe I subconsciously knew that the three of us would end up here.

Tonight, I was in your house. I watched the two of you fucking in your bed. That was the hardest thing that I ever had to endure. I kept remembering Rachel and I making love on that very bed. Every time you were out of town, I was there. You looked so satisfied. You were assured that she was yours and only yours. You want to hear something funny? Probably not, but I'll tell you anyway. I had that same assurance a little over a week ago, in that very bed. Those same words that she professed to you, she'd said to me many times over.

You're probably wondering how I got into your house without being detected, and why I was there in the first place. Well, the how is easy. I know where you keep your spare key. I'd used it on multiple occasions to sneak into your house without the neighbors noticing. On those warm nights, I would climb your stairs and enter your bedroom. Rachel would be there, in your bed, waiting for me.

I was able to remain undetected because I know your living room so well that I can walk around blindfolded and not bump into anything. I was able to get up the stairs quietly because I know which stairs are squeaky. Rachel was always adamant about not waking our son (yes, he was home, sleeping in his room), so she always made me tiptoe around.

Why was I there tonight? The answer to that is a little bit more complicated. No sense in beating around the bush, so I will just come out with it. I was there, in your house, to kill the two of you.

You want to know what stopped me? My son. I knew that killing the two of you would change his life forever. I couldn't do that to him. He doesn't deserve that.

I wish that I could tell you I'm sorry about all of this, but I'm not. You need to know what kind of woman you are married to. The love that you share with her is not exclusively yours. SHE is not exclusively yours. Before she decided to end things between us, she was trying to figure out how to leave you. We were going to make a life together. I don't know why she suddenly changed her mind and decided to make it work with you. I guess in that aspect, you won.