It's a Wonderful Day

The ships in the harbour danced in the tropical heat.

She was looking at them through the narrow slit in the dungeon wall, wishing she could sail away on one of them. A heavy chain leading to her shackles declared it highly unlikely. A key rattled in the lock of the dungeon door. She hoped and prayed it was him. Tommy burst through the door and Michelle cried with relief. His bulging arms grabbed her chain and he snapped it like a twig. She was free at last. They embraced passionately their lips entangled. His long blonde hair glistened in dim light, brighter than anything else in the dungeon. It got brighter and brighter until the whiteness enveloped the whole room. Then he was gone.

Michelle lay back on her bed, tears rolling down her cheeks. She had been dreaming of Tommy again; that very dream she'd had before. But, Tommy was never coming back to rescue her.

Six months before, Tommy had been riding his motorcycle in a road race when his bike left the road, smashing into a wall. Michelle was there at his bedside when they turned off the life support machine, after only a few hours. The doctors said it amazing that he had even survived that long. He and Michelle were supposed to be married that summer.

Wiping the tears from her face, she sat up in bed and tried to figure out what it all meant, for she believed that dreams meant something. Opening the drawer of her bedside locker, Rosemary Ellen Guiley's Encyclopaedia of Dreams was the first book at hand. She perused the book, unsuccessfully looking for elements of her dream among the well thumbed pages. Finding nothing, she threw the book to the floor and pulled the duvet over her head, the quilt soaking up more of her tears. Then, it came to her what it all meant.

The shackles in the dream represented her grief filled life. She had become withdrawn since Tommy's death; unable to escape her own sadness. She knew that she had to have him back. If it were impossible to bring him back, then she must go to him, for Michelle believed in an afterlife- a paradise where lovers were reunited. Michelle knew what she had to do. To be with Tommy, she had to end her own life.

Michelle Casey was twenty two and unremarkable; good looking, but not strikingly so. Her long brown hair complemented the graceful, slender figure. Long legs didn't just give the illusion of height, she was genuinely tall. Growing up, her choice of dark clothes led many to believe she was of the Gothic persuasion. That was not so. She was just an ordinary girl, who, like so many others, felt that black was the only colour classy enough to be seen in. Michelle really wasn't all that special.

When she smiled though, that was a different story. Michelle didn't smile often, but when she did, it was a smile that could drive any man crazy. With that smile, they were in her power. It's rarity made it all the more alluring.

Tommy, like her, was born and bred San Franciscan. They met at college where she was studying Computer Science and he, Psychology. He was her first and only love and they wanted to be together forever. They scraped together enough money for a deposit on a dingy apartment in the Mission District. It wasn't big, but it was theirs. They were utterly devoted to each other. He took pleasure in her smile and she adored his sparkling, happy go-lucky manner.

One May afternoon, everything changed. Michelle went to watch him race his bike at a road race up in Washington State. She saw the whole accident. The images would never leave her. Her one true love had been taken from her forever. In his memory, Michelle had worn black every day since his passing. Whenever she thought of him, she felt the pricking of tears in her eyes. All her friends said that she'd changed and that since the accident she had become relentlessly melancholic. This drove some people away, but her true friends stuck by her and would be there for her, no matter what.

Michelle quickly threw on some clothes and walked the few hundred yards down to the local hardware store. She bought a length of stout rope and went back home. Most days, she felt like wearing make-up was a waste of time, but today, she thought as she deftly applied her austere mascara, was different; today it was worth it. With a fluttering in her stomach, she slipped into the black dress that she hadn't worn since her prom. It was simple, but elegant.

Sitting on the bed, Michelle wound and tied rope into an effective hangman's noose, according to the book about knots at her side. She took a pair of pink fluffy handcuffs from her bedroom drawer, knowing that she would probably struggle to escape from death's iron grasp. This was something she had to follow through with. Tommy had bought them for her as a joke, but they'd seen plenty of use in the bedroom.

The shower rail seemed strong enough, she thought. Standing on the edge of the bath, she tied one end of the rope tightly around the rail. After putting the noose over her head, she lifted her hair out of the way and tightened it. The handcuffs clicked behind her back and Michelle was ready to make the leap into the next life.

It was a big decision. She was nervous and standing there, began to tremble. With eyes shut tightly, Michelle stepped off the edge of the bath and felt the rope grip her neck sharply.

What happened next would have been comical had it not happened in such tragic circumstances. It turned out that the shower rail hadn't been nearly strong enough. When Michelle stepped off the bath, it collapsed almost instantly under her weight. Now, she lay in a heap on the floor, shaking and sore, but quite alive.

She could have done it another way, but hanging was the only death she had ever imagined for herself. The idea of the electric chair was appealing. In those few brief moments between when the guard threw the switch and her passing out, she would feel more alive than she ever had, or ever would. It played it out in her mind a hundred times. To be shot on a misty morning, like a femme fatale spy was another ending she would have adored. Michelle never saw herself going out quietly. In order for her to do it right, she would have to hire someone to do it for her.

Wearing a turtleneck sweater to cover her bruised, chafed neck, Michelle sat in a quiet corner of a café near her apartment, waiting on her sister Elaine to arrive. Elaine was nearly forty. In a sense, she had been Michelle's mentor, teaching her the ways of the world. Like Tommy, Elaine's husband had met an untimely end. She hired a contract killer to take care of her husband, so she could collect a huge life insurance policy. He was a consummate professional, not leaving any incriminating evidence. Elaine collected her money and, the next day, she had a new Mercedes.

This all happened around a year ago. Elaine was never even suspect in the shooting of her husband, such was the skill of the hitman. She never told a soul about her involvement in the affair. Except of course Michelle; It was their shared secret.

Michelle saw a Mercedes convertible pull up in front of the café. Tossing her chestnut brown hair Elaine stepped out of the car.

"Wow, this place is great! How'd you find it?" asked Elaine in her usual absent minded manner.

"I live like a block away."

"Of course you do dear. How could I forget that?" replied Elaine incredulously.

"Never mind anyway, what did you want to talk to me about?"

"Remember you hired a guy to take care of a little problem of yours?" asked Michelle in a hushed voice, leaning over towards Elaine as she spoke. They were both on the same wavelength.

"Sure, why?"

"Can I get his number from you?"

"You need someone taken care of? Who is it?"

"I'll tell you when the job is done."

"See, I can't give you his number. The way he works is, I call him and then he calls you and arranges to meet you at a location of his choosing. These guys have to be careful."

"Can you call him for me? Ask if we can meet up."

"No problem, I'll go home and call him now."

"Thanks Elaine, you're a big help."

"No problem kiddo. By the way, his name is Gene."

Michelle sat at home watching the evening news. Her phone rang and she picked it up. It was Gene. He told her to meet him in the café down the street in twenty minutes.

Gene was waiting in the café for her. There weren't many people around at this time of night. She saw a handsome man, in his mid thirties sitting over an empty coffee cup. It was the image she'd always had of a hitman- good looking but non-descript, short brown hair and a strong jaw line. He fitted the description perfectly.

"You're the guy, right?" she asked him.

"I'm a guy. As to whether I'm the guy, it depends on who's asking."

"I'm Michelle."

"Ah. Then I think I'm the guy."

"Want another coffee?" Gene smiled with gratitude.

"Why thank you! That's very sweet of you. I'm Gene by the way."

Michelle returned after ordering the coffee. They sat and made small talk while the waitress delivered two espressos. When she left, Gene spoke.

"I understand you require my services in solving a problem, if you'll forgive the euphemism. So, if you'll give me the who, where, when and how, we'll discuss the finer details."

"I notice you don't require a why."

"It helps if I don't know. I don't like to let emotions get in the way of a job. So, continue."

"The where, when and how don't matter to me. It's the who."

"Oh yes? Who is the who?" he asked curiously.

"It's me." Gene was silent for a moment.

"Okaaay." he said, "How would you like the job done?"

"However you see fit. I was thinking execution style shooting in my apartment."

"I see." he said gravely. "When?"

"As soon as you can. How about tonight?"

"No." he replied bluntly

"When then?"

"You're making a very serious decision. It's not simply a matter of changing your mind the day after. Death, if you'll pardon the expression, is for life. I'm going to give you my card. I want you to call me back in a month, when you've had time to think this over. If you still want to go ahead with it, I'll do it. Thanks for the coffee." The suave hitman stood up and left the café. He felt a crisis of conscience brewing. Maybe it was something more.

Ever since Gene Trenton was a kid, he'd wanted to be a doctor. One night in 1990, that all changed. His medical school roommate, Chris Donahue was a small time dope dealer with delusions of grandeur. A deal was going down in a dark alley beside a bar. Something must have happened to make the deal go bad, because in a split second, Donahue had shot one of the guys. The other- the only one that could have identified the shooter managed to run away.

Chris Donahue wasn't the kind of guy that would survive in prison. The only way to avoid the pen was to silence the fugitive. He wasn't cut out for dirty work either. Waking his sleeping roommate at two in the morning, he told Gene the whole story. He said there was ten grand in it if Gene would track down the escaped witness and finish him. Donahue had a rich father.

Gene was completely strapped for cash. Here was an opportunity to pay off some debts and maybe have a little left over for himself. He knew everyone's haunts. It wasn't long before he had tracked down his man. After following him to the bathroom at a club, he took a kitchen knife and slit the guy's throat from behind as he was taking a piss. The first time killer got out of there as fast as he could, shaking visibly . He was a rookie and he'd made rookie mistakes, but he would learn in time. No one was ever arrested for the murder of the guy in the bathroom. It seemed an easy ten grand.

Word must have gotten round through Donahue that Gene was the man to go to if you wanted someone taken out of the picture, because within a month, he had an offer of twenty grand from a lady who wanted her lover's wife dead. It wasn't long before Gene realised that there was more money in taking life than there was in saving it. He dropped out of medical school and invested his money in schemes abroad. It made him a very nice living and, as far as the anyone knew, it was all completely above board.

He separated his professional and his private life well. No one could ever guess upon meeting him that Gene was a hitman. He was the sort that at first seems cold and aloof. Once people got to know him though, they discovered his warm side. Everyone that knew Gene liked him. He was funny and a good listener. In short, he was the kind of guy you wanted to be friends with.

Gene was distracted by his earlier meeting with Michelle, as he sat at home in his Marin Highlands home watching an old movie. He wasn't married. It didn't help to be tied down in his business. All the women that he loved had were beautiful and passionate, yet each one was merely a one night fixation.

Not since the very first kill had he felt bad about a job. He thought Michelle beautiful, yet he felt somehow protective of her. The mere image of shooting her, made Gene feel sad and angry at himself. Yet, he was a contract killer and he couldn't let feelings get in the way of his work.

But killing Michelle was not yet his work. Maybe, in a month or so it would be. He felt pity and sorrow for the girl that saw no other way to escape from her problems; a pity and sorrow that he had never felt for anyone before. Unless something happened in the meantime, this girl would come back and ask this man to end her life - a fact that made Gene wonder if there was anything he could do to stop her. Maybe if he showed her that there was still beauty and joy in life, it would make her want to live on. If he could show her that there was someone that loved her, maybe she would love back. He picked up the phone and called her.

"Is this Michelle?"

"Yes, who is this?"

"It's Gene."

"Oh. Have you revised your plans? Can you do the job sooner? Oh, we never spoke about cost, did we?"

"Eh, no. I wasn't calling about that. I still won't do the job for a month. Look, I was wondering if maybe you wanted to meet me tomorrow. We can go down to Carmel, have lunch maybe?"

"I hired you to kill me, not date me."

"I know, but I did give you a month to think about it."

"And?"

"Between now and then I'm just an ordinary guy trying to seduce a girl to have lunch with him. When the time comes, I'll be the professional. Besides, I think I felt a real chemistry between us."

"Oh you did, did you?" said Michelle smiling on her end of the phone. "Sure. Why not? What's the worst that can happen?"

"Excellent. I'll pick you up tomorrow morning about ten."

"I can't wait." she said with a touch of sarcasm.

Gene rang Michelle's doorbell, just before ten.

"Good morning." he said as she opened the door.

"Wow! Nice car," she exclaimed, seeing Gene's red roadster. "What is it?"

"It's a Jaguar XKE. You like it?"

"I love it. Look at it; it's beautiful."

"I'm glad you think so. It's something of a hobby of mine. Will we go?"

The sensuous curves of the roadster glistened in the sun as they took the Cabrillo Highway south towards Carmel. The straight six engine purred beneath the hood that seemed to go on forever. All the while, Gene and Michelle sat back, the wind ruffling their hair and they talked about everything except business.

Just north of Monterey, they branched off the highway and took the seventeen mile drive along the coast road. The sea crashed gently on the rocks and beaches below and Michelle was enamoured with the gorgeous vistas over the ocean. Gene took the tight corners vigorously which gave them both a visceral thrill as the back end stepped out just a little. They passed by golf courses and mansions as they wound their way closer and closer to Carmel By The Sea.

Eating lunch in a small expensive restaurant near the beach in Carmel, Gene tried fruitlessly to persuade Michelle to have oysters. He even reminded her that he was paying. In the end, they both had lobster. Over a glass of wine, Michelle gazed across the table at Gene, wondering if there really was a chemistry between them. He certainly made her happy and she enjoyed being around him. Her thoughts invariably came back to Tommy. Surely no one could make her as happy as he could. She'd probably just be grateful to Gene for the good time he showed her.

"A friend of mine has a place around here. I told her we'd drop in. Do you mind?" he asked her.

"Not at all. Who is she?"

"Her name is Jane. I've something to ask you Michelle."

"Shoot."

"Would you be willing to hand over total control to me for a little while?"

"How do you mean?"

"Would you do everything I asked and let me do anything I wanted to you?" Michelle mulled the thought over. She thought of her impending demise and knew that it couldn't hurt to let Gene take control of her, for one last little while. She never thought that he could hurt her, only give her love and tenderness. Besides, she was tired of making her own decisions. She had even chosen the restaurant. It would be a nice change to be dominated, however he might do it.

"Sure, I'll let you."

Gene drove to a mansion on the outskirts of town. Arriving at a pair of tall electric gates, he stepped out and spoke into the intercom on the wall. The gates parted and the car sped up the drive, arriving at a mock Georgian manor. A blonde girl of no more than twenty opened the large, heavy front door. Her lips were scarlet, her hair platinum blonde. She was dressed in a French maid's outfit. Gene knew the girl well. He had been attending Lady Jane's dungeon every month for a couple of years now. Lady Jane took genuine pleasure in dominating him for he was prepared to do anything she wished. She loved to inflict pain on his toned, muscular body, knowing that with each electric shock, each slap in the face, she brought joy to her favourite client. It was one more of Gene's hobbies.

"Good afternoon Mr. Trenton."

"Hello Sadie!" He gave her a peck on the cheek.

"Lady Jane isn't here today. One of her clients from LA called her and said there was a helicopter on it's way to pick her up. Apparently she's needed."

"Of course. I understand."

"But she did say you know what to do; that you called ahead. I left the dungeon unlocked. Would you and your friend like a drink before starting?"

"No, thank you Sadie. Could you show us to the dungeon?"

The dungeon was a warm, dim, comfortable room on the second floor. This was Lady Jane's "office". The room was comfortingly familiar to Gene. Today though, she had given him free reign to do as he wished. A fire usually burned in the fireplace in winter, but this was summer and it was too hot for a fire. Various items of pleasure and pain sat all around the floor- spanking benches, St. Andrew's Crosses and a chair with all kinds of restraints attached. Chains hung from the high ceiling, each serving as many purposes as the imagination could conceive.

"Now, remember you said that you'd do anything I said?" Gene asked, "I want you to get naked while I fetch a couple of things." Michelle obeyed unquestioningly. She felt turned on at the thought of what Gene might be about to do. Would he deliver the final coup de grace now? She let the red dress fall to the floor at her feet and her underwear soon followed. When he returned from the little room to the side of the dungeon, he too was naked. He placed a blindfold over her eyes and tied it at the back. Suddenly, all her senses were sharpened.

"Trust me" he whispered and then nibbled gently on her earlobe. She felt a leather collar being fastened around her neck, tightly but not uncomfortably so. She was all his to do whatever he wanted with her. Putting his finger through the ring at the front of the collar, he coaxed her over to one of the spanking benches. He told her to kneel.