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.He threw it all out there, laid all his cards down on the table.He gave it all until he had nothing left to give.At last, he shrugged after sitting in silence for a few moments in conclusion.“So, there you have it.Now … what happens next?”She had been standing with her arms folded as she’d watched him.Now, she turned the camera away from him for a moment, walked over to him, and put the sock gag back into position.She hadn’t actually stopped the recording, so obviously she wanted to keep her identity secret for some reason.With the gag back in place, she then aimed the camera at him again, picked up the dry-erase board, and wiped off its prior message … or at least the majority of it.She held it up for him to read again.He read it.His heart sank.She had left only one word:BURNHe screamed.Bella took the camera with her, still recording, and walked over to the door leading into the attached garage.She reached in through the open window of his luxury SUV, unclipped the remote from its visor, and used it to open the garage door.He was still screaming, wailing even louder now with the hopes that the open door would allow his cries to be heard.It was a stupid assumption, thinking anyone would be awake and outside to hear his muffled cries at three o’clock in the morning – he probably couldn’t even be heard one room over within the same house.Bella set the camera’s tripod down so that she could aim the camera into the house, still clearly able to view him.For obvious reasons, she made sure that she remained behind the camera at all times, completely out of view.She went around, started her car, and let it idle as she came back around to the doorway one last time.She stared at him for a moment, watching as he pleaded through his gag for her to let him go, to not do what he knew she was going to do.She just shook her head, the faintest hint of a smirk curving her pretty dark burgundy lips.Bella produced a small book of disposable matches that she’d taken out of her car.She struck one, used it to set the others alight, and gave him a small wave goodbye before tossing the flaming matchbook over the camera and into the house.A splash of gasoline was visible upon the hardwood floor.The vapors ignited with a pretty blue wash of flame that swiftly spread into the house, crawling along the floor with a beautiful fluid motion.The flames reached the nearly empty gasoline can sitting a few feet in front of him.He screamed his last.She backed out of the driveway, used the stolen remote to close the garage door, and watched it go down slowly as the orange glow of the flames glared visibly through the front windows of the house.She drove away calmly, quietly, and sedately.Spinning the tires and gunning the engine would only attract the neighbors’ attention, drawing their attention to the house that would soon be completely engulfed in flames.The sooner the fire department was called, the less time he would have to burn.During the drive home, she removed the gloves and pulled off the wig, fluffing her natural red hair.The wig had been terribly itchy, and she was glad to be done with it.She used a tissue from her purse to wipe away the makeup she’d used to fake her bruises.The punches she had sustained would leave real ones, and for those she would need different makeup to hide them.She didn’t want her roommate to ask any more questions than she already was going to, what with her being out so late and all.She crept into her apartment, took a shower, and rejoiced in finding that her roommate was still soundly asleep when she got out.She drank a few cups of coffee as she waited for sunrise.At exactly seven o’clock in the morning, she left.The drive was short and the trek was familiar, but this would be the last time she would ever make this visit.She didn’t know if she would be investigated or charged for what she had done, but she didn’t care.The end justified the means.The consequences were irrelevant.She entered the memorial garden just as the caretakers were opening the gates for their normal daytime hours.She drove to that same spot, the one she’d visited every Saturday for the past five years, and she parked.She weaved her way between the headstones and grave markers until she reached that one lonely, humble, simple granite marker.She had brought along the same two tumblers she had saved from the house before she’d left, along with the bottle of rum.She poured a double into each glass.She set one glass upon the grave and clinked the other glass against it, raising it in a toast.“Cheers, sis,” she declared before she drank.“I finally found him.”###****~~~~****About the author:Born in the Midwest and an avid writer since the age of 13, David M.Bachman's works of fiction span over 20 years.His first published work, "When Raindrops Come Crashing," marked the start of his foray into publishing in December 2000.Since then, he has written a number of other fiction novels and short stories, including a carefully-crafted vampire trilogy that has involved a full decade of composition, countless revisions, and even a complete re-write.He currently resides in the East Valley area of Phoenix, AZ, where much of his recent stories are based.****~~~~**** [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]