Her Own Special Goodbye

In a small room, even a tiny bullet like a .32 can fill the air with a hellish pop. Harry’s Berber carpeted world was full of an old things, Harry not the least. The mortally wounded decanter was older still. Beautiful drips of Kentucky slowly flowed into the carpet. For a moment, he considered the small compartment under the right arm of his recliner but shrugged off the notion. He didn’t need to turn his head know that Helen was standing in the doorway with a gun.

“Helen, I’m not starting this.”

“You’re going to die, today or tomorrow. I might as well be the one paid for it.”

“Then you’ll have to do it. The .38 is staying in it’s little home for now.”

“Why can’t you just make it easy for me.”

“Selfishness, I suppose. I couldn’t stand knowing that you killed me.”

“I could just do it, you know. This is all courtesy.”

“Oh the proficiency is there, me and the Maker’s Mark agree on that. It’s just that damn soul of your’s gets in the way.”

He always had the strange ability of turning a sentence into a rabbit punch. Helen hated that he knew her so completely. Through a series of mostly impossible to discern events, an up and coming assassin and an old muckraker had fallen in love. This was to no one’s advantage. Helen collapsed on the love seat miserable, dumbfounded and with nine extra bullets that she no longer planned on using.

Harry turned and looked into those hazel eyes. They sat between brown curls that fell haphazardly across her face. On her face he could see the five years he had invested in her. The worried wrinkles in her already lean face made a 30 look just shy of 33. Of all the things to impart, he hadn’t meant to give her shame.

All she saw was that man she loved, the one who wouldn’t shut up. This one, whose op ed has now made him a dead man. This one, with sixty year old baby fat, gray hair and piercing blue eyes. Of all the names on her list, this was the one she was going to miss.

“Okay, you’re right. Want me to stay here? I can always stand to take out the competition.”

“No. you’re right about that I’m dead. In fact, I’m going to bed to wait for my fate.”

As he ascended, she went through the scenarios. Each time, he ended up dead. Every time, she ended up alone. She followed him up the stairs, she decided she owed him her own special goodbye.

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