Villains Don't Get Backstories

Chapter 5

I didn't hurry. The aftermath is slow. Belle would be crumpled on the floor right where she fired; gun splayed out before her. Her father would be slacked in the chair. His limbs tugging on the restraints but not for release, for support while blood slowly seeped from his wound like the slow crawl of sap down a tree.

But I was wrong. Belle's father was slacked in the chair, still warm from life, but Belle was gone. On the flickering TV screen was an old home movie.

"Belle, come follow the butterflies with me," a little girl called to Belle, who was off-screen. The girl's eyes went wide as she exclaimed, "Daddy!" She smiled at the camera. "Daddy, look at Belle. A butterfly landed on her!" The excitement piqued at a squeal.

"Your new friend is so sweet, huh, Belle?" The father's voice came loud from behind the camera as it panned to a young Belle. She couldn't have been more than seven or eight.

Belle lifted her face from the butterfly to the camera and quizzically cocked her head at her father.

"It's so pretty," the sister said as she approached while the butterfly slowly flapped its wings from its perch on the back of Belle's hand.

Belle then looked directly at the camera and clapped her other hand over the butterfly in one swift movement. She then dumped the body to the ground while a horrific scream burst from her sister, followed by tears. Belle just continued to look at the camera with a sinister smile before finally skipping away.

True villains don't have backstories. True villains inflict pain for pleasure and nothing else.

I slipped out the screen door at the back of the house and let it bang loudly to announce I was there. She knew I'd follow her.

"You know where you went wrong, Leland?" She didn't turn to face me. Instead, as a cloud of smoke streamed from her, she paced further into the open desert. "You don't have any fun with your work. The cat has to play with his mouse; make the catch matter." She continued to walk deeper into the sand. "See, I have fun with my mice."

"Why? Why me?"

"Because I could." She turned now and gave me the haunting smile of the butterfly killer. "You try to pretend you're like me. You try to pretend you're a villain, but you've always known..."

"Known what?"

She cocked her head, toying with me. "You breathe when you lie," she giggled. "Who's got it figured out now?" Her eyes gleamed with her teasing. "See, you tried to manipulate yourself. That's where you went wrong. An evil soul is born, just like a good one. Corrupting your own soul, that's the true crime."

I pulled my gun out in a twitch of instinct.

"Oh sweetie, you've come too late to do anything."

My resolve wavered for a moment, causing my eyes to dip, and when they lifted again, she pointed my gun at me.

"What are you going to do; shoot me? But I am just a broken little girl." Belle's voice came in a shallow whisper.

Ten feet separated us. With one twitch of the trigger, I could kill Belle. One bullet would rip between her eyes. A billow of blood mist would spring from the back of her head as her body would go limp. It would hang in the air for a moment before falling to the ground with a thud. I had killed so many without any hesitation, but Belle. Had she helped me? Had she proven that I was worse than the trash I had been taking out one after another.

"Shoot me, Leland. I'm one of your villains. I'm worse than one of your villains. I corrupted the corrupted." Another insane giggle slipped from her lips. "You know what the last words my daddy said to me before I put a bullet right into his temple were?"

I didn't want to hear it. My finger twitched as my gun erupted in a burst of sound and fury. I expected the silent empty that typically accompanied a kill would fill my brain, but my lungs seized, causing me audibly to sputter as the bullet ripped into her shoulder. Belle's tiny frame couldn't absorb the force. It twitched back as the shot tore into her bone and muscle while her grey t-shirt began to succumb to the red.

"I love you, baby Belle," she laughed as she watched the crimson stain expand. "Do you remember what you last said to your daughters?"

"Fuck you," spilled from my lips just like the bullet had raced from my gun.

"Well, that's not very father-of-the-year," as she spoke, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a smoke. Red fingerprints soiled the paper. "Oh, did you think I didn't know? Did you think I didn't know about your precious family slaughtered like pigs while you were out... what were you doing? Were you issuing parking tickets, or maybe a speeding ticket? I know you know. You have it memorized just like that picture in your pocket. Tell me, what does it say that you carry a picture of the man that murdered your family, but not a picture of your actual family?" A maniacal giggle filtered from her lips. 

My finger twitched again as another bullet tore through her other shoulder. Belle sank to her knees. "Well, I'm going to need some help lighting this," she chuckled. "What's worse, knowing that you were out protecting strangers when your family needed you or knowing that you just aided a madwoman in killing her local hero cop of a father?"

"Why are you like this?"

"Villains don't get backstories, remember?" She smiled and, with her last ounce of strength, lifted her arm.

People say a shot is deafening; it's not. It's the shock that's deafening. A gunshot is just loud. The bullet hit me square in the chest, ripping through my heart. The blood gushed from me like a garden hose.

"It feels good, right?" Belle said as she stuck a finger in one of her bullet holes. "The sting of life leaving."

Belle didn't care. Life was a game to her, and because of that, death was nothing more than losing a match. Every split second where a person's instinct between life and death is supposed to spike their pulse passed leisurely for her.

The strength drained from me. With all I could muster, I lifted my arm and twitched one last time. I couldn't see the plume of red mist. The recoil forced me to the ground. But I heard Belle slump to the dirt. I stared at the azure sky as the last of me bled out into the desert. I closed my eyes and listened as the vultures began to call out above me, preparing for their next meal.