Just For One Day

5

     The woman in the red dress held the snub nosed revolver in her trembling, manicured hands, leveling it at the well dressed man across the room. Her mascara ran in lumpy wet streaks down her cheeks and her face was puffy and blotchy from crying.

     "Jessica," the man in the suit said, holding his hands up. "Jessica, don't do anything rash."

     "You bastard," Jessica sobbed. "You absolute bastard. How long did you think you could keep this from me?"

     "Jessica, she meant nothing to me," said the man in the suit. It was grey with pinstripes and had a handkerchief poking out of the breast pocket. "It's been you all along, baby. You're the one for me."

     "You lied to me!" Jessica shrieked. "I thought you cared about me, but you only care about yourself!"

     The man in the suit clenched his upheld hands into fists. "Alright, fine, you got me," he said. "I was gonna run away with Natalia. We were gonna take the jewels from the safe and make a life together in Brazil, spending our days tanning on the beach and drinking mojitos and playing canasta."

     "Why?" Jessica wailed. "I thought we had something special! What about our son Dylan?"

     "We used to have something special, Jessica," the man in the suit shook his head. "But ever since Dylan was in that car wreck, you've been different. You changed, Jessica. You're like a hollow shell, and when I look at you I only see our adopted Chinese son lying comatose on that hospital bed. When I met Natalia, it was like I could finally feel again. She makes me feel alive, Jessica, in a way that I haven't for years."

     The muzzle of Jessica's revolver wavered back and forth through the air. Her sniffles were loud in the empty study.

     "You don't have the guts to shoot me, Jessica," sneered the man. "You've always been a wimp, and you'll always be a wimp. There's nothing left for me if I stay with you. Face it, you're middle aged and homely now, and our son will never walk again. But I can, Jessica. And I'm gonna walk right past you, out that door, and into a life full of sun and sand and coconut oil based suntan lotion!"

     Abruptly, the revolver ceased its trembling. An explosive roar shattered the peace in the study as Jessica pulled the trigger, and the man fell backward into the desk behind him, knocking over the stacks of books and the wine glass, which spilled its deep red contents onto the white carpet.

     "Au revoir, Jessica," gasped the man with his dying breath. "Au revoir."

     There was nothing but silence in the room for a long, long time.

     "Dang," said Meteor as the screen faded to black and dramatic music started playing over the rolling credits. "I guess you were right."

     "I knew she'd do it in the end," I replied. "She was obviously on the brink of a total mental breakdown since Eduardo slipped and fell into the pool during the country club's annual tupperware party."

     Meteor and I lay in beds in the Saint Dulcimer Sisters of Perpetual Mercy And Combined Order Of The Wailing Spirit hospital, where we had been admitted since we got our butts kicked three days ago. The last thing I remembered was blacking out on the street after some unknown something saved us from the Syndicate of Pandemonium, which legitimately was a really stupid name, and then I woke up in a bed wearing a hospital gown that was very drafty in the posterior region. At least they had let us keep our masks on. The healing process had been pretty boring so far; full of accommodating tender bruises while watching daytime television.

     All in all we had gotten off easy from the fight. I had bruising around my neck and Meteor had cracked a few ribs and had a very mild concussion, and we had been asked to stay in the hospital for a day or two longer to make sure we were okay. This didn't sit well with Meteor, who was a man of action. I found it relaxing for the first day or two, and now I thought it was just boring as hell.