Erasure of an Inconvenient Life - True Crime #1

I consider it a great privilege to witness the passing of a soul into eternity, whatever that may be. There is something miraculous about the quickness of the transitions and emotional changes sometimes involved. It was such with Susan, a 44-year-old divorced mother of three in a Chicago suburb.

I remember my own days of youthful exuberance, though they were spent far from the pomp and pageantry of Susan's. Her teenage years were a portrait of American virtue—a tableau of school spirit and ambition. She had been the epitome of the all-American girl, her days a blur of pom-poms, pirouettes, and harmonious melodies, her nights dedicated to the pursuit of academic excellence. A beauty queen with a business degree, she was destined for a good life.

When she first met John in college, she believed she had found her equal, her eternal partner. But, the music faded and a series of affairs ensued leading to the two of them being embroiled in a battle of wills and wallets.

I observed John from a distance, a man who had grown more comfortable in the company of his wealth than in the embrace of his kin. His three daughters, once the apples of his eye, had become mere satellites in his financial universe, their orbits dictated by the gravity of his growing empire. The prospect of losing a large portion of his wealth to Susan was anathema to him, a threat to the order of the good life he enjoyed.

It was in the quiet of a late autumn evening that I found myself walking the familiar streets of my youth, the fallen leaves whispering secrets beneath my steps. I had been meticulous in my study of Susan's routines, a shadow among the many that danced in the flickering streetlights. I knew the paths she walked, the stores she frequented, the moments she found herself alone, even the details of her current affair.

The opportunity presented itself on a night much like any other, save for the absence of stars in the clouded sky. Susan, ever the creature of habit, took her customary stroll on the street near her home, a brief interlude of solitude in her otherwise chaotic world. I had chosen this place for its lack of traffic at night and absence of surveillance cameras.

There, beneath the street lights, I watched her approach. The rustling of air conditioners masked my footsteps. She was alone, as I knew she would be, her mind perhaps wandering to the days of her youth, to cheerleading chants and the applause of beauty pageants. Or maybe she thought of her daughters and how their lives were going. I suspected she was thinking of her lover and their most recent fuck that very afternoon. No longer looking for the love of her life, she knew their lovemaking was a temporary thing though filled with passion and emotional release.

She paused when she saw me in my business suit. I said, “Good evening."

“Hello,” she said comfortably as one familiar with her surroundings and accustomed to meeting strangers on this path. Her voice had a sweetness to it. I knew she sang soprano studied her face as she spoke.

"Busy day," I said, and she smiled. Her eyes narrowed when she saw my hand rise with deliberate precision. Her hands rose to her face and her eyes widened  Her lips parted but there was no sound. I suspect she couldn’t tell what I held, only that I had ill intention. The suppressor masked two blasts in quick succession. The second bullet struck her chest before she could fall to the ground.

I approached her body and marveled at her form, still that of a beauty queen in spite of her years. I thought of the discipline she must have had over the years to eat only the best foods and exercise regularly. Now that sacred temple she'd used to interact with the world was sprawled awkwardly on a concrete sidewalk. I knelt and ouched her temple still wondering what last thoughts darted around in her mind before its currents ceased.  Her little secret, I thought.

It was over in a moment, the passing of a soul. Passing into what was a question I’d pondered reaching the conclusion that the answer was nothing. All that she’d ever been or ever might have become passed into nothing and I'd had the privilege of witnessed that passing. The act itself was not one of passion or rage, but of professional necessity. I had been paid handsomely for this moment; the erasure of a life deemed inconvenient.

As I melted back into the shadows, the distant sound of sirens began to rise, a discordant lullaby for the end of Susan's story. John would keep his fortune, his daughters would remain distant, and I would once again disappear into the annals of the night, my past a constant companion, my future an unwritten chapter in the dark book of my existence.