A Quiet Night

A Story by PsiQuo

A story abut love and betrayal.

Another rainy day. The morning songs of the birds, I can’t hear them today. Those songs always calmed me. I look outside, but the rain blurs my view, and I can’t see those kids that like to play on the street every day. It’s days like these where I don’t feel like myself, but it’s time to get up and ready myself for today.

A suit-wearing man lays on a cozy bed. The best that money could buy although, his suit has seen better days. He’s surrounded by lavish furniture: dressers filled with the most sought-after designer clothes and shoes. Such an extravagant living. What kind of man could afford such a luxurious life? The suit-wearing man gets up from the bed, his eyes tired as if he hadn’t slept well. His eyes meet with his own: those reflected on the dresser’s mirror. He stares at this visage for what feels like an eternity, but the ringing of the alarm snaps him back into reality. “6 in the morning, you always were an early bird.” Who are you talking to? There’s no one here to listen to you. As his eyes adjust to the light peering through the curtains, he catches a glimpse of a family picture: A man, a woman, and a child. The man in the picture has been a friend to him for so long, and yet… How could you? He turns towards the door setting his hand on the knob. It’s time to start your day, it’ll be a long one. One turn and the entrance opens.

I step through the door’s cold frame. It’s a mess in here. The dining table is ever so slightly off-center; the chairs are sprawled about the living room; the fruits that once adorned the table’s center are now scattered on the ground; the once welcoming rug is now painted red; the woman still lays there, like she did yesterday. I can’t just leave this room as I’ve done before. There is one other thing I have to check upon. The foolish man turns towards the bathroom.

     “Hey,” he says, as if he should be getting a response but, nothing. Not a word. No one is there to respond to him. He knocks on the bathroom door. Still, it proves futile. “I’m sorry It’s not-” he pleads as if someone were there to listen. Resting his ear next to the door, faint sobs can be heard.
                     I’m sorry.                          I’m sorry.
                       I’m sorry.                        I’m sorry.
                             I’m sorry.                        I’m sorry.
                             I’m sorry.                    I’m sorry.
That’s all this man can make out of the babble. It’s likely that the only thing past that door is now guilt. There’s no way he could open this door. He couldn’t bear to see what’s inside. The suit-wearing man left the door, but he could still hear the mumbling and sobbing past that door.

“It wasn’t your fault.” That’s what I wanted to say. There’s no way you could hear me now past this ear numbing rain. What should I do? Why did this happen? Why is this happening to me? You already know. That’s right, this is simply what happens to people like me. Did I really think I could keep indulging without any consequences?

The man feels a buzz in his pocket. He reaches for his phone, a picture of three people smiling together stains his screen: A man, a child, and a woman. The man in the picture, his suit is clean and well kept. He looks so different than he does now. These happy smiles make him uneasy now. A bit too late to regret.

A text message from my boss: “Come to my office ASAP, I know you were close to yesterday’s victim. I’m sorry, but I have to take you off the case after you make your report.” I won’t be coming in boss. I have one last thing to do. This gun I was entrusted with, I don’t deserve it. Even if it was a rainy day, that’s no excuse. I should’ve made sure. I should’ve been more responsible. He’s locked himself away, I can’t reach him anymore. Every time I came over to see that boy’s mother, he looked at me with such trusting eyes filled with awe. The web of lies I’ve spun with her, just for our selfish pleasures, ensnared him that night. He’d told me that he wanted to be just like me when he grew up. He thought that I saved people’s lives, that that’s what we do. I beg that he never ends up like me. His 10th birthday was yesterday, I told him he could be like me for that day. I lent it to him. And then he showed his mother those cool moves he learned in the movies. I was having too much that night. It was my fault, not yours.

The suit-wearing man reaches for it. That wailing instrument that smells of death. He trembles as he stretches out his arm, laying his quivering fingers on the cold steel. As he lifts it, it bleeds a lover’s blood. He set it on the dinner table. Picking up a chair off the ground, he props it up near the table and sits. That filthy tool lays in wait. Will he do it?

There’s only one way to fix this now.

I need to protect him at least.

He pulls out his phone and dials.
A deafening static envelops his ear.

“911 what’s your emergency?”

I killed a woman.

You won’t be forgiven.

The voice on the other side keeps babbling on. I can barely make sense of it, but somehow I manage to answer them without me noticing.

I won’t forgive you.

Time passes, and the door bursts open. I don’t know how long it’s been since I made that call. I’ve just been staring at her. I’m lost in her red dress.A voice. A voice calls to me, I don't understand what it says. It doesn’t matter now. I feel something grab me, it’s taking me past her. Finally, I can leave this room. Friend, I hope you can forgive me for making your son a killer.