Noir

A Story by panopticon

I killed someone. A part of me wants to deny it, but the hard fact remains. My father is dead, and I was the one who took his life.

I remember everything being gray. Colorless, dank. Musky, unwelcoming. It has always been like that for me; and unlike other children, my memories were never vivid. The past was as glum as the present, and the future never held much light.

But I had Karis, a childhood friend who I've always confided into. One of the only people who brought me true laughter and joy as I shove the darkness to an unspeakable place at the back of my mind.

But I knew what was there behind the door. We should never had gone in the first place, the old warehouse that withered with age and reeked of stale air. But Karis wanted to go, she pleaded and begged me even. And a part of me, the part beyond my conscience, also lusted for the adventurous thrill that lay beyond.

But I already knew.

I knew exactly what would happen; that as we opened the door, we would be greeted by a stench tainted with such abhorrence that no man could possibly have ever imagined of. And despite that, Karis continued onwards. Venturing a peek into the warehouse, she then broke into a desperate wail, springing back with great force and crouching onto the floor. Petrified; frozen in horror.

I knew what she had seen, too. And yet I desired to relive the experience once more. To feel again the adrenaline that pulsed in my veins as I turn my head towards him.

A lifeless body that lay on the floor, the bloodstains visible where the sharpness had sliced through his chest while a left hand lay, amputated, beside him.

I held my breath, eyeing the dusty hollows of his cheeks where the rot had grasped ahold of, and the mangy strands of hair that lay gently over his unrecognizable face.

Though deep down I knew I had committed an unforgivable sin, but I never thought it would be this bad. How long has it been? A week? Maybe less, and it is as if I had barely noticed Father's absence. It wasn't the guilt of taking a life that engulfed me, but it was the regret that Karis had to see all this. That she would now be scarred for life because I have failed to stop us both.

Clasping my hands over my mouth, I fell, full-length, onto the floor, letting the dizziness take me.

~~~

When I finally came to, we were no longer alone. But there were also two police officers, a man and a woman, who were both armed with pens and notepads, hastily examining the scene.

Karis must have tipped them off when she eventually summoned the confidence to do so.

The female stepped towards me, uttering words of comfort which I failed to comprehend. She planted a hand on my back, reassuring me that everything will be alright. She handed me a drink, which I knew was meant for relaxation's purposes. I took it indifferently, as the male officer recorded some notes.

There and then, my only thoughts were that they could not find out about the truth. For all of our sakes.

...And that I felt as if I wasn't the one plunging the knife into his flesh after all- The whole concept seemed like a figment of imagination to me, like it was merely a theory reinforced by some petty illusion. The regret had failed to register, as did the sorrow and panic that I should have felt as Karis eagerly narrated her experience, her voice still haunted.

The female officer started to talk to me, asking questions, maybe. But that didn't matter now; I could always lie. It's what I'm good at doing, what I've been doing all my life. I could lie about my DNA traces that would be found on his body, and everything would be fine- the murder weapon was impossible to find.