Ever wonder what death looks like? You needn't. When it comes, you know. The musky metallic smell, hangs over the air and even in your clothes. It is thrilling.
I look at the body at my feet. He had been a handsome man. He had been my husband.
I stare at the gun in my hand, awed, waiting for any guilt to set in. But it did not.
Is this what it feels like to kill someone?
I gently drop the gun and pick up an overnight bag. I begin packing.
Idly I wonder what would catch up with me first; the police, his business partners or my conscience.
Let the race begin…
* * *
"Ali could you help cover the graveyard shift for me? Sharon needs me at home for the baby"
"Of course Ian. Give her my love. If you can't make it for your shift tomorrow afternoon, let me know as well
"Thank you so much." He leaves. There goes my night of relaxation, I thought. Not that I have anything important to do at home anyways but I am so looking forward to kicking off my shoes, pouring myself a glass of wine and just sliding through channels before falling asleep. "No sleeping now," I muttered under my breath.
I do not begrudge Ian or Sharon, they are lovely people and in truth I would take all Ian's shifts till he can fully come back. Sharon, having just given birth through Caesarean section four months back, needs all the help she can get. She tried doing it on her own the first two months and went back in for re- stitching as she ends up doing more damage to herself. Now, Ian cannot bear to be away from home longer than two hours. That is lovely in and of itself. The baby, a girl, is a noisy one; can't sleep for more than two hours, needs attention always. Or maybe it looks that way to me because I have no kids and probably never will. Ian and Sharon's babies are as close as I was ever coming to having children.
Having the graveyard shift as a receptionist in a hotel isn't so bad. You have the quiet, and the desk in front of you to do whatever you want, all the impossible customers are asleep, except the vampires and more importantly, auntie Mae, the head chef always brings out food for you. Enough food to feed an army, from the day's left overs. Well then, I guess I have to prepare for my shift. Thank goodness I always keep a pair of flats in a drawer because this shoes are killing me.
"Excuse me, I would like to book a room" a shrill-like voice said. This is one drop dead gorgeous lady. Light brown hair, petite in both size and length. She barely got up to the counter. If I am given a choice on how to look physically, I am positive what I will choose will not be far from how this lady looks.
I smile at her. "Welcome to Grace Manor Hotel. Which room do you want?"
"Medium class. I won't be staying long." She responds hastily.
"How long will you stay?"
"A week. Can I get the room or not?"
I guess she isn't into small talks. "Of course ma'am. Let me set you up. I need an identification card and 1000 dollars."
She brings out her credit card and an ID and I get busy. After I log her in, I take her up to her room and have her things brought up. I also send up some flowers, courtesy of the Hotel.
After that, it is pretty dull. I use the extra time to do some bookkeeping. I do not want to come up short in any area of my work here. This is all I have, all keeping me sane, keeping me from descending into a bottomless pit of self-pity and depression.
My source of depression is nothing more than being a single thirty-three year old with no hope of marriage in the nearest future or children, or even a decent high paying job.
My daily life is pretty monotonous; I work at as a receptionist – which isn't bad in the grand scheme of things- and I go home to a shitty empty apartment every day to throw off my shoes and drink a glass of cheap wine. Pretty interesting right?
Most days I just want to stay in bed and drink and sleep all day but have you taken a look at the prices of things these days? Food, rent, gas? Jeez! I can't even oversleep on any given morning. Life is hard.
Looking around, the hotel is every bit as grand as the papers make it out to be. I always get a kick whenever I see the name of the Grace Manor hotel in the headlines. I want to proudly shout it to the world; I work there.
The hotel ownership practices collective management of an older couple currently travelling the world, living the life I always dream of living; the life I manage to create n my imaginations
I smile bitterly, I could still live it. I have the location planned out, the transportation means I would need already figured out. I only need the money. That is all.
And by the savings currently sitting in my bank, unless something magical happen, by the time I'm financially stable to travel wide, I will probably be too old to chew beef.
Oh well, I should start cutting my hat according to my size or however the saying goes.
I look down at the accounts I am supposed to be balancing. My head aches. This math thing is not my area. I am nearly in tears.
A deep baritone interrupt my reverie "I have always thought only those brave enough balance accounts in the middle of the night. I could never be that good, to my parents' utmost regret."
Startled I instinctively flinch. I narrow my gaze at this bear of a man. I have not had the pleasure of meeting anyone as tall and as broad shouldered as this man. He carries it well too, with an ease and comfort as if sure of his place in the world; definitely sure of his place in this hotel by my desk.
"Perhaps you not learning common courtesy is your parents regret. How would you just sneak up on someone like that?"
The bear scoffed. "I've been standing here for a while and I made enough noise to wake the dead. I almost concluded your hearing has an impairment."
Riled, I retorted hastily, "…And here was I thinking you had the good sense to apologize. I should know better. Men of the younger generation do have a reputation of lacking common sense."
His mocking laughter immediately follows. "Younger generation?" he sneers. "I am flattered you think I am that young. You on the other hand definitely look like my mom's age mate."
Those hurtful words hit the right spot and I am sure that was his intention. I know I look older than my actual age but to actually be told so to my face and by a complete stranger?
I was seething. "I want to assume you are a guest but I will think otherwise since you obviously approached from the service area. Now I know every staff in the place personally and I have never seen you."
"I could be newly employed." He answered smoothly.
"Even if you were given the job an hour ago, I would still know you. Who are you?"
"Except you are a guest who just had a quick rumble with a staff. That would be extremely uncomfortable though because I know for a fact there is no comfortable place back there for that."
That mocking laugh again follows. "Honey you do not need comfort for that type of activity. However your 'fancy' thought leads me to believe you have lacked such pleasure for quite some time now."
I fume. "Who the hell are you? I will not ask again. The securities are on speed dial, you creep."
He purse his lips and keeps mum, merely watching me silently. That unnerves me. A devious smirks appears from nowhere, lifting the corner of his lips as his dark gaze glowers at me.
"I wonder what the securities would think when they come here and find out that you called to have me thrown off my property."
That was a dumb thing to say. I knew all the owners of this hotel and he was not one of them. "Look Mister, you either tell me who you really are or I will have your pompous self thrown out."
"Why, I'm Dominick. I will be pleased to lay you off." He smile broadens.
Stunned by this unexpected revelation I blink. "Dominick Rashford? I blurt out.
"That's it honey. Boy o' boy, this conversation has been enlightening to say the least."