Jan 2015
The door to the apartment was unlocked when I got there, knowing I was minutes too late. The place was typical, exactly what I expected. Tiny kitchen with the basic bar and two swivel stools. TV on a stand and a floral pattern couch with the sliding door opening on the balcony to my right. Straight ahead was the hallway to the tiny bedroom. I gently closed the door and locked the *** and dead bolt. Walking straight ahead, noticing the bathroom door closed to my right in the tiny hallway. A queen bed in the one bedroom, red sheets and red comforter, white walls and an open closet. Fake flowers in a red plastic vase sitting innocent on a bedside table. No window and a single hanging print of Goya's Saturn Devouring His Son on the wall above a folding desk. The desk was home to a record player, circa 60's, vinyl still spinning, Brand New's The Devil and God are Raging Inside Me.
At least she died to something good I thought to myself. I didn't handle the torn remains of the acid green dress laying on the bed. She had put her shoes away and selected the vinyl before they arrived, probably had a glass of wine since there was one of those stemless glasses sitting empty on the bar. I doubted those who had come were the wine drinking type. Death was not unknown to me, neither was **** and retribution nor cruelty to make a political statement. But I did not want to go into that bathroom. I did not want to find what was left. I did not want to add her face to the long, long list of empty faces kept in record by my memory. I hate histrionics and false drama, but expecting to find the Countess gone, I reset the vinyl.
She was still breathing when I walked in. Naked except for her black hose, splayed out in the tub, a perfect 9 millimeter hole six inches above her left breast. It was two in the morning on the dot. In that moment, everything left me. All loyalty, all ideology, all thoughts of advancement, all regrets from the past. Gone in an instant. I gathered what was left of her in my arms.
It was hard carrying her down the stairs, but she put one hand through my hair and it helped. To this day I'm not sure how I found her car keys, but I do remember she whispering to me that her's was the grey Buick out front. She was dead by the time I got to the hospital.
At least she died to something good I thought to myself. I didn't handle the torn remains of the acid green dress laying on the bed. She had put her shoes away and selected the vinyl before they arrived, probably had a glass of wine since there was one of those stemless glasses sitting empty on the bar. I doubted those who had come were the wine drinking type. Death was not unknown to me, neither was **** and retribution nor cruelty to make a political statement. But I did not want to go into that bathroom. I did not want to find what was left. I did not want to add her face to the long, long list of empty faces kept in record by my memory. I hate histrionics and false drama, but expecting to find the Countess gone, I reset the vinyl.
She was still breathing when I walked in. Naked except for her black hose, splayed out in the tub, a perfect 9 millimeter hole six inches above her left breast. It was two in the morning on the dot. In that moment, everything left me. All loyalty, all ideology, all thoughts of advancement, all regrets from the past. Gone in an instant. I gathered what was left of her in my arms.
It was hard carrying her down the stairs, but she put one hand through my hair and it helped. To this day I'm not sure how I found her car keys, but I do remember she whispering to me that her's was the grey Buick out front. She was dead by the time I got to the hospital.
(Old Florida)
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