Moonlight the color of diamonds shone through the double set of floor to ceiling windows.  It created points of illumination in a room otherwise shrouded in darkness.  Sharp enough to draw blood, the lines between light and dark cut through the room.  Not even the light from the penthouse hallway ruined the scene as she stepped inside.

Of course, she was blind to the stark beauty.  She had other things, other prey, on her mind.  He was here.  That was all but certain.  Earlier that evening, she’d left in her little dress made from a green so dark that it was often mistaken for black.  She’d meant to entice him, but instead he hadn’t even noticed.

Earlier tonight, she had nothing planned.  Maybe in a few weeks or months, she’d work up the nerve to hire a PI or a divorce attorney.  The actual time period changed fluctuated.  Some days he seemed to love her again—like when they’d first been married—but then other days he seemed as cold as the north pole.  Then she’d found the panties.

They hadn’t been hers.  Too small.  Other pieces fell into place.  Suddenly, the smirks and the sly looks made sense.  She moved up her timetable.  Next week, she’d get that private investigator and take her husband for all the money he had.  There wasn’t any reason she should be left destitute.  But that wasn’t enough.  He needed to be shown the error of his philandering ways.  Something to humiliate him much as he’d done to her.

And then tonight, she’d found the answer.  Overwhelmed by a sudden onrush of emotion, she’d left the mingling party guests who chatted about nothing all at once.  She’d found herself in the library, surrounded by books and a desk  in the center of the room.  Taking a seat behind it, she glanced at the photograph of her best friend Jenny and her husband before starting to pick through the drawers.  In the bottom, sitting next to a half full bottle of Irish whiskey was a snub-nosed .38.

Now it sat in her clutch, heavy, as she moved soundlessly through the rooms she shared with her husband.  Laughter came from the bedroom.  She recognized it as belonging to Jenny.  Anger blossomed into hatred as she crept closer.  Had that been why she hadn’t been found at her own party?

The two of them lay in each other’s arms in her marriage bed.  Her husband pushed back a lock of Jenny’s hair.  She could remember when that had been one of the little things she loved about her husband.  Not anymore.  No longer would she be a patsy.

He never saw the first shot coming.  He saw the second, but she doubted he so much as felt the third.  Jenny screamed in counterpoint to the roar of revolver.  That scream as much as everything else ended their friendship.  She received the fourth.  Regret tried to pull at her, to make her feel something, but it sloughed off.  What good was regret?

She stepped out of the room and walked to the penthouse door, the still smoking .38 held loose in her hand.   Maybe she’d return to the party.  Yes, that sounded nice.  The company of other people and their innocent conversation would go down like a fine wine this night.  An absent smile crooked at the corner of her lips.  That would do nicely.  The revolver slipped from her hand as she shut the door behind her.

Moonlight the color of diamonds filled the room, setting the room aglow in a silver light.  Cars blared their horns in the streets far below.  The now still hallway with its hardwood floors were no longer their natural light brown, but rather seemed to shine white.  White save for the pool of blood, red as a rose, that crept out from the bedroom.


 

I did this for Rachael Ritchey’s #BlogBattle.  You can find the rest of the posts here.

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