John sat staring at his hands in disbelief. The blood
was warm to the touch and brilliant red.
“Christ, what the hell have I done?”
Surveying the room he saw red everywhere. The floors, the walls, even the carpet. The bitch should have never played him for a fool. John was a quiet man who wouldn’t harm a fly. That is… until after a few shots of whiskey.
It had been a long night down at Curly’s Pub. He shouldn’t have given in to tequila shots but it was a little late for that now. Hell, who was he kidding? When it came to drinking, no one needed to talk him into anything. Pulling himself to his feet John stumbled over a man’s body lying in the floor.
“I need a drink.”
He made his way across the room into the kitchen and opened the cabinet.
“Where the hell is my bourbon? Isn’t it enough that I catch you screwing this guy but you have to let him drink my liquor too?”
Still seething he picked up a dish and flung it across the room watching it shatter against the wall. He felt righteous. Opening the refrigerator he continued to search for something to drink. The beer just purchased was gone. The only alcohol was a cheap bottle of Chardonnay. He didn’t bother with a glass.
Stumbling back into the bedroom he looked at the lifeless body of the woman on the bed. Her naked torso covered in blood. It was her fault. John came home to tell her he loved her and was going to quit drinking. His plan would have turned out fine but his key wouldn’t work. She had the nerve to lock him out for being late. As if these cheap apartment doors would ever stop anyone from coming in. Christ was she stupid. He didn’t remember much after he got in the apartment. He could hear them before he reached the bedroom door. You’ve got to be kidding me he thought. He suddenly felt sick. Peering into the bedroom he could see their bodies coiled together, rising and falling like waves on the ocean. Blind with rage things went black. He felt numb. The knife lay in the floor next to the naked body of the man. John vaguely remembered grabbing the knife and charging into the bedroom. Now the only breath left in the room was his.
Feeling justified John raised the bottle to his mouth. It was after all a crime of passion and morally right. Christians for centuries have done atrocious things in the name of the Father. He long believed that people guilty of screwing around deserved whatever punishment they got. His cell phone interrupted the silence.
“Work? At this hour? Christ, it never ends.” Annoyed, he answered.
“John? John? Is that you?”
John sat frozen... his heart pounding inside his chest.
“John, answer me. I’m worried. Are you okay?”
John remained silent; this was obviously a sick joke.
“John, please come home! I’m scared. There's an awful commotion going on next door. I think the neighbors are having some kind of fight.”
Fear and sobering reality gripped him. The apartments looked exactly alike. Anyone could have made the same mistake.
“John!” She was screaming now.
John hung up. Staring first at the bodies in the room and then at the bottle in his hand, he knew there was nothing to say.
© Mike Gowen