| A story about... Forgiveness
© 2000 Damon Diehl, |
GREG | MARG | BRYCE & DAMON | |
| DAMON & BRYCE | ||||
| BRYCE | MARG & DAMON | |||
| DAMON & MARG | ||||
| DAMON | MARG & BRYCE | |||
| BRYCE & MARG |
The man in the chair shook his head.
"Bullshit! You're not that stupid. Don't tell me you didn't think about the consequences. Don't tell me you didn't think about every possible outcome. Don't tell me that you, of all people, didn't think."
I traced the blade down his temple, across his jaw, and finally tucked it beneath his chin. He leaned away from it instinctively, but I kept the pressure on, until his head was turned awkardly, and I imagine painfully, across his left shoulder. I pushed the tiniest amount, and watched with pleasure as a single drop of blood stained the tip of the blade.
I moved in front of him and showed him the crimson droplet.
"Pretty precious stuff, isn't it? And to think, you've spilled gallons of it. Wasted it. When you got me involved in this damned thing, you said we were going to save lives. My wife believed in you too. She left her job... Now we've got to leave the fucking country."
I wiped the blade off on the tips of my fingers, rolled the sticky substance around absently and contemplated the quick steady throb of his neck where I had made the wound. How does a man come to a pass like this? I had a good life, once.
"I'm not going to kill you. There's been enough of that. But I can't let you go. The feds will be here in an hour. All the information they'll ever need to convict you is on the way to their office right now. Tell them whatever you want about me and Marion. We'll be long gone and it won't matter anyhow."
I spent a few minutes wiping fingerprints off of the few things I had touched. Not that it mattered, but it made me feel better. When I turned to finally leave the first of many ratty, doomed little rooms in anonymous towns, I spoke to him one last time, "I hope you do think about. You'll have plenty of time. Goodbye. Partner."