It’s not over until the fat lady says so
By Pierre C Arseneault
“Oh, Lord I’m such a terrible person,” thought the older woman behind the cash register at Word-Nerds New and Used Bookstore. The feeling of joy and happiness was still washing over her when this thought went through her mind.
“How can I be happy about what I’ve just witnessed?” she wondered. “If they ask, I’ll deny seeing it. I won’t admit it,” she thought as she made her way around the counter.
The only customers in the store were in the back and had been busy digging through her reduced to clear section.
“They too must have heard the noise from the impact,” she thought as they now made their way towards the front of the store. She opened the door as one of the young women brushed past her.
“Oh my God!” said the young woman who’s name escaped her under the circumstance. “Isn’t that… isn’t that your son?” she said wide eyed with a shocked look on her face.
“Yes. I think so,” was all that the old woman managed to say as she walked into the street. A man now knelt next to him and was feeling his wrist for a pulse then to his neck where he placed his fingers in the blood.
The man looked up at the older woman now that he knew who she was. “I’m sorry,” was all that he said.
One of the men on the opposite side of the street was talking on his cell phone to a 911 dispatcher. Quietly a barefooted blonde woman clutching a red shoe to her chest walked up and stood next to the book store owner. She was clearly shaking like a leaf and just looked at the old woman dumbfounded. Clearly having just realized that the dead man lying in his own blood was the son of the woman she knew as the owner of Word-Nerds.
“I wonder if she saw the car that hit him?” thought the book store owner.
Looking up she saw people taking pictures with their cell phones and all the while all she could think about was if they would figure out he was the killer they were looking for. Would they connect him to the rapes and killings to her idiot son whom she had to regularly punish for his stupid behaviour, even at his age?
“Stupid boy got what he deserved,” thought the woman as she placed her hand on the small of the quivering blonde’s back. She glanced at her and then at the gathering crowd of onlookers and spoke briefly.
“I better go lock up the store so I can tend to my boy.” Turning she walked back to her store as the onlookers watched her go.
Closing and locking the door behind her, a slight smile appeared on her face as she walked around the counter and disappeared into the small kitchen in the back. A moment later she emerged carrying a tray containing a dry sandwich on a soggy paper towel, a plastic bowl containing cold soup, crackers and a plastic glass of warm milk. No utensils. Walking towards the back of the store she spoke to herself.
“Finally rid of that stupid boy,” she said thinking of her boy in a puddle of his own blood. Setting the tray down onto one of her discount bins she pulled a key from a hidden pocket at the waistband in her long skirt. She proceeded to open the thick wooden door before her revealing a staircase to the cellar.
“We can’t let you starve to death now can we?” she said as more of a statement than a question. She picked up the tray and started down the stairs. “Steal from me will you? I wonder if you still think I look like Kathy Bates now, you little rat bastard!” she said as she fiddled with a second key to another wooden door. That door would lead to a sorry soul who would see the full brunt of the mean woman’s wrath now that her son wasn’t there to take his share anymore.
Thank you for reading this collaboration between myself and the writers of Mysterious Ink! It was a blast learning how to do this and coming up with something we all enjoyed.
If you want to see more of Pierre Arsenault and Angella Jaccob please consider making their dreams come true by donating to their movie through IndieGogo.
author of Sending You Sammy, Brain Tales – Volume One and Arm Farm