The Murderer by Paul Smith

Author:Paul Smith [Smith, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-01-21T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 4—Burden of Sacrifice

As he approached his hotel room on the second floor, he felt his own senses become heightened. Did he see something to cause this? Or was he merely being overly cautious?

The door was open, only slightly. But still that gave him a deadly, sinking feeling in his stomach.

Anger forced his voice up several notches. "Moira!" He fully expected her to come around the opening door, chastising him for yelling.

He would gladly have apologized to her. Now, seeing her laying there, he desperately needed to have her yell at him, criticize him—anything.

There was so much blood, it seemed the sheets were red instead of white. The look on her sweet face seemed twisted and surreal. Her eyes were round orbs empty of life.

James dropped to his knees and immediately wept. In front of him, a bloodied knife lay on floor, begging him to pick it up. He would not give them the pleasure of his easy self-incrimination.

"Moira, Moira, Moira. Oh my darling. What have I done to you?"

The next moment, he seemed to levitate off the floor, hurtled toward the room's one chair and launched it out the window. He stood at the window and screamed for what seemed an eternity.

After his voice gave out, he merely sat in the corner, on the floor, hoping to turn time backwards—to undo the things he had done—to save his dear Moira.

He barely saw the hotel manager when he came to investigate the chair which had crashed into the street. He only dimly recognized the police as they shuffled in and escorted him out.

For hours, he answered questions. Even when the repetition of questions began to annoy him, he let the annoyance roll over him and do its worst. He had no strength to resist.

Slowly though, he began to hate the invisible faces who had done this. His apparent powerlessness only added to his growing rage.

He told the police about his dangerous mission. He mentioned the spiked drink at the conference and the long talk he'd had with three other delegates after the day's session.

"You're not going to investigate the Rothschilds, Rockefellers and the United Nations, are you? Every one of you insignificant scum bow down to their power. They're untouchable. The real murderers are getting away, and you're stuck with me—me—more insignificant scum."

"Did she break off her engagement to you?" asked Jean Pierre, the officer currently interrogating him.

"Why would she? We were in love. She was even concerned that the bad guys who are pushing this climate change scam would kill me—not her. Now, I see that they want to destroy my spirit." James slammed his fists into the table. "Well, it's working. They knew right where to hurt me the most."

"How many times have you struck her?"

"You idiot. Why would I ever hit her? You're insulting me and her with that stupid question."

"Did you catch her sleeping with another man?"

"That's stupid. If I caught her with another man, wouldn't you think I would have killed them both? No! I didn't catch her cheating.

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