Close Enough

He could have finished it right there. He could have pulled the trigger, finished the job, and been on a flight back home before anyone even found the body. Instead, he was in the rose garden, making out with the man he was supposed to kill.

It was nice, this kissing. It was nice to feel Stewart Covington’s trusting embrace. It was nice to feel Stewart’s breath on his ear as he whispered “Ben…” Even though it was just his alias for this job, it was nice just the same.

It was too nice. He gently broke their embrace. Now, having met this man and spending time with him, he wasn’t sure if he could kill him.

“Shouldn’t you be getting back inside?” Ben asked. “You are the host of the party.”

He was giving Stewart a way out, a chance to go back inside the Covington Mansion and mingle with his wealthy guests, a chance to escape a future that had been laid out for him weeks before. And if Stewart went back inside, Ben promised himself that he would leave. He would just tell Edward Massey that it couldn’t be done, that he couldn’t get into the party. He’d give the money back.

But Stewart didn’t want a way out.

“They won’t miss me for a while,” he said. “Besides, I want to show you something.”

He took Ben’s hand and led him on the paved path that meandered through the garden, under the old oaks, around plants and flowers that shone in the chilly, silver moonlight. As they walked, Ben couldn’t help but feel like a mischievous schoolboy off on a secret tryst. He wondered what it would be like to live with Stewart and wake up to that chiseled face every morning. He wondered what it would be like to curl up on a couch with him and watch a movie, stroking his soft blond hair. He imagined introducing him to people as ‘Stewart Covington, my partner.’

They stopped at a wall of tall hedges, away from the house and any observing eyes.

“It’s a hedge maze,” Stewart said. Ben already knew. He studied layouts of the property before he used a stolen invitation to get into the party. He knew every twist and turn of that hedge maze, because on the other side of it, not far from the horse stables, was a one man boat with a quiet outboard motor waiting on the bank of the river. His getaway.

Stewart stepped into the entrance to the maze.

“You coming?” he teased.

Ben followed him in. After a series of right and left turns they ended up in the central square of the maze.

Stewart turned to face Ben, and Ben pulled out the gun.

“Jesus…” Stewart sighed, and Ben could swear it sounded like disappointment.

“This isn’t personal.”

He didn’t know why he felt the need to say that. ‘Just shoot, goddamn it!’

“I finally meet a man I could see myself having a future with, and he wants to kill me.” Stewart laughed coldly and shook his head. “Who sent you? Carlin? No, even he wouldn’t go this far. Brown? No. It was that cunt Massey, wasn’t it? This is just his style. Ha! I hope you charged him extra for the silencer.”

Ben said nothing. He just stood with his gun pointed at Stewart. He was unable to pull the trigger.

“Ben,” he said. “I really liked you. Funny, isn’t it?” He stepped closer and gently pushed the gun out of the way – Ben didn’t stop him. “I won’t stand here and plead and blubber for my life. I’ve done tons of evil things – mostly in the name of money. But I met you tonight and thought that God had forgiven all my transgressions. I should have known better. I should have known that I could never deserve someone as noble as you pretended to be.” He laughed a quiet, resigned laugh. “But can’t we still pretend for just a little while longer?”

He leaned in and brought his mouth to Ben’s, and Ben longed for that kiss to happen. One more kiss, one more chance to imagine. A chance to pretend that he didn't kill people for money, and that this beautiful place would never become a crime scene.

But there was no kiss – just the sharp, sudden pain of the knife as it entered just under his ribcage.

In trained reaction, he shot Stewart in the gut, and Stewart staggered back, holding his wound. He backed into a hedge wall and slowly slumped down, bleeding out, his eyes trained on Ben as he died.

Ben clenched his teeth and tried not to groan as he pulled the knife out. The pain was excruciating.

“The silencer,” he said, yanking the knife out, “is included in the price.”

The hedge maze became a crime scene, and Stewart Covington became another statistic, another victim of random violence.

Ben collected the money. He planted roses in his back yard. And he was always sad when he thought about what could have been.