Caricature

Prologue

         Stephen watched her from Jean-Pierre’s office. His beautiful wife had gone into the Frenchman’s bedroom, little whore. Stephen picked up the colt .45 off of Jean-Pierre’s desk and slipped out the way he had come.

Chapter One

The door creaked and Marie Reynolds winced. She had wanted to make a discreet entrance into the house. It was 3 AM and Stephen was not going to be happy about it. She tip-toed inside and softly shut the door when she heard it.
         It was not a normal household sound. She should’ve heard the latch click but instead there was a loud piercing shot of…what? A gun? A car backfiring? It could’ve been anything. Deep down she knew it was the latter but she tried to ignore that. Those thoughts flushed the moment she saw her husband sitting in the dark.
         His eyes were glowing with an intensity that screeched “Kill her!” Jaw clenched, brown hair falling into his pretty blue eyes, he lifted the gun and pointed it at her.
~
         I hate the bastard that’s making me do this to her. But she needs to know that this is not okay. She needs to learn a lesson.
         “Am I not satisfying enough for you? Have I not provided you with multiple types of pleasure?”
         Naïve Marie looked at him in a slightly confused expression and stuttered, “Y-You kn-kn-know I care about you. You’re the best.”
         “Then why’d you need him?” Stephen’s face twisted into pure disgust.
         Marie’s face crumbled and Stephen smiled inside. This was what he had wanted. But her lesson was not learned yet, she needed a bigger, more memorable punishment.
         It wouldn’t be hard. All he had to do was pull the trigger. The back of his mind told him not to do it, that the ending would not be what he expected. He absently spun the chambers around. His white gloved hands looked ghostly in the dark.
         “You know, I’m really hurt right now. I don’t know what I could do.” His eyes glanced up from Jean-Pierre’s revolver as a tear escaped the corner of his eye. “You should run. But I don’t think I’ll let you…mainly because you need to figure out just how much you screwed up. Or, if you prefer, I could say how much you screwed.”
         “That’s not fair!” Stephen watched her mind race as she attempted to make an excuse. “He, um, drugged me…”
         “Getting you wasted would’ve been a hell of a lot more believable.”
         “Oh God, Stephen, please try to control your anger.”
         “I don’t know that I can do that anymore.” Stephen loaded the one empty chamber and ran his finger along the barrel.
         Eyes squeezed shut; Marie whimpered pitifully, “Just be quick.”
         “But that would take the fun out of it! The justice would be wasted.” Stephen became very mocking at this point saying, “What’s so great about Jean-Pierre anyways? I can screw just as good as him if not better!”
         “I…I guess I just wanted something different.”
         Stephen had had enough of her pitiful shame. He went rigid. The arm with the revolver was at a very specific 95 degree angle. It didn’t occur to Stephen that he wasn’t even close to pointing at the bitch’s foot.
~
         Shit he’s going to kill me. Marie hated the silence that invaded their home. Stephen jerked as if he’d heard a loud noise. He pulled the trigger and interrupted the silence. Marie’s last thoughts were I wish I had listened to him and stayed.
~
         A dog barked. Stephen’s arm jerked, his finger tensed and then there was blood.
         The blood wouldn’t stop. He couldn’t get her to stop. Cries of horror escaped his mouth and he wished this had never happened. Damn Jean-Pierre. It was all his fault. Jean-Pierre had been the cause of this. Stephen would have never aimed a gun at his wife if not for Jean-Pierre.
         Okay, try and remain calm…At least for a couple seconds. Call nine-one-one. That’s what I need to do. Yes, Yes, Yes.
         It took Stephen thirteen times to get nine-one-one dialed. His fingers kept fumbling and hitting six-six-one and zero-two-two among other combinations. Out of frustration he had thrown the phone at the wall. The wall had cracked, the phone had broken. Eventually Stephen had found the corded phone with big punch-in numbers. It was at this moment that Stephen realized he despised the sound of a phone ringing.

Chapter Two
         
Everything had gone by in a blur. They had shown up. Stephen could not remember who exactly “they” were. Somehow he had ended up in an interrogation room with cool air conditioning flowing down his now maroon shirt.
         “So, what happened Mister,” the investigator glanced at his papers, “uh, Reynolds.”
         “I came home.” Stephen was in complete shock. It was the kind of shock where it’s impossible not to shake. It was the kind of shock where if you moved or for one second released the tension in your body you would cry out in agony. The investigator observed this shock and carefully printed it into his paper-mate notebook.
         “And then…”
         “I saw her.”
         “Could you be more descriptive?”
         “She’s dead.”
         “I know.”
         “She’s dead.”
         “Yes.”
         Stephen’s eyes widened and he looked up slowly. His fist clenched on the table. Then he lost it. “My god she’s dead! And you’re asking me about it like everything’s fine and dandy! What the fuck is wrong with you people? My wife is fucking dead!” Stephen began to mumble quickly and stutter, “Sh-she’s dead, d-dead, dead-d. Dead as can b-be. How can she be dead? W-why is she dead? She’s dead. She’s dead. My wife is dead. The woman I have spent three years of my life with is dead. She’s dead.” His head began to roll back and forth with each syllable and his voice went up an octave every other sentence.
         “Yes sir, we’re aware and very sorry for your loss. We’re just trying to-”
         “I know what you’re trying to do. You want to know why she’s dead. Why? Why is she dead?”
         “We don’t know.” The investigator, who’s name appeared to be Edgar on his nametag but was actually Edward, was immensely uncomfortable at this point. His brow was that of a caterpillar and his fingers were glued to the table from the mixture of baby powder he normally used for this problem and the never-ending sweat.
         “Have you ever heard of something called a rhetorical question?”
         The investigator nodded.
         Stephen face became softer as he gained control of himself again. “If you have, I don’t think you get the concept of it.”
         Paper’s shuffled. “Look sir, it appears that you are in shock and pain.”
         “No shit.”
         “Yes. Um, I think we should continue this interrogation later. Does that work for you?”
         “It’s just fine.”
         “Have a nice day.”
         Stephen pointed his finger at him and raised his eyebrows playfully, “You’re a funny one. Edgar is it?”
         Edward could only manage a soft “Sure” at this point. The man he had been in the room with for the last thirty minutes had been the most terrifying he had ever seen. Stephen seemed normal but it was clear that there was something underneath…Something that hinted at complete insanity.
~
         He had another interview. He was calmer. Somehow, he got away with the murder. He had no idea how. He had no idea why. And after he realized nothing would happen, he wanted to do it again. The bastard that made him kill his wife had to pay.

Chapter Three

         One wheel needed to be oiled. It would randomly stop and the cart would veer off course noticeably. Stephen tried to get some weight off that side of the grocery cart. It didn’t work too well but it did help so Stephen kept it that way.
         He had systematically scavenged every aisle -except the candy aisle- for food. He’d started out with the fruit and made his way towards the crackers. He wanted to try and make some new dishes for his restaurant. He was hoping to make some awesome desserts but couldn’t make himself go down the candy aisle.
         Marie had loved candy. She’d always say “I’m going to have some asparagus” and eat licorice instead. It was one of the things that Stephen loved about her. Somehow his mind convinced him that it wasn’t really the candy aisle, it was the vegetable area.
         The cart squealed as it twisted into the aisle. Stephen’s mind was bombarded with bright candy wrappers. Everything was taunting him. Snickers! Hershey’s Kisses! Even the gummy worms mocked him saying “We’re eating your wife. We’re eating your wife right now.”
         Stephen screamed in horror. Everything disappeared except for those worms. Their bright colors faded and they moved toward him at an ever slowing rate. Just when they were about to reach him, everything went black.