How I Got Away With Murder

Success in Murder Blog #3 

Bullets trickled to the floor like a jumbled kids game of jacks. Hollow cases shimmered in the evening sunset. I counted 4 shells…but there could have been more. The number didn’t matter. What mattered was “he” was gone. I had succeeded. I briskly zipped up my .20 caliber rifle, and was off.

I had lived through a terrible college experience in my few years I spent at Harvard Medical School. My family wanted me to take after my father, but a doctor was not what I really wanted to be. Although, I remained in every science class until the end of that year. Books filled my room, along with personal information, to fill out internship applications to local newspapers-hoping to be granted my real opportunity. My roommate was quiet and kept to himself most of the time. He spent a lot of time in “that” room, and I tried to stay out as much as possible. Avoiding his presence is what I did. It wasn’t that I was provoked by him. I felt the need to give him just as much space as he gave me. I believed the whole point of a roommate was to not build a strong personal relationship between the two individuals. But, it almost was a way of letting him progress towards his goal.

I came back one late night from the library to see a look of shock on his face. Arms to the side, body fully erect, and his face flushed with a seemingly white color to it.

“What’s wrong dude?”

“Nothing.”

I spun a 180 and walked out that door again and decided I’d come back once again, still later. That time would never come, because by distancing myself all these months between him and I, “It” was able to obtain all my information. What made me-me…my identity. In a matter of a day, I quite fortunately dropped out of school, hoping to achieve my goal of finding that rat bastard and put him in his place. I knew why he wanted me. My father was in the hands of a whole medical corporation, hoping to send out a new drug in the next few months. And once that drug had come out, and I was done with my last year of schooling, all that extra money from sales and stocks would go to me-his son. Money was the only gift he seemed to be able to give to me. We didn’t have a strong bond, and this was his way of justifying our link together. What was rightfully mine, I didn’t even want. Money was being spent on an education I did not approve of…but I certainly did not approve of some stranger being granted this money that most certainly would be considered mine. And what was worse-he had everything to say who “he” was, was actually me.

Things were tense with my dad, and school, and law enforcement, so I decided to go about this mission independently. For years, copious amounts of money were being wired from my Dad’s business to “it”. Even when I tried to be productive, missed calls were all I received from him. He still thought it was the money I was after. Limitless amounts would be transferred over daily. Amounts I couldn’t even comprehend or know of, because I did not have the sources to be proactive in this type of situation. I was just a regular college student now broke from forgery, identity theft, and rent bills themselves. It all seemed like a blur at first… a gloomy haze that couldn’t be real. But 10 years had gone by without a trace of it.

10 years later…

I came home from work after a stressful day at the office, trudging to the steps of my one room apartment door. Everything seemed to be normal. All was quiet, but I seemed to still enjoy quiet to this day. I kicked the rust filled metal door and let it sway open as the gust of wind engulfed us both. I hoped to see lovely rustic furniture. Some mahogany colored tables, and furnished wooden floors. Something all that money could have finally bought me. There’s nothing like that sweet smell of wood bringing back memories from Mom and Pop’s house. Cheerful gazes would be given to me as I stepped foot in from school, and I usually would be greeted with a plate of food due to my Italian cultured background. But this was different. I did not even smell a faint lingering odor of myself. I dropped my bags, and bolted for the kitchen. Gun in hand, I crept slowly around the corner. Muffling sounds could be heard in my bedroom…the only other way out. “It” had already jumped, somehow surviving the two story fall. I knew what “it” wanted, and “it” was back for more…                     The door had still stayed open, being absorbed in by the gusts. I almost tripped out the door, but this time I would not lose. I furiously flew up to the third flight of stairs, which paved the way to the rooftop…overlooking the town. Although he was in a distance, there was no way he could get away now. He was in full view, as I knelt down and cocked back my firearm. This was it. Something I had seemed to be waiting for forever.

Bullets trickled to the floor like a jumbled kids game of jacks. Hollow cases shimmered in the evening sunset. I counted 4 shells…but there could have been more. The number didn’t matter. What mattered was “he” was gone. I had succeeded. I briskly zipped up my .20 caliber rifle, and was off.

 

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