With a weathered hand he caressed the package. This was the one. This would work. He grasped it in his palm and tossed it in the basket that dangled at his side. He turned to leave the aisle. He didn't want to linger. He needed to keep moving. He didn't like wasting time. He moved swiftly toward the front of the store. He just wanted to get home. He had what he came for, what he needed.
His mind suddenly drifted. He didn't know what he was going to say. How was he going to tell them. He had to do this right. He had to use exactly the right words. There was a great deal at stake. He was putting his reputation on the line. He thought he heard footsteps approaching. He spun around. It was only a store clerk headed to the front of the store. He tried to act nonchalant. He wasn't sure if he had drawn attention to himself. He lowered his head and gripped the handles of the basket more tightly. His palms were sweating. His mouth was dry. He was sure someone had figured it out. Someone had put the pieces together. Someone was going to ruin the plan.
He kept a steady pace. He reached the checkout and placed his basket on the counter. He reached in and removed it's contents, placing them before the cashier. She reached and retrieved the first item. Her eyes were innocent. She didn't know. She had no idea. She pulled the second and final item towards her. Beep. She placed it in the bag. He held out the wadded up bills for her. She took them and neatly opened them up and slid into their proper slots in the drawer. She turned and smiled, handing him his receipt. He nodded. That was all. And like that, it was done. He was surprised. He shouldn't have been. There was no reason to be surprised. Everything had gone as could have been expected. And yet he worried. He worried until he was safe in his car and on his way out of the parking lot.
Then the nerves set in. He wasn't worried anymore. He had what he needed. Now he was simply planning. He was planning what he would say. He hadn't completely decided to whom it needed to be said, but he practiced anyway.
His drive home was uneventful, full of contemplation. He turned into the driveway and climbed the hill to his front door. The bag swung at his side. The thin film of recycled plastic clung to its contents. He smiled at the notion. He was going to walk right last them with it. They had no idea. There was no inclination. He had been discerning in his actions. He had performed flawlessly. He had succeeded in his own opinion.
He opened the box in the corner of his closet and dropped the bag inside. He had to wait. Now was not the time. He still didn't know what to say. He slumped into the desk chair and then immediately straightened upright. Now was a time of serious importance. He couldn't be lazy. He needed to fully devote his attention on lay before him. He needed to concentrate on the task at hand.
He put pen to page. Page one. He wrote with ease. The words flowed from within. He no longer had to consider what to say. What needed to be said just came out naturally. Page two. He was still writing. The sun began to set. Page three. The pen hadn't left the page. He cracked his knuckles. Page four. He wasn't finished. Page five. He was tired. His mind was growing weary. Page six. The pen fell to mark a period. It slammed into the paper with defiance. He was happy with what he had written. It was finished.
He pulled open the drawer at his side. He searched for the file. His fingers thumbed over the color-coded tabs. Where was it? He needed one last thing. His fingers stopped on the green tabbed and he pulled the file out. He opened the folder. It was all there. Everything he needed. He folded the papers and slid them into a manilla envelope. He bent the metal clasp over, securing the pages within. Turning over the envelope, he places it before him. He reached again for his pen. He spelled it out in three bold letters. He put the pen back in its place and took the envelope to the box in his closet. He slid the envelope along the side of the box and folded down the flaps. He was confident. He was pleased with his progress. Now he could only wait.
He pulled back the blanket that covered his bed. He climbed beneath the sheet and pulled it up around his face. It was soft. The scent reminded him of his grandparents' house. He closed his eyes and hoped sleep would come quickly. His mind was racing. He tried to be at peace. He tried to be calm but he could only toss and turn. He was sweating. He hated that.
He awoke the next morning to the silence of a winter day. The house was closed up tight. Everyone had gone off to work and school. He found himself alone, as he had intended. He threw back the covers and rise to his feet. He didn't feel rested. He retrieved the box from his closet. He walked to the kitchen and placed the envelope on the island. It was in plain sight. It wouldn't be missed. He moved to the front door and stuck a note on the handle. It was a warning. A courtesy.
He climbed the stairs and moved to the bannister. He began to do his work. He opened the package he had purchased the night before. He moved back downstairs. He returned with a bottle and a glass. He poured a tonic and downed it in one long swig. It sloshed against the back of his throat. It burned. He stepped into position. He was ready.
With one final move, he kicked the chair from beneath him. The rope went taut.
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