Desperation Isn't That Bad, right?

"BARBARA!" I screamed as loud as I could as I stood in front of my wife's corpse with a wide grin plastered all over my now exhilarated face. I then left the bathroom and screamed once more, "BARBARA!" I repeated as I stood outside of the bathroom, trying my very hardest to release as much anger within me as possible. I did so because I expected one of my neighbors to hear me screaming my lungs off, but after a while, when nobody still came and knocked on my door, I realized that maybe nobody heard my frantic screaming.

I screamed once more, thinking that maybe doing so would finally alert the neighborhood in a subtle way—one that doesn't feel like I'm begging for their help. However, none of them ever came out of their homes to follow through my plan.

I sighed as I felt my throat starting to get sore while thinking of a phrase ringing from out of my brain while I remembered the many things that my wife had done to me in the past few days. A passage from the words of the Lord himself, ringing all over my head like beckoning arrays of bells.

Ezekiel 20:38.

... and I will purge from you the rebels and those who transgress against Me;

"Fine. I'll do it myself."

... Thus you will know that I am the LORD.

I then dialed 911 and while still trying to get into character: I am a man who's feeling very upset and distraught after seeing the love of my life dead in the bathroom. I breathed three times before I heard the 911 operator speak on the other side of the phone and allowed myself to get on the magic.

I placed the phone on a table in front of the mirror. I then looked straight into my face and analyzed the tone of my voice. I did so while trying my very hardest to explain what happened with the most convincingly saddened tone I could ever pull off. I pulled my brownish-black hair upward so it wouldn't cover my face; this is my way to analyze if my facial expression is working well. One must always remember that the way a person's face contorts affects the way they speak. My thick eyebrows are raised and pulled upward as my eyes turn into the shape of a teardrop. I couldn't quite call my tears from within the spaces around my eyes, but I can make my voice shake enough so it would appear like I'm genuinely crying.

Nonetheless, it wouldn't be as convincing as hearing someone who's actually crying, so I have to work on that later when the police officers finally come knocking on my door. I pulled the corners of my lips downwards and forced my lower lip to tremble, so it would affect the way my emotions are conveyed through my voice.

It all went well, and from what I can gather based on how the call went, the 911 operator didn't suspect anything amiss on what I had said and quickly told me that a few blues would be going to my house right away.

I then quickly moved on with my plan as I bolted towards our room as fast as I could. I took a piece of paper that I had hidden in my closet from a few days back that would aid me in this matter. I took the milk carton and placed it on top of the piece of paper before going to the kitchen and opening an electric fan. I opened my eyes wide with my fingers and put it a few inches away from the fan to force my eyes to water. However, it didn't really achieve much, mainly because I am not really feeling very sad at this very moment. In fact, I am happy! I am so goddamn happy that my brain pretty much is telling my eyes not to do any crying because god damn my dopamine is spiking up the roofs! I have never felt this happy in my entire life—never been so excited for such a long time!

After a few moments, I realized that the damn electric fan thing is really not working as well as I hoped it would be and quickly thought of a way to force myself to cry as fast as I can while the cops aren't here yet. As my mind tried to find many ways to force a tear out of my eyes, I then saw a bag full of chili peppers. That was when an idea burst right out of my head. I took four of those chili peppers and crushed them all before spreading it all over my palms. I then stretched my eyes as much as humanly possible before inhaling three quick breaths with my palms open while shaking.  

I then closed my eyes once again while gritting my teeth but opened it once more when I heard the police sirens ringing from afar. I opened my eyes once more while drawing one last breath as I averted my gaze towards my chili-filled palms.

I'm gosh darn desperate to make this plan work in my favor so hard, damn it!

But hey, desperation isn't that bad, right?

I dropped my face on my palms with my eyes still open, allowing the pepper to sleep right through my eyes. I let it crawl deep into my insides from my eyeballs until it became so unbearably painful that I could no longer hold it in anymore.

When the police officers found me moments later, they saw a broken, tired, distraught, pale man, holding his wife on the floor of his own bathroom. They all slightly looked at me with tear-filled eyes as they saw how reddened and pained my eyes were as I allowed my pain to seep right out of my eyes with my wife still on my hands. I blinked my eyes uncontrollably for so many times that I couldn't remember how many times I repeated doing so anymore.

After a while, while I'm still feeling stinging in my eyes, the police officers urged me to approach them. However, I told them that I wouldn't do so without my wife—only for effect, of course, for I am already dying to get this betraying little wrench out of my hands already.

The police officers then started asking me countless questions one after another, which I quickly answered with many convincing answers.

"Where were you when the incident happened?" The police officer asked as he looked straight into my reddened eyes.

"In the church as always. It's Sunday." I said while scratching my eyes with the back of my hands.

"Are you aware that your wife, Mrs. Antonova, would do something like this?"

Of course, I am well aware of it! I planned the entire damn thing for a week now ever since my wife threatened that she would call the police unless I turn myself in first. Her first mistake is that she didn't tip the cops right away after seeing the many gruesome things I have hidden in my table. Perhaps, it was because, deep inside of her, she still needs me for various reasons—emotionally, socially, physically, and maybe also because she actually loved me. However, all of those went out of my head right away when Barbara decided to cross me. That's what happens to anyone who dares go against my family.

"What kind of stupid question is that? Of course, I wouldn't know! I wouldn't know, damn it, she killed herself, how would I know?" I said, raising my voice at her as tears started to flow out of my eyes again because I accidentally placed more chili peppers in the corners of my eyes. "I'm sorry, I... I got so upset. I didn't mean to, I..."

I felt like maybe I got too angry there that it would blow my cover, but fortunately, it seems like the man is still not suspecting anything amiss. Good. Perhaps, it has a lot to do with the fact that I am a man of God. For this, I have nothing but gratitude to the Man upstairs, He who looks out for me throughout my life.

"It's fine, Mr. Antonova. We didn't mind."

Mr. Antonova, huh? Never heard anyone saying that name before. Everyone in my church knows how much I despised it when my surname is paired with a "Mister."

"Mr. Antonova is my father," I said, sighing because I am now starting to regret my decision to put that much chili pepper in my eyes. "Please, call me Anatoly," I spoke weakly while looking at the other police officers who're taking my wife's body away from the bathroom with a stretcher.

The police officer must have seen this and placed his hand on my shoulder before saying, "She's in a better place now, Anatoly."

"I hope she is," I said, sniffing but trying my best not to touch my nose. "God, I hope she is." I then placed my hands on the floor before doing the sign of the cross. The police saw me doing this with a confused look on his face. "I'm an Orthodox Christian, officer. In my church, we would bow on the floor first before doing the sign of the cross, but we only usually do it while we're in the church or when... something very unusual happens."

The police officer must have realized that he's finally losing his rapport with me. After clearing his throat, he then asked, "Okay then, uh... Anatoly. Let's get back on track, eh?"

"Please," I said weakly in response.

"What do you think caused your wife's um... untimely death by their own hands?"

... Because she conspired against me! She told me that she would first call the police and then contact my church's bishop and anyone else above me and tell them all the evidence she has that I had been stealing most of the church's funds to help my family business. As if the corruption conspiracy against me is not big enough, my family's business is also filled with so many questionable movements. If it came into the limelight just for a little bit, it would ruin everything that the Organization had done for the past decades! More than anything else, it would destroy my career as a priest, and...

I told her that it would all be fine, and in time, I will explain everything to her. She just had to trust me and stay on my side until the very end when I am ready to confide everything, but... She refused it. She says that it's too much of a sacrifice for her...

I wasn't asking for anything huge, just...

Exodus 12:13.

The blood shall be a sign for you on the houses where you live; and when I see the blood I will pass over you, and no plague will befall you to destroy you when I strike the land of Egypt.

All I ever wanted was for her to sacrifice just for a little bit for us. I had always done so to preserve my sanctity as a man of the Lord; why can't she do the same? Her lack of insight boggles my mind so much that I... Ha... I'm glad she's gone. 

I know, okay? I know I may come off as a hypocrite when I say these words now, what with the murder and drugs and all, but I... I really don't want to lose my life as a priest; I really don't. All my life I had been under the impression that my life would never be normal, and the church has given me everything to prove that I can still live an ordinary life—it's still not too late for me!

But my piety is not only reserved for Him. I also gave a portion of it to my mother.

I cannot lose both of them even if it means being alone in this house without my wife—her blood shall be the mark of my atonement to cleanse my soul... No betrayal shall ever cross this home that the Lord had so gracefully given unto me!

Leviticus 17:11

For the life of the flesh is in the blood, and I have given it to you on the altar to make atonement for your souls; for it is the blood by reason of the life that makes atonement.

"I don't know, officer," I said weakly with a loud sniff because I am starting to feel that the effect of the chili is starting to wear off. "I think the reason must have been written in the... the letter she uhh..." I then cleared my throat and sipped from a glass of water beside me. "Something must have been written there."

The policeman then looked at me with a gaze filled with sorrow. "Haven't you read the letter, Anatoly?"

"No," I said in a whisper. "When I read the first sentence, I already bolted right into the bathroom, and... well, the rest must have been already being written in your police report," I said as I dropped my palms on my thighs to wipe the remaining chili out of my palms.

The police officer then tapped on my shoulder twice with a nod before standing up—I remained seated with my head dropped low.

"What's your plan now, Anatoly?" He said with a whisper but not too melancholic that it would become condescending.

"I'm planning to go back home."

"But this is your home, isn't it?" The police officer said with a warm smile.

"No," I replied as I shook my head. "I'm going to visit my family."