Beg For Mercy

There, one single bullet, and he'd be gone, forever. And I'd be left with the unknown, accepting the pending doom and never uncovering the answers I demanded to know. Gone with him would be the nights I sat alone in the sunroom, pondering at the starless sky of why he found me in whole and left me in pieces. 

I'd bury him. I'd dress in a long, solemn black dress, hide behind a heavy veil, and watch his coffin lowered with a subtle grin. I'd place flowers, a wreath and perhaps even write a letter. May God rest your soul, it'd read. Neat and gentle, no trace of anger or rage would be found. I'd say a prayer for him, tossing a handful of dirt on the only means to confine and keep him. Then I'd walk away, towards a new life in uncertainty.

His hand gripped the gun barrel tightly. A smug smirk that I knew too well appeared on the corners of his mouth. It was a statement that said, you'd do anything I ask of you. He was a man blinded by his confidence and pride.

Where was he now? The self-righteous man in front of me said he had the boy. On that cold, crisp winter morning, they vanished without any warning. He couldn't be here, not in this place, even if he were alive. Where would he be kept, stowed away, and hidden from the all-seeing eyes of the family?

"You're lying," I said, "he's no longer with us."

"If you truly believe the words you're saying, then you won't say them at all," he said. That maddening smirk was staying.

"You can't play me for a fool anymore," I said flatly. "I won't let you."

"I'm only stating a fact," he shrugged. "You'll have to try harder to convince yourself than me."

There was no telling whether he was tempted to mess with my mind for one last time or was being blatantly frank. As the years with him went on, his truth had become my truth and the only truth.

"You should've listened to me, Annie," he'd say, over and over, with a frown and concern in his eyes. "If you did, it won't ever get out of hand like this."

For anything significant and minor I did wrong – for wrongness was defined rightfully by him – the exact words were repeated.

Enough. I had enough. I'd lived it through, and I wouldn't do it again.

"No," my voice trembled. Gritting my teeth, I continued: "I loved you, Neil; God knows I did. I was young, naïve, and utterly stupid. Yet I loved you with all the heart I had. But this must stop; it must. You don't own me anymore, nor do I owe you anything but to seek vengeance from you."

"How touching," he was unperturbed by my threat and grinned at my weakness. "There's no vengeance to be sought. Louis is alive and well, and I hope you'd let me show you a photograph of him."

He tried reaching into his pocket. I pressed the gun firmly against his forehead. He raised his hands and jeered.

"If you resent me as much as you say so, then you'd shoot me already," he stepped back, hands still raised. "You can't pull the trigger, can you? I know you, darling, you won't and can't do it."

"Stop," I said as he slowly backed away, facing me with that damn grin. He thought he had won; He thought he had control over me, again and again.

In a sense, he was right. I couldn't bend the finger on the trigger. To die with him would be the way of knowing if my son was still around, though it wasn't something I should or deserved to know. The choice was no longer to let Neil live or die. It had become choosing whether I yearned for the glimmer of hope to redeem myself as a mother.

Though I never wanted to be a mother. I wanted to be free, spared the responsibility of a young, vulnerable life, and be with Laurie. I was selfish, and I was ashamed.

Neil walked away from the altar, from me. He had no intention of staying and wasting his time on me any longer. De Rossi crossed his legs and raised his eyebrows, watching the show in great suspense. It'd been entertaining to him, but that unfortunate entertainment had to end. 

"If you turn your back to me, I'll pull the trigger," I said coldly.

He smiled and shook his head.

"Any last words you'd like to say to me?" I asked, unsure what I wanted to hear.

He curled his lips and threw his hands as if he didn't care enough to be serious about the question.

"You'll never be happy, Annie," he tilted his head to the left. "The more you get, the more you want and fail to realize that happiness should come from within. You think you'll be happy with that young Murphy, but the truth is, you'll be just as miserable, if not more. You don't know your place and never learned to be content, dear, and that's the reason for your perpetual misery."

I scoffed. He sighed, turned around, and began walking to the door.

It had to end. Now.

The trigger was pulled. A loud, mechanical sound made my ears ring. He fell to his knees, then to the ground. He was no more. Neil Ferguson was gone, taking my past with him. I held onto my revolver tightly and stood still.

I thought I'd feel guilty. Guilt was nowhere to be found. Instead, I was overwhelmed with relief and only relief.

As if I was freed.