Beyond

The first time I killed someone, it was raining.

The house was quiet, which meant that Sophia was probably asleep. I walked down the hall and found her sitting at the kitchen table, her head bent. It was late and she had a magazine in front of her. I smiled and dropped into the seat across from her.

"You've been looking at that for hours."

Sophia jumped. "Jesus Christ, John. You scared the shit out of me." She laughed. "I haven't even told my parents yet."

I glanced at the bridal magazine, then gripped her fingers in mine. "We'll tell everyone soon, I promise." Standing, I urged her toward the bedroom.

She followed eagerly, loosening my tie on the way.



Thunder shook the house later that night. I rolled over, intent on burying my hand in Sophia's hair, when I found her spot empty. Puzzled, I called out. Silence greeted me. It also chilled me. I got up and walked into the kitchen and living room.

"Sophia?"

More thunder and a flash of lightning. Then I heard her. Behind me.

"I'm sorry, John. I can't do this."

Whirling around, I saw her standing by the front door. There were headlights on outside, looking muddled by the rain that pounded down on the car. But I understood what was happening. She was leaving me.

"What are you talking about? You're just nervous."

"No." She shook her head, moving her brown hair away from her face. Picking up the bag at her feet, she said, "I've been thinking about this for a long time."

"Please," I whispered. "Don't do this."

"It's over."

That was all it took. Those two words. Something inside me snapped and broke. Into a thousand little pieces. Then the anger rolled in, anger so white and hot that it blinded me.

"You're not going to leave me," I told her, advancing forward. I gripped her and shook her, slamming her into the door. "I won't let you."

The door opened, sending Sophia onto the ground. Rain soaked her. She looked up at me, fear in her green eyes. Before I knew what was happening, I was on top of her, my hands around her neck. And I was applying pressure. So much pressure that she gasped.

Sophia tried to pry my fingers away from her throat, but they were slick with water and wouldn't work. Instead, she kicked me. I rolled over, wheezing, while she scrambled back into the house. She would hide.

"So, this is how it's going to be?" I yelled.

"You're sick, John."

I crept through our home like a cat, when when I finally found her, she was wedged between the refrigerator and the counter. When I pulled her out by her wet hair, she cried, and something dropped from her hands.

The knife gleamed and I picked it up. I stared at it. I'd held a thousand knives in my my life, but I'd never wanted to use it to hurt someone. But as I stared at my fiancee', my foot on her chest to keep her in place, I wanted very badly to hurt her.

Sophia didn't scream as the knife slid into her neck, blood spraying my face and shirt. She reached up, her body shuddering, and touched my face, leaving a red print. Then her hand dropped and she was still.

Flicking on the kitchen light, I lit a cigarette, watching the smoke curl in front of my face.

Then I smiled.