Black. Blood. Tears. My wife wept as she felt the life slipping from my body. I had not meant for things to end this way, yet I had known they would have to.
As the shot rang, I felt the warm trickle of blood on my chest.
The gun slipped from my hand but did not hit the ground.
We struggled to gain control, bound in a fight to the death.
I wondered for a long time who had known of my indiscretions.
So, this explained the phone calls with no answer, and the strange packages with cryptic notes about my past.
My wife cried, but the stranger stood stone-faced and unnerved by my unwillingness to plead or surrender.
My wife outlined the details.
Hidden bodies, murder, and adultry.
She gave me an envelope addressed like so many before.
“History has a way of repeating itself,” she said.
A maid walked in, froze and stared.
I pulled the gun from my pocket, surprised it was her.
As I entered our hotel room my wife was addressing an all too familiar looking package.
I have a secret about my parents’ disappearance. Me.