“Do you know why I brought you here?”
“Help! Help! He’s going to kill me!”
“No one can hear you down here. Let me repeat the question: Do you know why I brought you here?”
A slow nod.
“That’s right. You do know. Now I would like to hear you say it.”
“You were… you were crossing the street. I was in the car with my… with my friend.” Voice breaking. “You were in the crosswalk, and we were going to cut you off.”
“That’s right. But I kept walking anyway. Keep going.”
“When you’d crossed to the other side, I… I…”
“Yes, yes, keep going.”
“I flipped you off.”
“And I saw you out of the corner of my eye. What happened next?”
“Next?”
“Yes, yes. What happened next? I know it all: I was there; but I want to hear it from your mouth.”
“You pulled out a gun.”
“And what went through your mind?”
“That you were a psycho.”
“I would disagree with you on that point, but I have the luxury of being able to forgive the small things. Now, you saw me pull out a gun and point it at you. I imagine you were alarmed. Did you think I would pull the trigger?”
A shake of the head.
“And why’s that?”
“Because… because there were people everywhere.”
“Did you think they would come to your aid, if they saw a man pointing a gun at you in broad daylight?”
A slow nod.
“And did they?”
A shake of the head.
“And did that puzzle you?”
A slow nod.
“Why do you think none of those good citizens showed the slightest inclination to come to your aid?”
A whimper.
“We’ll get back to that in a moment. On second thought, I think I might leave that a mystery. What happened next?”
“You asked me to step out of the car.”
“Go on.”
“I turned to my friend.”
“Why did you do that?”
“I wanted her to drive off as fast as she could.”
“Did you think it was possible?”
A nod.
“But did she do it?”
“No…” Swallowing. “No, she didn’t. Then I figured I had no choice.”
“You figured or you knew?”
“I knew.”
“And so you stepped out of the car. What happened after that?”
“I don’t remember.”
“I’m sorry, could you repeat that? A little louder this time.”
“I don’t remember. All I remember is waking up here.”
“And here you are. Tell me, do you feel any remorse for what you did?”
A nod.
“Do you feel remorse because you know your actions were wrong or because they led to your present situation?”
Straining to think.
“You don’t know the answer. That’s because you’re stupid. If you knew better, you would feel remorse for your actions; but then, you wouldn’t be here in the first place, would you?
“Allow me to launch into my soliloquy now. You must understand, it’s what we killers most love. I don’t want you to be under any illusions: You will die today. I will even go so far as to tell you that you will die within the next ten minutes. There are far better ways to make you tremble than to let you wonder if and when you are going to perish.
“Now, my dear, do you have a family? Do you have a mother, a father, a boyfriend or husband, brothers and sisters, a child, perhaps, who would grieve your demise, especially if it occurred in such an avoidable manner?”
A nod.
“Ah, so you do have a family. And I’m sure they love you, because love is blind and stupid. I want you to picture your parents’ faces in your head. Go on, picture them. You have no choice but to picture them clearly in your mind’s eye, because I have given you no choice. Picture your parents’ shocked faces when you are sent home to them in a body bag. I’m sure they wouldn’t have seen that coming, blind as they are to your faults. Don’t worry, your death will have been swift. You will have felt nothing except the crushing hopelessness of knowing that your loved ones will have to live the rest of their lives with this terrible tragedy.
“I want you to picture your family at Thanksgiving, at Christmas. I want you to picture their sad eyes being drawn to the empty chair at the dinner table this year and every year to come. Eyes that fill with tears when they remember what you looked like, their loving daughter; tears that fall even more pathetically when they struggle to remember what you looked like ten years from now. Your child is now older. He cleaves to imaginary memories of his mother, because he was but an infant when she perished.
“How much do you think you are worth to your family? Or do you have your doubts about the beautiful picture of their bereavement that I just painted for you? Do you doubt that you’re worth so much to your family that your death would inspire that much sadness in them? I appreciate your pain, I really do. Let the tears fall. Don’t hold them back. There is so much you could have done differently in your pathetic little life to ensure that the picture I drew for you would have been the only possible picture of your family post-you. You must realize, you have no one to blame but yourself. I am just an agent of punishment. You might even call me your conscience.”
“Why… are… you… doing this?”
“Why am I doing this? You left me no choice. Your family will know that you had a choice, but you chose to inflict this pain on them anyway. I imagine it would come as something of a betrayal to them, who would never have suspected that their daughter would knowingly inflict so much pain on them.”
“You won’t get away with this. The police… They… You will be executed for this.”
“The police? My dear, the police are the least of my concerns. In fact, I don’t think about them at all. I know you humans love to think that morality inheres in this empty abstraction you call ‘humanity’—that people would do the right thing, treat each other with dignity and respect, even if the law did not force them to behave in a certain way. You’re wrong. It isn’t your ‘humanity’ that keeps you in line, but the law. Fear of the law is the only thing that lets people keep up the illusion of being ‘good’ and ‘kind’. Fortunately, I have nothing to fear from the law, and now, my dear, your time is up.”
Four bullets straight into the heart. Wide eyes. The ghost of a gasp escaped parched lips. Then all was still.
“Help! Help! He’s going to kill me!”
“No one can hear you down here. Let me repeat the question: Do you know why I brought you here?”
A slow nod.
“That’s right. You do know. Now I would like to hear you say it.”
“You were… you were crossing the street. I was in the car with my… with my friend.” Voice breaking. “You were in the crosswalk, and we were going to cut you off.”
“That’s right. But I kept walking anyway. Keep going.”
“When you’d crossed to the other side, I… I…”
“Yes, yes, keep going.”
“I flipped you off.”
“And I saw you out of the corner of my eye. What happened next?”
“Next?”
“Yes, yes. What happened next? I know it all: I was there; but I want to hear it from your mouth.”
“You pulled out a gun.”
“And what went through your mind?”
“That you were a psycho.”
“I would disagree with you on that point, but I have the luxury of being able to forgive the small things. Now, you saw me pull out a gun and point it at you. I imagine you were alarmed. Did you think I would pull the trigger?”
A shake of the head.
“And why’s that?”
“Because… because there were people everywhere.”
“Did you think they would come to your aid, if they saw a man pointing a gun at you in broad daylight?”
A slow nod.
“And did they?”
A shake of the head.
“And did that puzzle you?”
A slow nod.
“Why do you think none of those good citizens showed the slightest inclination to come to your aid?”
A whimper.
“We’ll get back to that in a moment. On second thought, I think I might leave that a mystery. What happened next?”
“You asked me to step out of the car.”
“Go on.”
“I turned to my friend.”
“Why did you do that?”
“I wanted her to drive off as fast as she could.”
“Did you think it was possible?”
A nod.
“But did she do it?”
“No…” Swallowing. “No, she didn’t. Then I figured I had no choice.”
“You figured or you knew?”
“I knew.”
“And so you stepped out of the car. What happened after that?”
“I don’t remember.”
“I’m sorry, could you repeat that? A little louder this time.”
“I don’t remember. All I remember is waking up here.”
“And here you are. Tell me, do you feel any remorse for what you did?”
A nod.
“Do you feel remorse because you know your actions were wrong or because they led to your present situation?”
Straining to think.
“You don’t know the answer. That’s because you’re stupid. If you knew better, you would feel remorse for your actions; but then, you wouldn’t be here in the first place, would you?
“Allow me to launch into my soliloquy now. You must understand, it’s what we killers most love. I don’t want you to be under any illusions: You will die today. I will even go so far as to tell you that you will die within the next ten minutes. There are far better ways to make you tremble than to let you wonder if and when you are going to perish.
“Now, my dear, do you have a family? Do you have a mother, a father, a boyfriend or husband, brothers and sisters, a child, perhaps, who would grieve your demise, especially if it occurred in such an avoidable manner?”
A nod.
“Ah, so you do have a family. And I’m sure they love you, because love is blind and stupid. I want you to picture your parents’ faces in your head. Go on, picture them. You have no choice but to picture them clearly in your mind’s eye, because I have given you no choice. Picture your parents’ shocked faces when you are sent home to them in a body bag. I’m sure they wouldn’t have seen that coming, blind as they are to your faults. Don’t worry, your death will have been swift. You will have felt nothing except the crushing hopelessness of knowing that your loved ones will have to live the rest of their lives with this terrible tragedy.
“I want you to picture your family at Thanksgiving, at Christmas. I want you to picture their sad eyes being drawn to the empty chair at the dinner table this year and every year to come. Eyes that fill with tears when they remember what you looked like, their loving daughter; tears that fall even more pathetically when they struggle to remember what you looked like ten years from now. Your child is now older. He cleaves to imaginary memories of his mother, because he was but an infant when she perished.
“How much do you think you are worth to your family? Or do you have your doubts about the beautiful picture of their bereavement that I just painted for you? Do you doubt that you’re worth so much to your family that your death would inspire that much sadness in them? I appreciate your pain, I really do. Let the tears fall. Don’t hold them back. There is so much you could have done differently in your pathetic little life to ensure that the picture I drew for you would have been the only possible picture of your family post-you. You must realize, you have no one to blame but yourself. I am just an agent of punishment. You might even call me your conscience.”
“Why… are… you… doing this?”
“Why am I doing this? You left me no choice. Your family will know that you had a choice, but you chose to inflict this pain on them anyway. I imagine it would come as something of a betrayal to them, who would never have suspected that their daughter would knowingly inflict so much pain on them.”
“You won’t get away with this. The police… They… You will be executed for this.”
“The police? My dear, the police are the least of my concerns. In fact, I don’t think about them at all. I know you humans love to think that morality inheres in this empty abstraction you call ‘humanity’—that people would do the right thing, treat each other with dignity and respect, even if the law did not force them to behave in a certain way. You’re wrong. It isn’t your ‘humanity’ that keeps you in line, but the law. Fear of the law is the only thing that lets people keep up the illusion of being ‘good’ and ‘kind’. Fortunately, I have nothing to fear from the law, and now, my dear, your time is up.”
Four bullets straight into the heart. Wide eyes. The ghost of a gasp escaped parched lips. Then all was still.
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