Run

“Hello?”

I dropped my keys and laptop onto the hall table and nudged the front door closed behind me.

“Hey! Are you here?”

Silence.

I guess not.

I walked absently down the spacious hall, sifting our mail. The afternoon sun glowed through the floor to ceiling windows, bathing the penthouse in an ethereal light. I saw in my peripheral vision that he had left without making the bed. Ughh.

Our housekeepers came twice a day - literally every day - apart from this one morning off each month. He couldn't pull up his own covers one morning a month?

Mentally rehearsing what I would say to him when he got home, I continued down the long hall towards our living room.

Instead of the silence I craved, the grating sound of metal on concrete and cheery builders’ banter reverberated off the hard minimalist surfaces. Constant construction was one of the few downsides of city living.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes for a second, trying to ward off the impending headache.

In that moment, my foot snagged on a soft object and I stumbled.

Completely out of place within the tasteful luxury of the penthouse, the bag lay awkwardly on its side as if it had been dropped. The bag was unzipped, and its contents had partially spilled out across the floor. There were five more identical bags stacked behind it, still zipped and upright.

No. Please. Oh god.. not now. Not yet.

It was a pathetic plea, and I knew it would make no difference.

I realised dimly that I had been edging slowly backwards away from the unzipped bag - as if its poison might leech into the air and contaminate me. My spine and the palms of my hands were pressed flat against the exposed brick wall and the sharp edges bit into my skin.

The bag was stuffed to bursting point with neatly bound bank notes – all hundreds. With a practised eye, I calculated how much money was in there this time. It had to be at least twenty or thirty thousand dollars, maybe more. Multiplied by 5 bags. If experience had taught me anything, I could presume that another 10 identical stuffed bags were probably waiting in one of our cars.

Please. I begged silently. Please, not again.

Who would we lose this time?

I knew that bargaining was useless. I didn't even know who to try to bargain with. The deal was done long ago and nothing we said or did could change that.

A laughing handshake over margaritas and white sand. An offer that was too good to refuse.

Our society is too materialistic anyway.

We'd justified the decision to each other, tipsy on Margaritas but absolutely drunk on the idyllic sunset that we could never have hoped to view before we'd won that trip.

If this will give us everything we've ever wanted, what is the harm in giving up one thing every now and then? Will we even notice when it goes?

My eyes raked the room in a blind panic. I saw two handguns on the coffee table, and one on the floor. There were three crimson drops in the doorway, shockingly bright against the pale oak floors. An expensive looking silver hard case briefcase was tucked neatly beside my favourite armchair and atop it, a luminous black leather notebook. Moleskine, of course. Clearly one of his. I liked to try all the different colours and sizes but he always chose the exact same one.

More drops of crimson stained the floor near the briefcase, and I followed the trail back to the bag. I flipped it over with my foot and more bundles of bank notes tumbled out in a rush, whispering and rustling against each other.

The bottom of the bag was soaked with blood.

I almost choked again and my eyes squeezed shut without my permission.

Haven't you taken enough?!

It was a silent scream. Another useless plea. Another pathetic stab of regret.

If you'd said.. If we'd known.. if..

Then, losing all control, I screamed. An anguished wail that poured out of me in waves, leaving me sobbing wet guilty tears into the perfect floorboards.

We had been through this before. But never like this.

I never thought it could be him.

Where are you?!

Sick with fear, I grabbed my phone and scrolled for missed calls or texts.

Nothing.

I dialled him repeatedly and listened to his voicemail over and over again.

My thoughts were scrambling now, a shrieking chaotic mess. My heart hammered and the blood rushed in my ears.

Then, a single logical thought pierced through the madness.

If it was him we were supposed to “lose”, he would have simply vanished. A car crash or maybe a heart attack. Sad but normal. Easy to believe. The money would arrive and on we would go.

This was not normal.

We were not supposed to lose him at all.

This time, I realised, it was supposed to be me.

What have you done?

Holding my phone in one trembling hand and hitting redial repeatedly, I strode quickly to the silver briefcase. It had a keypad lock and I tried every combination I could think of but it would not open.

Fumbling for the black book, I flipped it open and thumbed through the crisp pages. It was his handwriting but the words meant nothing to me. With a cry of frustration I threw the book and the phone at the wall and sank to my knees on the floor.

A scrap of paper had fallen from the pages of the book and fluttered to rest nearby. It was a note and I could read it clearly from where I sat. It was written in dark thick marker and contained just five words.

Take me back one day

There was no question that the note was for me. My mind flashed with our shared memories of that place, the place that had changed our lives. Scooping handfuls of fine white sand and letting it trickle through our fingers. The smell of salt in our hair. The sparkle in his eyes, mischievous and playful, even brighter next to his slightly sunburned cheeks. The offer that was too good to refuse.

It was our private joke. One day, he’d take me back.

Except we could never go back. And even if, by some miracle, we could.. would we change the choice we had made? Or would we do it all over again?

Slowly, I crossed the empty space, coming to a stop in front of the large canvas portrait of us on that beach. I reached up and lifted it off the hook. Tucked behind the canvas was another note. The edges were smudged with the same, shocking, crimson. I was expecting it, but even so, my hands shook.

The page had been torn from the black leather notebook, in a hurry it seemed, because the tear was crooked. He would have hated that. He was always so careful.

Silently, I read his words and tried to comprehend their meaning.

This is not happening. Not now. Not yet.

The words blurred on the page as I roughly shoved away the tears. My breath came in halted gasps and I wondered for a second if I would hyperventilate.

No.

I steadied myself and closed my eyes for a brief second.

No. There is no time for this. No time.

With the note and my phone in my hand, I walked quickly to the polished marble kitchen and fished a lighter out of the drawer. I lit the note and held it until the flames curled around and licked at my fingertips, forcing me to let it go. I jammed the plug into the sink, spun the tap and dropped my phone into the rising water.

The sun was fully set now and the glittering city lights stretched out below me in every direction. Tonight, there was no spark of joy at the familiar sight. I wondered if I would ever truly feel joy again.

Without waiting to turn off the tap, I returned to the living room and transferred the money, silver case and notebook into one large overnight bag.

Moving mechanically now, I unloaded two of the guns and tossed them and the full clips into the bag. I noticed the satisfying thud as they landed on the money.

The third gun remained loaded. I quickly checked the safety and tucked it up under my jacket into the back of my jeans.

Our coffee table was picture perfect: an assortment of ridiculously expensive boutique candles, a pile of vintage books and a stunning floral installation that was refreshed every three days. I lit the candles and tipped them gently over, one by one. The flames stretched out towards the stack of books and in seconds the familiar haze of burning paper filled the air.

Without a backwards glance I opened our front door, grabbed the bag and ran.