Murderous Mindset: Unseen Evil
One Year prior to explosion.
Anais leaned slightly forward resting her narrow chin on the back of her delicate hand, her pale blue eyes sparkling, as she let out a breathy laugh and a beaming smile, pretending to be a ditz that was three sheets to the wind made her almost as sick as these men did. The man on the other side of the table, Robert if she remembered correctly. Was just as thick witted as the others. Not one who had problems thinking, just one of the types who refuses to do any thinking. Someone you convince a stage play is real. Bearded and brawny, hands with thick skin and many scars from years of work. A ring finger sporting a tarnished golden band, or at least something pretending to be gold. The edges near the webbing of the finger and knuckle, sporting a two centimetre strip of pinkish white flesh a mix of discoloration from wearing the ring and new scuffing from attempting to remove it. Anais knew it wasn’t an attempt to leave behind a memory like many widowers did, this was an attempt to hide it. Be it for reasons of shame, disgust or maybe he thought if he wasn’t wearing it the act would not count. She hazarded a guess it was some varying mix of all three. It almost always was. Men like him were predictable…almost sickeningly so. Despite what it may seem, Anais was never the instigator, she may in some way act as bait for the more luscious, the intent at least early in her life was never to entrap them. Never did she willingly dangle or shake the bait to attract them, and though some might scoff at the idea she was ‘cursed’ with good looks. Men, especially married men, threw themself toe over neck to get even a glance from her. At first it left an uneasy pit in her stomach, feeling like little more than a lost sheep among wolves. That has since changed in the past few years. Though still among wolves, she’d become something to be feared more, a predator hiding in plain sight. Akin more to a carnivorous plant.
Only half listening to every few words from the man’s mouth she nodded and played along as the man ate and drank like a savage. The men who saw themselves as pack leaders were always the most disgusting. A part of her burned inside, a deep place in her she had to bury deep down, lest it come out and ruin the plan. The man was larger than the usual prey, and it was taking much longer for the drugs to take effect. But as she paid attention she noticed his words beginning to slur and he was slowing down the bravado, eventually sitting down in his chair again and yawning.
“If we don’t do this now…” he slurred, “I might not be able to keep my head up.” he said.
Anais laughed, “One last drink then we can retire to the bedroom.” she said, laying the breathy voice on thick.
The man flashed a wolfish grin, and downed his drink in one go, slamming the cup down. He opened his mouth to speak, but his eyes went wide for a flash of a moment, then got heavy and closed. His head fell forward smashing against the heavy oak table with an audible ‘thunk’ and rolled off and fell to the floor.
“Its always so messy.” she said, rolling up her sleeves and shaking a twin set of bracelets free from the mid of her arm to around her wrist. The silver bands flashed dimly with etched runes. After a quick series of whispered words accompanied by hand movements the muscles in her arms flexed tightly giving her the strength to drag the man from the dining room to a door, she flung open and pushed the man down the stairs hearing thunks and cracks along the way as he bounced down the stone steps. Lifting her dress from the floor Anais followed in quick tight steps down the stairs after him. The large subterranean room was almost completely empty save for a small work table pushed against one wall, and a large stone sarcophagus inlaid with what looked like copper or brass bands, only broken up where the lid stayed on the main piece.
Anais pushed the lid from the stone coffin, even with the magic it took putting her shoulder into it. Once the lid was off she dragged the man’s unconscious body inside, laying him flat, with his arms at his side. As she hefted the lid back up and was sliding it in place just as it nearly sealed a set of fingers grabbed the lip of the stone casket, a grumble of groggy rage from inside. But she kept pushing, with a yelp of smashed fingers the hand slipped back inside and the lid dropped into place.
From inside she could hear the man’s protests, screams of how this isn’t a funny joke, and how she can’t do this to him. The screams of rage, became begging, became pleading, became frantic sobs.
Then her voice came to him in a near whisper. “I need you to understand one thing.” she said, all the lightness of her voice replaced by ice like a cold winter night. “This is personal. You won’t have much time to fully understand this lesson in humility, and even less time to put it into any sort of practice. And I say this knowing that fact and you will know these. You are an abusive drunk, you are a conniving lecherous man. I want you to understand something before you die. No one will mourn you.”
“People will look for me!” he shouted.
“I’m sure they will. I’m sure they will.” her voice poured over him, the words drawn out long, and serpentine.
What the man heard next sounded like the women slapping the top of the coffin. The man then felt the air getting hot.
From far away, he heard the woman’s voice one last time. “I’m sure they will.”
–
After nearly an hour the screaming had stopped, and the stone was cool enough to touch. All that remained was a vague outline of a human figure cast in greyish dust, and a slagged coin side pile of gold. “I’m sure they will.” she said one last time in a throaty laugh as she rolled what was once the man’s ring around in her fingers.