The harsh rain pierced my skin like needles. But I had to go forward. I cannot waste any time!
The cloak I wore did not serve its purpose in protecting me. At least it was keeping the thing I was carrying dry. The events of the last few hours raced through my mind faster than the lightning that was blinding me. Why would anybody do such a thing? What does he have against me? My dear Isabelle never did any harm to him or anybody else!
My boots began to get heavier making it tough for me to walk. Why does the water have to get into my boots when it has the entire ground for itself? Am I losing logic? Suddenly I have begun to question myself a lot! Or am I talking to someone else? Maybe, an alter ego!
2 hours ago
“Isa! I am home! Isa! Are you in there?”
Mark is shocked to see his wife lying on the floor in a pool of blood stretching her hand out to him.
“Oh my god! Isa! What happened? Who did this you?”
“Mark! I am dying! It’s that John! He tried to grab some money we owe him! When I tried to stop him, he did this! Mark! Please do something!” gasped Isa. She was running out of breath and time.
Mark wept at his wife’s condition. He just could not see her in pain. He picked her up in his arms and started carrying her out of the house. “Isa! Don’t give up on me! Please! Isa!” No sooner had he carried her out, her head fell of his shoulder. Mark became quiet at this sight. He stopped walking. His silent tears were invisible in the rain. The heavy rain was wetting her now calm body. He turned back into the house and placed her on the bed. Red drops dripped off his cloak onto the dry floor below. The once animate Isa now lied in a heap on the bed.
The wind was pushing me away from my destination. I had to step forward like I had weights tied around my legs. My shoulders hurt stepping against the heavy wind. And my vision was becoming blurry. I could not distinguish whether they were teardrops or raindrops rolling down my cheek.
Finally I reached my destination and knocked on the door. There was no answer. I kicked open the fragile wooden door and entered a dimly lit room. I saw him running towards the back of the house. I pulled out my pistol and pointed it towards him. I took aim. But I could not shoot. My hands started trembling. He started towards a window. While jumping out of it, he turned back and smiled wickedly at me. My pistol still pointed at him, I did nothing and let him escape. I fell to my knees and wept like a child.
“I am sorry Isa. I just could not do it”
1892 – A few months later
Mark places some flowers on a tombstone and walks out of the cemetery, a calm man.
Faraway outside city limits, in the gallows, John Sebastian convicted for the murder of Isabelle Waters is hanged.