So, I was experimenting with some noir themes, while listening to 1940's jazz, and this happened hahaha it's my first time writing something resembling to a noir narrative, so I'm probably not that accurate, sorry!
For reading this fanfic, please, consider doing the following:
Imagine everything in black and white and in high contrast (you don't have to actually do this, but it helps xD)
Read it while listening to "Your Heart Is As Black As Night" by Melody Gardot (Such an awesome song!). Also, if you want, add "After Midnight" to your experience; it's from the Chicago soundtrack and it sounds like an eargasm.
Btw, the title of this fic means "Red Silence" in Portuguese.
Warning: homicide.
I hope you all enjoy!
Midnight, and the wind sang across streets immersed into semi-darkness; jazz echoed in speakeasies in the heart of the town, and in between alleys the sound of heels clicked on the damp concrete floor. Velma Kelly walked.
Her heart was pounding on her chest, like it could tear apart her flesh and escape at any minute, her eyes were watery because of the cold that struck her face, and her hair felt humid because of the thin curtain of rain that started to fall. In the darkness, a faceless man whistled to her, and her face contorted into a scowl. She kept walking.
She stopped in front of a café and considered entering; from the street she could hear a soul wrenching song being sung by a woman on the stage, and there were only a few people sat on the tables. No one would cast her a sideways glance if she entered with her head down and just stood by the bar. Besides, she felt exhausted.
With a sigh she entered. The bell in the door rang, but – as expected – no one paid any attention.
"A cup of coffee please" She asked, taking a seat on the bar stool. A look of the bartender indicated an obvious question, so she absentmindedly completed:
"'Scotch coffee'"
The bartender nodded once and turned around. Velma looked at the singer on top of the stage, dressed in a cheap sparkly dress and a boa of fur that draped around her dark skinned shoulders; she was accompanied by a pianist, a saxophonist, a drummer and a trumpeter, and her voice echoed around the café like a gloomy cry that matched the night around them.
Your eyes maybe whole, but the story I'm told
Is that your heart is as black as night
Velma's heart sunk as she heard the music; once it was a sound that brought her satisfaction, happiness… But now the sound brought chills down her spine and a weight on her shoulders she couldn't just shake off.
She wanted to light a cigarette, but she didn't dare to take her hands out of her coat's pockets; instead, she focused on the recently poured drink in front of her: pure whisky, served in a ridiculously adorned cup of coffee. It was policy; if you wanted to get booze you had to be discreet, including having to hide your drink in innocuous little cups.
The woman's hand twitched inside the pocket; she craved for that drink more than anything, but she was scared, terrified of taking her hands out. The nail of her index finger found a piece of loose skin on her thumb and she began to tug at it. She bit her bottom lip at the same time as she considered the impasse she was facing.
If she reached for her drink her hand would be exposed, everyone would see it, someone would call the police, she would hear the sirens approaching… She couldn't do this… Not again…
"Where's the bathroom?" She asked the bartender, her voice harsh, urgent.
The man looked at her with disdain before indicating the narrow door that stood near the stage. Velma refrained herself from running towards it. Keep it together, she thought as she slowly made her way across the tables. She looked up for a moment and cursed herself as the woman on the stage made eye contact with her; Velma's blood rung inside her ears and her heart thrummed faster. The singer's dark eyes pierced her and gazed at her deeply; she felt the next words in the song being sung directly at her as her stomach churned.
Your lips may be sweet, such that I can't compete
But your heart is as black as night
By the time the brunet entered the bathroom she was breathless, the air almost unable to fill her lungs, her vision felt dizzy as the light barely illuminated her surroundings. She looked at herself in the mirror, gasping at her own appearance. Her face was devoid of color, making her look like someone who hasn't been sleeping for days; her eyes were sunken in, red from her previous outburst not so many hours ago, and her lips were cracked from the cold. Her chocolate brown hair was wild and damp from walking in the wind and rain and her buttoned up coat was wet, making her shiver.
She looked down, finally gathering up the courage to take her hands off her pockets. The sight that greeted her almost made her throw up on the sink.
Blood.
A copious amount of blood that painted her palms, stuck under her nails and ran all up to her wrists. How did she manage to get her hands so dirty? This shouldn't happen, not when she was so careful in…
She opened the tap, suddenly feeling very sick; the water flowed out and she began to wash her hands. Clear water mingling with red as it swirled down the drain; she scrubbed her nails frantically, trying to ignore the cold that sunk to her bones as the freezing water hit her skin. She took a while, a considerable time… Enough to rise suspicion, she thought, but she had to take her time to clean herself of every bit of red that stuck on her skin. She looked at herself on the mirror again, dried her hands and fixed her hair the best she could. Until she remembered…
The letter opener.
Velma hissed with herself, opening her grey coat and lifting her dress to reveal the sharp tool, stuck hurriedly between her garter belt and her stocking. She slipped the thing out from its hideout and examined it; the handle was black, in the form of a peacock with glimmering blue eyes and the blade was artfully placed in order to look like the bird's tail. The "tail" was now covered in dried blood. She washed the instrument as well, before heading back to the bar. She didn't look at the singer this time, but her voice hit Velma just the same.
I don't know why you came along at such a perfect time
But if I let you hang around, I'm bound to lose my mind
The brunet sat on the stool again, welcoming the drink without hesitation this time; she took it down with one single gulp, the liquid burned on her throat, but she didn't mind. The only thing she minded was the overflow of memories the alcohol seemed to bring.
xXx
The heated night, beaded dresses glittering together as they climbed up the stairs to Velma's apartment.
Breaths mingling as mouths connected in a kiss that seemed to burn.
Pale fingers expertly tangling themselves in wavy blonde hair, pulling it, making Roxie Hart sing in ecstasy…
xXx
Velma reached for the inner pocket on her coat, drawing a crumbled pack of cigarettes and a lighter from it. She inhaled the smoke slowly, letting it sting inside her lungs before she could release it in a long puff. She ordered another 'cup of coffee'.
xXx
Her mouth was everywhere on the girl's body, her hands tore buttons away, exposing flesh she so eagerly wanted to touch.
Roxie's hands hooked around her neck as Velma scooped her up and carried her inside the bedroom.
Their now bare bodies reconnected, Roxie cried in bliss as Velma's fingers explored her from the inside.
Her teeth sunk in alabaster skin, her free hand squeezed the blonde's breast and her nostrils flared as she took in the scent of golden hair…
xXx
The woman shook her head as she downed another shot of whisky; she closed her eyes shut, as if doing this would make her able to get rid of the memories that assaulted her, but the scenes from hours ago seemed to play on the back of her eyelids like her own private movie. The singer on the stage provided the more than fitting soundtrack.
Your hands may be strong, but the feeling's all wrong
Your heart is as black as night
She felt her eyes watering, but she refused to cry at that moment; there would be no use of crying now, there would be no use of anything now.
xXx
The blonde combed her fingers through Velma's hair as her tongue explored Roxie alongside with her fingers, she moaned along as Roxie became louder.
"Oh, Sylvia!" The blonde had cried.
"Sylvia?!" The brunet had screamed.
xXx
Another drag on her cigarette, another side glance at the singer, another request for a cup of coffee. Velma felt the letter opener press against her leg as she shifted positions on the stool. She wanted to scream, tore down between the rage she was still feeling and the regret that was sneaking up on her and threatened to drive her insane if she thought too much about what she had done.
To that point her memories were nothing but a blurry of red, a single ringing note that echoed on her ears and the beating of her heart making her whole body tingle.
xXx
She wasn't thinking when she remembered the night she was cheated by her husband and her own sister.
She wasn't thinking when she screamed at Roxie until her voice had completely gone.
She wasn't thinking when she slapped the girl across her face and pinned her down on the bed, only to scream a little more as the blonde's face got drenched in tears.
xXx
How long would it take until the cops arrived? One hour, maybe two? Maybe they were already on their way, or maybe the downstairs neighbor had just called the police and they were just now breaking in her home… Who knows? Maybe they were outside the café right now, just waiting for Velma to get out.
What would she say to them?
I didn't do it, officer, I swear! – She could say, but even she would laugh at her own face if she said such blatant lie. After all, when you have a naked dame stabbed to death on your bed, the least you could do is have a bit of decency and confess you did it.
I'll contact my lawyer! He's the best criminal attorney in this town! – She could also say, and although now she had plenty of money to pay Billy Flynn twice, she doubted he would take her case. Kill someone once and maybe you can make people believe you are innocent, kill someone a second time, and even Billy Flynn will say he can't get your ass off trouble. Even the silver tongue, prince of the courtrooms has his limits.
"She was cheating one me!" – She pictured herself saying, which was true, although she would die without knowing who that Sylvia gal was. But it was ridiculous; even if they miraculously believed her, she would still be guilty of crime against morality or some crap.
She sighed, looking down at her filled cup, maybe the last taste of booze she would had n her life; she emptied it, the alcohol calming her nerves and making her realize her previous worry of getting caught was useless. There was no way out of this one now, and she knew it; she knew the noose would be tied around her neck and she would hang from the moment she pointed that letter opener towards Roxie.
By the corner of her eye she could picture the blonde, covered in the black shimmering dress they would wear in one of their shows; the generous slit revealing a glimpse of a milky thigh as she crosses her legs. If it had been in a different situation, a different place… Perhaps Roxie would be singing the song that the dark skinned woman now sang – their song, as they liked to call it – she would be performing to Velma in way only she could do it, while she would remove her pieces of clothing… One by one.
But Roxie is now sitting beside her on one of the stools, wearing a smug smile across her plump lips as she leans towards Velma.
"It serves you right, Vel… I hope you rot in hell" She says venomously.
"You're forgetting that you'll be there with me, don't you?" Velma retorts out loud, but no one in the café hears.
"Maybe, but first I'm gonna make you regret killing me"
Velma turns around abruptly, ready to shout an insult back when she realizes she's alone; there's no one sitting beside her, and she's clutching the cup of coffee with her hands like her life depends on that. Her knuckles turn white around the porcelain, and for a moment she has to remember to breathe.
Roxie is not there. Roxie is dead, bleeding on her bedsheets.
And on the stage, the dark skinned woman finishes her song.
I don't know why you came along at such a perfect time
But if I let you hang around I'm bound to lose my mind
'Cause your eyes may be whole, but the story I'm told
Is your heart is as black as night…
So yeah, that's it! Hahaha I didn't want to make Velma kill Roxie, but I had to stick to the "bitter anti-hero protagonist" trope. *Cries in shame*
Also, this is not linked in any way with my "The Scintillating Sinners" series, just so you know!
Also, I'm thinking about writing a noir story with Roxie's POV, just to complement this one. :3 What do you think? Should I write it?
Also, what did you think of this story? Drop me a review; it'll make my day! ^^
Thanks a lot for reading!