Confliction. Confliction was what I felt as I walked through the alleyway. I worked through my plan as I inched closer, ever closer, to her front door. Her…front door. What should be my front door. I reached the door and stopped, forming a fist with my right hand and raising it against the door.
Knock…Knock…Knock… I knocked slowly on the door, reaching into my jacket pocket with my left hand. I can't believe I'm going to do this, I thought. No… No! You can't back down now. They've taken everything from you. Your home, your money, your life… they've taken everything! It's time for them to pay for their crimes.
I continued to argue with myself when I heard footsteps on the other side of the door. Part of me panicked inside, while the rest of me was excited, anticipating what was about to happen. Slowly, I reached further into my jacket until I felt a cold, metallic surface.
Suddenly, and expectedly, the door was opened. A short, tan woman appeared in the doorframe. I smiled.
"Henry? Why are you here?" the woman asked, her voice laced with contempt.
"Why am I here?" I asked, pulling the gun out of my jacket, careful not to let her see it. "I'm here to collect my dues."
"Excuse me? Exactly what 'dues' do I owe-" she froze. "H-Henry, what's that?" she asked, gesturing at my hand.
"This? This… is justice." I said. I drew the gun, holding it to her chest. My smile grew. I pulled back the hammer, hearing the click of the gun's priming mechanism. I squeezed the gun's trigger, and the entire alleyway flashed. She managed to close the door, but only after a .38 caliber bullet rocketed into her chest. I waited a few seconds, and then opened the door. I wasn't worried about leaving fingerprints; I had gloves on.
I took a quick look inside. To my surprise, the force of the gunshot had thrown the woman against the wall. A quick look at her corpse confirmed that she was dead. I was proud of my work, and began to leave, when I heard a whimper. I stopped dead in my tracks.
Slowly, I turned my head to the right, seeing an old wooden table where she must have been eating dinner. There were two plates on the table, each piled with food. Turning further, I saw him.
He was a small man, wearing a white suit with a red bow tie. His hair was well groomed and short, and the expression on his face showed equal parts terror and confusion. I aimed the gun at him, ready to fire, when an idea dawned on me. I unloaded the revolver.
"Catch!" I exclaimed, throwing the gun at him. He instinctively caught it, cementing his fingerprints on the gun. He would be pointed as the killer. He would spend the rest of his life behind bars. Him, the person who stole her from me, and by the transitive property stole everything from me.
I wiped the smile off of my face and bolted out the door.