December 16, 1828
. . . Bill came by at eleven as planned. Fagin had stayed up with me. He had spent the time trying to give me as many ideas, as to how to best do the murder, as he could.
"If all fails, my dear," he stated, "Just pull out the gun on him."
"I know."
"And if he puts up a fight . . ."
"Shoot him," I answered in monotone.
Fagin nodded solemnly and bent his head back down in order to read a book that was open on his lap. It was the same book I had read that one afternoon when he had been away. Fagin was using it now as a reference in order to learn the best methods for stopping human life. The whole idea made me nervous. I had been feeling sick for the last couple of hours because of it and I obviously showed it.
"Alright, my dear?" Fagin looked back up from the page. His finger was pointing to where he had left of.
"Fine."
Fagin removed a pair of reading glasses from his nose. I had only seen him wear glasses once, when he was doing some monetary calculations. He must have been slightly farsighted because he took them off in order to look at me. I was sitting across the room, "My dear, you don't look so well, but maybe it's the lighting in here."
He replaced the glasses and continued to read, "Now here, my dear," he pointed to a passage, "It says that in 1782, Barry McQuill got life for murdering his wife. They found him out because of the gun he used. It was an old one; quite antique and rare. His friends knew it by sight and also knew the kind of bullets it used."
"How does that pertain to me? My pistol isn't rare at all," I was getting tired of this. We had been at it for over two hours.
"My dear, your pistol is different from Bills. Nancy has probably seen it and will easily guess that you committed the murder. She probably knows you will be with Bill tonight . . . she will tattle."
"What does that mean? Now you've just found another problem," I was feeling sulky and I did not care much about anything that Fagin was saying.
"You must get Bill's gun and use it!" Fagin began to rub his hands together with passion, "she will think Bill shot himself! Did suicide!" he stood up and slammed the book shut.
Just then, the Dodger came into the room, followed by Bill. I got up out of my chair.
"Stay sittin'," he ordered.
"Bill, my dear, what is it? Something wrong?" Fagin seemed more surprised than I was. I just slumped back down again and closed my eyes.
"Toby's feelin' normal again. He wants to do it so, I don't need yer," he looked over in my direction.
"Fine," I answered.
"I would 'ave yer too, but Toby would do som'thin' desperate; he needs the money," Bill seemed almost sorry that I was not going to be coming.
"Maybe," I ventured, "Toby will get ill again, sometime," I gave Bill a forces grin.
Bill grinned back and then said that he had better get going. Dodge guided him back out into the passage.
At this point, Fagin sat back down and began to make several curses and oaths (so he and Bill did have something in common after-all; vulgar language),"That was our best chance, my dear . . . could be an entire year before you get alone together!" He wrung his hands in anger and leered.
That was when something snapped. Sitting there, watching him get annoyed over a failed murder; it made me angry. My blood seemed to broil and I found that I hated him. This was something new. I had once admired his skill, his way with children, his humor - but now, that didn't matter. He was a crook, a criminal, a killer, a - slaughterer!
I knew there was only one thing to do about this. I put my hand into my pocket and pulled out my pistol. Fagin had turned to prod the fire. He was an easy target. I aimed the gun at the middle of his back, pulled the trigger back and, BANG!!
That's a wrap! I hope you aren't as saddened by this as I am. I'm a Fagin fan and this is quite strange. Please leave feedback. I'm just going to go see a therapist now, otherwise, I might not make it through this depression. - Elaine Dawkins