True Intentions
Nigel sat at the breakfast table feeling tense and on edge. He watched another man's daughters, and another man's ex-wife eat his cereal and drink his milk. Today would be the last day of this. Today, it would all be over, he would have completed his task. After six years of tracking them down and courting them, he will have finished what he set out to do.
Lily touched his forehead gently, "You okay honey? You feel a little clammy."
"Yeah… you don't look so good," Phoebe pointed out.
"Fine, I'm fine," he muttered, dabbing his forehead with the tablecloth.
Ursula scowled, "Ew gross. We eat on this tablecloth, y'know."
Lily threw Ursula a warning look. Ursula rolled her eyes theatrically. Nigel smiled wanly, letting the snide comment slide without comment. In an hour, I won't have to tolerate your obnoxious mouthing off anymore;he thought darkly to himself. Yes, he had worked long and hard on this little project, and today was Pay Day.
"Alright kids, its 7:30, school bus should be here any minute," Lily announced, clearing away the empty cereal bowls. "Can you believe we can actually afford the school bus now?" she added happily.
"Yeah, sure beats getting to school on foot," Phoebe grinned.
"Speaking of affording stuff… when we were in Grade 2, there was this kid in our class who who had the awesomest pink bike with a white wicker basket, a noisy silver bell, purple streamers and butterfly andflower attachments!" Phoebe enthused.
"Too bad you're too old for that shit now," Ursula snorted.
"Pfft! Too old? As if! In fact, that's what I want for my 14th birthday!" Phoebe yelled, throwing Nigel a hopeful look.
"Mmm Hmm… I'll think about it, Phoebe," Nigel said flatly.
Phoebe punched the air triumphantly. Throwing her school bag over her shoulder, she skipped out the door. Ursula dragged her feet after her sister, sighing theatrically.
"Have a good day at work, babe," Lily winked, closing the door behind her. Nigel dropped his head to the dining table, relieved to finally be alone to plan the day: This day, the culmination of years of careful considered planning.
The Housing Estate on the corner of Bouverie and Downing Street, 5th floor, Flat 3A. Here he was, at long last, Finally. Nigel wiped cold sweat from his brow, and licked his lips nervously. He glanced both left and right, and when confident the corridor was empty, he dug into his backpack and pulled out a small handgun.
He held it discreetly by his side, pressing the barrel against the door. With his free hand, he knocked on the door gently. Three knocks. Knock, Knock, Knock. Silence… He knocked again, Knock, Knock, Knock. His heart hammered rapidly against his ribcage, as he heard footsteps from inside the flat, and a man's voice.
"Hold your horses, I'm coming!"
Nigel straightened his back, took a deep breath, and pulled the handgun's hammer, resting his forefinger upon the trigger. He listened closely as the footsteps neared the door. He saw a shadow underneath the door, indicating both men were in close proximity to each other, face-to-face, separating only by a single slat of wood.
Nigel could only presume Frank was peering through the peephole, when he said uncertainly, "Do I know you, sir? Don't believe we've met be-"
Before the man could finish his sentence, Nigel adjusted the barrel of the gun, pointing at the tenant's heart. He pulled the trigger, sending a single bullet hurtling through the flimsy wooden door, into the tenant's chest. The tenant gasped with shock, collapsing against the door and sliding to the floor.
He shuddered as he heard the man gurgling as he choked upon his own blood. Soon he saw a pool of burgundy black spread past the door and across the corridor. As the elderly bespectacled man walked away from the carnage he had created, he whispered dark nothings to himself.
"Good riddance, Frank. That's what you get for ruining my son's life. He could've been the President of the United States, but now he's nothing but a low-life Trannie. All because you exposed him, publicly humiliated him."