Lee Kerr - Welcome to the Apocalypse

I open my eyes and stare at him, at the man who has become my judge and probable executioner. ‘Because I am a good person, I’m in my sixties and I would never able to spend that much money in my lifetime. If you don’t believe me then let me sign it all over to you, to do with it what you please.’

He smiles and then slowly licks his way up my face, starting from my neck and not stopping until he reaches my forehead. ‘You are a nice person, Gloria. I can tell you are one of the good people, but I still can’t believe you. If you truly cared about worldwide poverty and the state of our planet more than your own well-being then you wouldn’t be staying in this hotel. You wouldn’t be preaching to me dressed in an expensive bathrobe, drenched in the scents of high society, and you wouldn’t both be pursuing such perversions of the mind. If you were pure then you would not be in this place of judgement.’

I can’t answer him, cannot deny what is so obviously true. We are both distracted by coughing coming from the bed and I look over to see Stan’s body convulsing as his head moves from side to side.

The man is quickly beside him, putting his face next to the mask that hides my husband from me. I pray that he doesn’t take it off; I don’t want to see him, not like this. He licks the mask and then spits across the room.

‘There isn’t much time, Gloria. He will be dead soon, and once he passes then it will be your turn. I still don’t understand enough about you two, about how you have come to be in this moment.’ He turns to look at me. ‘There is more to you, I can sense it.’

‘You are murdering my husband!’ I scream. ‘What more can you possibly want to know?’

He walks back towards me. ‘No, that is where you are wrong. You are slowly torturing your own husband. You haven’t once tried to go over to him, to offer comfort or to even ask me if I can ease his suffering.’ He sits on my lap, gently placing his body on top of mine. ‘You could have asked to borrow the blade at any time, and with one simple slice you could have ended his life and allowed the judgement to start on yours.’ He stands up and walks over to the blade, picking it out of the sofa. ‘Do you love him, Gloria?’ he asks and stares at me.

I pause for a moment, remembering some of the many times I asked myself that question, all those many years ago. I have known the answer for so long yet done nothing about it. I finally shake my head and then let it bow down in shame.

‘I knew that,’ he says, and then looks down at Stan’s pale body. ‘I think we all knew that.’

‘I could end his suffering now if you would let me,’ I say.

He looks at the knife and then back to me. ‘I think that would be the right thing to do.’

I stand up, cautious, not sure if my captor will ever actually allow me to do such a thing, or even if I am capable of slicing my husband, or this evil man, should the chance present itself. I don’t really know what I’m doing; none of this seems real yet I know it is happening.

He moves closer and fearlessly holds out the knife, despite it being obvious what I am thinking of doing. He calmly nods, looking at me, almost smiling. ‘Let us finish him and then decide what we will do with you.’

I nod back, playing along in a game I know I’m never going to win. I take hold of the knife and see that he is standing at arm’s length from me, making a swing unlikely to succeed. I look at the bed and at the body of my husband. He doesn’t even look like my Stan anymore – he’s just the shell of the man I chose to stick with. I move closer and our intruder takes up position at the other side of him.

I don’t know what to do and so I lean myself onto the mattress, trying to avoid anything stained with the horrors of this last hour. Stan’s body isn’t moving anymore and I’m not sure if it is over already. I think of the pillow, the easiest option for both of us. But then I have these cruel, selfish thoughts. I need to use the knife; I need to have the weapon in my hand and find the opportunity when I can strike. I start to see Stan as a practice run, wondering how I should do it. Perhaps this is my payback for all his years of inadequacy, or perhaps this is the kindest way to end the torture he has been going through. I look at the intruder to see that he is staring at me, his face wild with excitement. It’s so obvious that he gets his kicks from the pain of others.

‘Let’s get his mask off him,’ he says, excited, like my husband is a present waiting to be unwrapped.

‘Perhaps we should leave it on?’ I say, not wanting to see those dying eyes. Right now, he can’t see me and I cannot see him, and that is the way this should end.

This man gets hold of my hair before I see him coming. He pulls hard, forcing my head to land on Stan’s chest. I feel the touch of his curly hairs, the smell of blood and sweat, his body now as lukewarm as our forty years of marriage have been. He eventually lets go of my hair and allows me to sit back up. ‘You will look into his eyes at the end, just as I will look into yours. It’s the fairest thing we can do.’

I slowly nod, now clear that I should throw myself into this moment, as I prepare myself for seeing Stan’s fearful and confused face.

The mask comes off quickly, and I realise that the intruder didn’t secure the rear fasteners. It was too loose – something Stan would never approve of. He always had to have an entire vacuum around him when held captive, his body and senses sealed in a world he couldn’t escape from. I almost feel like apologising to Stan for the half-arsed job this monster did of securing him, but instead I take one final look at his gaping wound and get ready to tell him not to look down; to tell him that it isn’t as bad as it must feel.

As the leather mask comes away from his head I see that there is a trail of blood dripping down his chin, and then I see his eyes, which are grey and unmoving. I look down at him but I don’t actually feel upset; I don’t even feel pity. I feel angry. Angry that he has left before me – this was my escape, my chance to walk away and leave him scared and alone, never to know what had happened. And now, as I look at the two men before me, I realise I have not even found that dignity to be the first to get out of this lifetime trap.

The man who has just officially become my husband’s killer starts moving around, his hands digging into Stan’s mouth. ‘Look, Gloria, he actually bit a part of his tongue off. It must have been the pain or the shock. I wonder if he intended to do that.’

I look across the bed and see what a horrible thing man can turn into. Money, greed or power could never change him from what he has now become. I look down at Stan, at his mutilated body. ‘He only ever wanted to bring me to London to collect our winnings and then start a better life. That’s all he hoped for and you’ve taken that away from him.’

He pays me no attention and continues to examine the body, checking for a pulse and then putting his ear to Stan’s chest. ‘He has already passed away, Gloria. That’s such a shame. I was looking forward to seeing you push the blade into his flesh and the remaining blood spill out from within him.’

My body shakes as I look down at the weapon in my hand and I realise how tight a grip I have on it. I let go, just a little, seeing the immediate indent it has made on my skin. I look back at him and then make my grip firm again.

He looks at me and then back to Stan, his mind obviously preoccupied with whatever he is planning to do next. He doesn’t seem bothered that I am still holding the knife, but I’m distinctly aware that it is my only chance to get out of here and that he will soon turn all of his attention onto me.

‘Are you sure he’s dead?’ I ask, knowing how obvious the answer is to that question.