The ships in the harbour danced in the tropical heat.
She was looking at them through the narrow slit in the dungeon wall, wishing she could sail away on one of them. A heavy chain leading to her shackles declared it highly unlikely. A key rattled in the lock of the dungeon door. She hoped and prayed it was him. Tommy burst through the door and Michelle cried with relief. His bulging arms grabbed her chain and he snapped it like a twig. She was free at last. They embraced passionately their lips entangled. His long blonde hair glistened in dim light, brighter than anything else in the dungeon. It got brighter and brighter until the whiteness enveloped the whole room. Then he was gone.
Michelle lay back on her bed, tears rolling down her cheeks. She had been dreaming of Tommy again; that very dream she'd had before. But, Tommy was never coming back to rescue her.
Six months before, Tommy had been riding his motorcycle in a road race when his bike left the road, smashing into a wall. Michelle was there at his bedside when they turned off the life support machine, after only a few hours. The doctors said it amazing that he had even survived that long. He and Michelle were supposed to be married that summer.
Wiping the tears from her face, she sat up in bed and tried to figure out what it all meant, for she believed that dreams meant something. Opening the drawer of her bedside locker, Rosemary Ellen Guiley's
Encyclopaedia of Dreams
was the first book at hand. She perused the book, unsuccessfully looking for elements of her dream among the well thumbed pages. Finding nothing, she threw the book to the floor and pulled the duvet over her head, the quilt soaking up more of her tears. Then, it came to her what it all meant.
The shackles in the dream represented her grief filled life. She had become withdrawn since Tommy's death; unable to escape her own sadness. She knew that she had to have him back. If it were impossible to bring him back, then she must go to him, for Michelle believed in an afterlife- a paradise where lovers were reunited. Michelle knew what she had to do. To be with Tommy, she had to end her own life.
Michelle Casey was twenty two and unremarkable; good looking, but not strikingly so. Her long brown hair complemented the graceful, slender figure. Long legs didn't just give the illusion of height, she was genuinely tall. Growing up, her choice of dark clothes led many to believe she was of the Gothic persuasion. That was not so. She was just an ordinary girl, who, like so many others, felt that black was the only colour classy enough to be seen in. Michelle really wasn't all that special.
When she smiled though, that was a different story. Michelle didn't smile often, but when she did, it was a smile that could drive any man crazy. With that smile, they were in her power. It's rarity made it all the more alluring.
Tommy, like her, was born and bred San Franciscan. They met at college where she was studying Computer Science and he, Psychology. He was her first and only love and they wanted to be together forever. They scraped together enough money for a deposit on a dingy apartment in the Mission District. It wasn't big, but it was theirs. They were utterly devoted to each other. He took pleasure in her smile and she adored his sparkling, happy go-lucky manner.
One May afternoon, everything changed. Michelle went to watch him race his bike at a road race up in Washington State. She saw the whole accident. The images would never leave her. Her one true love had been taken from her forever. In his memory, Michelle had worn black every day since his passing. Whenever she thought of him, she felt the pricking of tears in her eyes. All her friends said that she'd changed and that since the accident she had become relentlessly melancholic. This drove some people away, but her true friends stuck by her and would be there for her, no matter what.
Michelle quickly threw on some clothes and walked the few hundred yards down to the local hardware store. She bought a length of stout rope and went back home. Most days, she felt like wearing make-up was a waste of time, but today, she thought as she deftly applied her austere mascara, was different; today it was worth it. With a fluttering in her stomach, she slipped into the black dress that she hadn't worn since her prom. It was simple, but elegant.
Sitting on the bed, Michelle wound and tied rope into an effective hangman's noose, according to the book about knots at her side. She took a pair of pink fluffy handcuffs from her bedroom drawer, knowing that she would probably struggle to escape from death's iron grasp. This was something she had to follow through with. Tommy had bought them for her as a joke, but they'd seen plenty of use in the bedroom.
The shower rail seemed strong enough, she thought. Standing on the edge of the bath, she tied one end of the rope tightly around the rail. After putting the noose over her head, she lifted her hair out of the way and tightened it. The handcuffs clicked behind her back and Michelle was ready to make the leap into the next life.
It was a big decision. She was nervous and standing there, began to tremble. With eyes shut tightly, Michelle stepped off the edge of the bath and felt the rope grip her neck sharply.
What happened next would have been comical had it not happened in such tragic circumstances. It turned out that the shower rail hadn't been nearly strong enough. When Michelle stepped off the bath, it collapsed almost instantly under her weight. Now, she lay in a heap on the floor, shaking and sore, but quite alive.
She could have done it another way, but hanging was the only death she had ever imagined for herself. The idea of the electric chair was appealing. In those few brief moments between when the guard threw the switch and her passing out, she would feel more alive than she ever had, or ever would. It played it out in her mind a hundred times. To be shot on a misty morning, like a femme fatale spy was another ending she would have adored. Michelle never saw herself going out quietly. In order for her to do it right, she would have to hire someone to do it for her.
Wearing a turtleneck sweater to cover her bruised, chafed neck, Michelle sat in a quiet corner of a café near her apartment, waiting on her sister Elaine to arrive. Elaine was nearly forty. In a sense, she had been Michelle's mentor, teaching her the ways of the world. Like Tommy, Elaine's husband had met an untimely end. She hired a contract killer to take care of her husband, so she could collect a huge life insurance policy. He was a consummate professional, not leaving any incriminating evidence. Elaine collected her money and, the next day, she had a new Mercedes.
This all happened around a year ago. Elaine was never even suspect in the shooting of her husband, such was the skill of the hitman. She never told a soul about her involvement in the affair. Except of course Michelle; It was their shared secret.
Michelle saw a Mercedes convertible pull up in front of the café. Tossing her chestnut brown hair Elaine stepped out of the car.
"Wow, this place is great! How'd you find it?" asked Elaine in her usual absent minded manner.
"I live like a block away."
"Of course you do dear. How could I forget that?" replied Elaine incredulously.
"Never mind anyway, what did you want to talk to me about?"
"Remember you hired a guy to take care of a little problem of yours?" asked Michelle in a hushed voice, leaning over towards Elaine as she spoke. They were both on the same wavelength.
"Sure, why?"
"Can I get his number from you?"
"You need someone taken care of? Who is it?"
"I'll tell you when the job is done."
"See, I can't give you his number. The way he works is, I call
him
and then he calls
you
and arranges to meet you at a location of his choosing. These guys have to be careful."
"Can you call him for me? Ask if we can meet up."
"No problem, I'll go home and call him now."
"Thanks Elaine, you're a big help."
