Once again, edited by Wolf Vixen with much thanks
XI
"Thank you, Jessica..."
Ryan slammed the door and locked it as quickly as he could, leaving Jessica outside; he hoped that, with any luck, she would simply disappear from his mind now that she was out of his sight. This was going to be difficult enough; the last thing he needed was having her haunt his already tormented mind.
He pulled out his gun and walked towards the bedroom, fully aware of what he needed to do.
It was clear he wouldn't easily be able to put her out of his thoughts once Jessica started to frantically pound on the door. His stomach started to turn. "Go away, Jessica," he quietly whispered, fully aware she couldn't hear him.
"Ryan, don't do this," she shouted hysterically on the other side of the door, pounding as hard as she could. "Don't leave me; you can't leave me like this! Don't you DARE pull the trigger!!"
Gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut, he put the muzzle of the gun against the side of his head, feeling the cold steel against his temple. He tried as hard as he could to ignore Jessica.
"I'm coming, Amanda," he whispered ominously. "I'll see you and Adam soon."
It felt like it had been so long since he had seen Amanda that he actually had to try and force an image of her in his head -- he felt guilty for having to do that.
There was one memory in particular that he loved. He recalled the time when they went camping when Adam was just a baby; he didn't remember the name of the small state park, but it was just off of Highway 101. There was something about the way she looked on that vacation; she wasn't dressed up like a beauty queen in high heels -- who would wear something like that during camping anyway -- but instead, she had on hiking boots. Instead of her normal mane of golden, curly hair, she had a cute little pony tail.
At first, he could see her clearly in his head. He started to relax.
Then his mind started to play tricks on him. Maybe it had been too long since he had seen her, because the picture in his head kept shifting to Jessica, pony tail and all. Ryan shook his head, no longer relaxed, but fully aware of the irony that his 'master plan', courtesy of Jessica, was threatening to backfire.
Amanda was becoming Jessica; not the other way around like he had intended. He seethed with anger at that thought. Not because he had any ill will for Jessica, but because Amanda was slipping away.
He tried harder to focus on Amanda; opening his night stand, he pulled out a few framed pictures of her in an attempt to look at the family photos of happier times while still holding the gun grip so tightly his fingertips were turning white.
Off in the distance, he heard Jessica scream, "Open the door! Ryan, please! Please! I'm begging you!"
Sweat ran down his forehead and his heart raced. All he could think about was getting it over with. He flicked the safety off and pressed it against his head again.
"Oh my God, Ryan! PLEASE!! I
love
you! You bastard! You can't do this to me...!"
Ryan swallowed hard and turned to look in the mirror. As he tried to put her voice out of his head, he instead conjured his own doubts and confusion. Conflicting thoughts began swirling in his head.
Hurry! Amanda and Adam are waiting, pull the trigger!
Jessica will find your body. She'll see your brains splattered all over the room, and you lying in a pool of blood. You'll scar her, you'll ruin her life forever...
Jessica doesn't deserve you. Neither does Amanda. They are both better off without you, so it doesn't matter what you do. You might as well die.
You can't possibly stay alive; no one will replace Amanda, and you'll never see your boy grow up...
Ryan felt extreme despair take over, particularly with that very last thought that seemed to leech on to his very soul. He grunted, gritted his teeth, and started to squeeze the trigger with a light application of steady pressure. He heard a different voice in his head.
Jessica loves you. You heard her say she loves you. It's not your time.
Those words resonated within his head. Slowly Ryan opened his eyes and released the pressure on the trigger.
The first thing he saw in the mirror was his own reflection; a reflection of a hurting, weak, pathetic husk of a man. His hand pulsated, anxious to pull the trigger; his hand was anxious to kill.
With tremendous rage, he growled and, in one quick motion, pointed his gun at his reflection's forehead and pulled the trigger.
The mirror shattered; glass shards flew across the room, spreading out in all directions.
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