The Plan Ch 01 4

He sat at the kitchen table and pensively rotated his second glass of bourbon with his fingertips. The duct tape perched on the counter where he left it when he came in. After a few moments his eyes moved to the large sheathed "Rambo" knife on the table next to the bottle of bourbon. He paused as he absently raised the glass of bourbon to his lips and let out a long sigh while he contemplated what had happened so far. He had to conclude that, thus far anyway, the plan had gone flawlessly.

Everything had proceeded exactly as foreseen and now, unobserved and unsuspected, he was safe at home where he could execute the rest of the plan at his leisure. He didn't have to worry about interruptions or unforeseen circumstances. He was free to act whenever and however he saw fit. He was in complete control. At this thought he drained the glass and reached for the bottle to refill it.

It had taken him a lot of time to get to this point. The study, the preparations, the execution had demanded much energy and effort from him, however, it had all paid off and the prize was within reach now. All that was left to do was open the door, go down the basement stairs and finish the plan. In fact, it could be said that this was, in fact, the easiest part of his plan. Nothing could stop him now.

Well, that was not, strictly speaking, true. Something could stop him. He could stop himself. He didn't have to do any of this. He could simply stop the plan and it would be as if nothing had happened. Life for him would remain exactly as it had before, whereas if he followed through, well, he didn't know exactly how it would change, but he was sure his life would change whether anyone ever found out what he did or he kept it secret until his death. He would know what he had done and that thought might be tougher to live with then he originally anticipated. When this idea was schemed up, it was an intoxicating little mind game, a savory little secret that gave him an odd little private thrill. However, now in the midst of it with the conclusion right down a short flight of stairs, the serious reality of it made him hesitate.

Oddly the most uncomfortable thing was he held all the power now. He decided whether things proceeded or they stopped and no one could change that or influence him. He had thought he wanted that, but now that he had attained it that power felt more like a burden than something to enjoy. Somehow there was a sense of responsibility that tugged at his mind. He hadn't anticipated that and once again, as it had several times since he came home after phase one of the plan, that thought made him a touch uncomfortable. He took another thoughtful sip of bourbon to dilute that feeling a bit, so he could deal with it. He had thought the whiskey might help him relax and escape that feeling, but instead it made him melancholy and more aware of it.

Just as he had been when the plan was first conceived, he didn't really know if he wanted to go through with it. He wasn't comfortable with this; being in this role. Part of him just wanted this to go away and forget about it. He could do that. He could just stop.

He drained off the last of it and set the glass down firmly.

"You don't have to do this," he reminded himself. "You can just stop and you won't even have to explain it."

Yet for all his discomfort at the previous thought, another thing, something he was loath to admit even to himself was part of him was really excited by this plan. Part of him could barely wait to go down those stairs and start phase two of the plan. Part of him, the part that he called "the Beast" had no trouble at all with the idea of wielding all the power in this situation. In fact, the Beast seemed to think it was his birthright and was chiding his rational side about hesitating. The Beast was actually straining at the leash in a way he had never experienced before and its sanguine attitude cut through all thought and even the faint haze of the whiskey buzz in his head.

"All you have to do is march down those stairs and finish the plan," urged the Beast. "And I promise you'll love every minute of it."

And that's when the most unsettling thought came into his head. The Beast was right. He would. He would love every minute of it, no matter what his conscience was trying to tell him now. He loved the fact that he had all this control and that he would decide what happened next. He loved it and that realization made him a little queasy. Maybe that was the bourbon though. Whenever he drank whiskey on an empty stomach it gave him a touch of a sour stomach. Yeah, that was it. He made up his mind in that instant. He would follow the plan.

"Time to get started," he announced to himself. His voice seemed extra loud in the quiet kitchen, but that didn't matter. No one would ever know. He had been careful and planned well. He was safe at home with all the time in the world.

He stood. The sun painted a brilliant pink and purple summer sunset outside. He made sure the door was locked and then he pulled the shade over the window in the door. He spent the next few minutes to check if all the windows and doors were locked and that the shades were all drawn. Shortly he found himself back in the kitchen facing the basement door. Nothing to do now but go down stairs and finish this. He picked up the Rambo knife and tucked it into his belt a the small of his back.

Two firm steps brought him to the door. His left hand turned the knob and swung it into the darkness of the stairs. His right hand flipped on the light revealing a bare set of wooden stairs leading down to a concrete floor and a metal door at the bottom. The door was slightly ajar, just as he had left it when he came back upstairs after arriving home. He paused again and felt his heart flutter with excitement. The sourness in his stomach ebbed and the Beast began to vibrate in his guts a bit.

It was time.