The Killing in The Wrong Sister

  • Jan. 5, 2022, 12:29 a.m.
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  • Public

Mariska normally crashed around 10 p.m. unless something was going on that she had to deal with. I would wait until about a half hour after she went to bed. It would take me close to an hour to ride my bike over to Lisa’s condo and do what I knew I needed to do to set myself free again.

I tried to avoid Mariska as much as I could by appearing to be into the book I was reading, so that she wouldn’t sense that anything was up. In truth, I was nervous as hell. I know that anything could go wrong and she could turn the gun on me, not that she needed a weapon to kill me. But I had to take a chance. If I didn’t do something, I would eventually be killed, and maybe even Mariska would be, too.

The hours ticked by and then Mariska finally announced that she was going to bed. I gave her plenty of time to fall asleep. I wanted to hurry up and get things over with, but I also never wanted to move from my room ever again. One of us was going to die that night, and if I failed at killing her yet she decided not to kill me for some reason, I had no doubt that I would surely wish she had.

Just get on your bike, go over there, and pull the trigger.

I told myself this over and over again as I pedaled up and down the insanely hilly terrain.

I couldn’t believe how easy it was in the end. I really expected things to go wrong. Killing a human being couldn’t have been that easy, even if you knew you were saving yourself in the end.

But it had been. I did exactly what I instructed myself to do. I left my bike at the end of her driveway. I walked up to the door, which opened as soon as I approached it. I pulled the gun out of my coat pocket, and then I pulled the trigger and shot her. I didn’t know how many bullets were in the gun; I just know that I emptied it into her to decrease the chances of her survival with each round. I ended up putting four bullets into her, one of which I’m pretty sure was a headshot. Another seemed to hit her square in the chest.

She began to fall back inside her place after the first shot and then I fired in rapid succession as she hit the floor.

I left her bleeding in the entryway and ran for my bike as I shoved the pistol back into my coat pocket. Next, I zoomed downhill and stopped again a few blocks away from the condo. Since I couldn’t ride my bike down to the shore, I left it at the start of the sandy area figuring that no one would steal it so late at night. Realizing that someone might spot me, but knowing I didn’t have a choice, I ran down to the water’s edge and tossed the gun as far as I could into the water. The piers were closed at night and there was no way I could get onto any of those without being seen in order to throw it further from shore. I knew that being closer to shore meant that it could very well be discovered someday, but I thought it was less likely this way than if I threw it in a dumpster somewhere. It was also winter which meant that nobody would be swimming for a while. This would hopefully give the gun time for the currents to carry it further offshore or at least bury it in sand and debris. I had wiped the gun clean of any fingerprints beforehand and worn gloves. Even if I left any traces of myself on the gun, I figured the likelihood of the ocean elements destroying them by the time the gun might be discovered was in my favor.

My biggest worries were actually Mariska catching me entering the condo once I got back to it, and my gloves and clothes testing positive for gunpowder should I fall under suspicion. I didn’t know if washing the items would remove the traces of residue, and I wasn’t about to look up this information online either. I would casually wash my clothes the next day and hope for the best.

I ran back to my bike as quickly as I could, relieved to see that no one had messed with it even though I hadn’t expected anybody to, and raced back to the condo as fast as I could despite the fact that my pulse was beating faster than it ever had before in my life.

I felt like I had spent a total of an hour on the bike that night, and I probably had. By the time I got home, I was exhausted and sweaty. I had to wait for my breathing to calm down before I could slip into the condo quietly enough, hoping and praying Mariska wouldn’t come out of her room to question me. I had an excuse ready, but was glad I didn’t have to use it in the end. I crept into my room quiet as a mouse, undressed, and fell into bed. I think I slept better than I had in years that night.
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