SHE WOULD WEAR RED
She would wear red; he had always loved her in red…
She thoughtfully studied her naked reflection in the mirror. Objectively, she confirmed that the hours she had spent in the gym had paid off. Her tall slender body had the taut stomach and firm muscles of a much younger woman. Pushing the curtain of sleek auburn hair behind her ear, she considered her face. Pale but for the spots burning high on her cheeks, she was a lovely woman. Her skin was smooth. Her deep-set eyes were wide and still a deep blue. She would admit to the laugh lines that were appearing in their corners and the profound sadness that was not normally there.
Red…definitely red, she thought. She would wear red for him, this one last time.
She stood, elbows akimbo, fisted hands planted firmly on her hips as she surveyed the room. It was awash in a sea of scarlet. It had taken most of the morning but she had finally selected each crimson piece of the outfit she would wear that afternoon.
“ I promise Hon, It will only be for a few days. I’ll be back in time for our anniversary,” he had said.
She watched her hand, as it smoothed the scarlet tint onto her cheeks, onto her pale lips, noticing each time the mirror caught the light shards that winked off of her diamond.
“Make reservations at our special place and wear that red dress I like so much.” He had said. You know how much I love you in red.”
She chose a simple suit that hugged her curves and plunged at the neckline. In her cleavage nestled a teardrop shaped ruby pendent. The ruby pulsed as she breathed and her spiked heel’s staccato sounded in counterpoint as she crossed the room and stared into the mirror. What she saw pleased her.
He was at Morgan’s Rest. One of the last antebellum homes left after the war. The aged red brick was dark against the stark white of the columns. The imposing double doors loomed before her. With an unsteady hand, she pushed the door open and stepped over the threshold. The only sound, her heels tapping as she moved across the marble foyer. The banister felt cold under her hand as she climbed the curving staircase to the second floor.
There was a deep stillness in this place; the thick carpet muffled even her footsteps, as she walked delicately down the hall. Listening, she heard faint music coming from one of the rooms. She walked to the door and taking in a deep breath, turned the doorknob and entered the room. Here, the windows where draped in heavy curtains. None of the afternoon light penetrated the shadows. The room’s only illumination came from the soft light of two trumpet shaped lamps and the fireplace’s dying embers.
She saw where he lay. His eyes closed, appearing to be in deep sleep. She fought back the tears that threatened and walked to where he rested. Resisting an urge to brush a lock of hair from his forehead, she gazed down at his dear face. Slowly reaching into her crimson bag she felt for the small revolver. Grasping the gun she drew it from her purse and gently placed the barrel on the spot of his forehead where the stray lock of hair lay.
At the touch, his eyelids flew open, realization flooding into them. He spoke her name as she squeezed the trigger. The gunshot reverberated in the small room, making her ears ring. The warm blood spewed out, splashing bright red across the burgundy duvet and the figure that moments ago lay cuddled at his side. She was as exquisite as she knew she would be, her rumpled blond hair swirled around her naked breasts and her soft doe eyes were rapt on the high-heeled figure watching her.
With one swift movement the scarlet clad arm raised the gun and pulled the trigger, one last time.