Masked

The man with the stocking over his head rifled through Lily’s drawer with his left hand, pointed the revolver at her with the other. Lily lay in the bed, holding the sheet up to her chin, her mouth dry, her hands and feet clammy, and her stomach churning.

So this is what it was like, living in those last moments of life. It’s how those people on United 93 felt back on 9/11 as the plane plunged into the Pennsylvania ground. It’s what Princess Diana felt in that horrific half hour after the Alma Tunnel. It’s what Martin Luther King felt as he saw the concrete ceiling outside his hotel room in Memphis. And when Jack Kennedy looked at Jackie in that last split second before the third shot blew open his head, it’s what he felt. The end.

Odd, it had a strange peace to it, knowing the end was only moments away. No more worry, no more anxiety over paying bills, saving for retirement, wondering if she’d ever get married, wondering how she’d ever raise kids in this crazy world. No more responsibility, no nothing – just sleeping, that endless sleep.

The man continued pointing the revolver at her. He made his way to the bottom left drawer. He’d find it. Her grandmother’s engagement ring. Two little diamonds surrounding a much larger one in the middle. Granddad had given it to her in 1923, and when Nanny had died, her mother had gotten it. And when Mother died two years ago, Lily had gotten it. And now it would find its way to the black market.

Without knowing why or how, she jumped out of the bed with a pillow, shielded her head from the bullets, and ran over to the man and grabbed his arm. They struggled for a moment and then she sank her teeth into his arm and bit as hard as she could. The man let get go of the gun, she grabbed it, and shot him in the head.

“Now you know what it’s like,” she said, putting another bullet in his chest, just to make sure he was dead, dead, dead. “Now you know how Princess Diana felt.”