Gretchen

I pull the trigger and the wall behind her is sprayed red. I know she isn’t dead though. Gretchen is too big of a pain in the ass to die easily.

“You bastard,” she spits. “You God damned bastard.”

But this isn’t a movie. This isn’t a novel. This is payback. This is business. Hell, this is pleasure. There will be no long winded speech. I walk up to her, put the barrel against her temple, and paint the rest of the room.

Sarah has dinner ready for me when I get home. Meatloaf. It must be Friday.

“How was your day?” she asks.

“Fine. Good. Same as usual,” I say. This is not a lie.